One Summer in Rome

by Samantha Tonge

  ‘Those bruises … do you know what caused them?’ said Mary.

  Rocco folded his arms.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I took a look on the computer. There are various conditions … no need to worry,’ she added hastily, ‘but it couldn’t harm to make a doctor’s appointment.’

  ‘That’s not possible,’ he said, equally quickly.

  ‘You’re worried. Anyone would be in your position. But it’s probably something that can easily be treated – or managed. If you like, I could come with you.’

  ‘That’s very considerate but—’

  Mary blushed. Sometimes she forgot that what was personal to some people wasn’t to her. She’d grown up being taken to the doctor’s by relative strangers.

  ‘Or perhaps you have a close friend who could go?’ Rocco didn’t have a girlfriend who could take him. ‘What about Paola?’

  ‘No. Please, Maria, don’t mention this to her. Promise?’ The colour drained further from his cheeks. He unfolded his arms. ‘I don’t want to worry her.’

  ‘What about Angelo, then?’

  Rocco’s face flushed.

  ‘He’s one of your best friends, right?’

  ‘I don’t want to bother him either. Angelo is picking me up tonight, on the way back from a party. He knows I’m not feeling one hundred per cent so he insisted.’

  ‘Then what about talking to your mum and dad? Perhaps it’s something that runs in the family.’

  ‘You don’t understand.’ His voice broke.

  Mary pulled her chair next to his and slipped an arm around his shoulder. ‘What is it?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I’m here to help. Let me.’

  ‘Like you – I have no parents. Mine have disowned me.’

  What on earth could have caused that? Rocco was hardworking, caring …

  ‘My parents haven’t spoken to me for almost two years.’

  ‘Oh, Rocco. That must hurt. Life stinks sometimes, doesn’t it?’

  ‘They don’t accept me, for who I am.’

  ‘What, a waiter?’

  Rocco shrugged.

  Mary snorted. ‘They should try working a shift. It’s one of the hardest jobs in the world.’

  ‘No, it’s not that. You see …’ Rocco turned to face her and Mary’s arm dropped away. ‘I’m gay, Maria,’ he said, simply.

  She stared.

  ‘You are shocked?’

  ‘Only because I had no idea. Why the secrecy? Does the Rossi family know?’

  ‘Yes. Since my parents disowned me. It happened around the time Dante lost his sight. I guess we all kind of pulled together. I asked them never to tell anyone.’

  It made sense, now, why he was so loyal to the Rossis. ‘So, your mum and dad …?’

  ‘They are heavily involved in the local church. Good friends with the priest. He is hardline. Every time Italy has suffered earthquakes, over the years, he’s always said it is divine punishment for the existence of homosexuals.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘I know. Especially as our Pope Francis is helping the Catholic Church evolve – in a positive way – when it comes to people like me.’

  ‘So that’s why you never came out to them as a younger man?’

  Rocco nodded. ‘I used to dress more flamboyantly – father never liked that. Every time I visited, mother would talk non-stop about some nice young woman she knew, who was looking for a boyfriend. Looking back … I don’t know … perhaps they guessed.’ He gulped. ‘If my own mum and dad can’t accept me, then what chance do I stand with anyone else?’

  ‘Well, I’m still here,’ she said, softly. ‘You might be surprised at other people’s acceptance. Your parents have raised you, so the stakes are higher for them, but anyone else…’ But then what did she know? It was impossible to truly imagine how difficult his life had been. ‘What about Paola?’

  Rocco’s eyes glistened. ‘No. I love her too much. I can’t risk losing her as well.’

  ‘What does she think has happened between you and your parents?’

  ‘They made up some story about saying I never visit enough and am not a good son. I avoid the topic with my sister. She tried hard at the beginning, told them I just worked a lot, to build a good career … We’ve never been a family that talks openly about problems. Paola probably just accepts that something big has happened and she’ll never know.’ He gave her a sheepish look. ‘Excuse me, Maria – I know all this is self-indulgent. They may not have always been the most loving parents, but at least I had stability during my childhood. You had things much harder.’

  ‘Don’t apologise. You have every right to be upset. Who’s to say which is more difficult – missing something you’ve never had or missing the real deal. Tell me to mind my own business, but have you got a boyfriend? Perhaps he could go with you.’

  ‘It’s … Angelo. We are a little more than best friends.’ His face lit up for a second and Mary recognised that as the Look of Love. She’d seen it on foster couples’ faces, when their eyes met, and when Jill hugged her husband. Mary swallowed. She’d never seen it on Jake. And why should she have? You could also feel the Look of Love and she’d not felt that sparkle in her own expression, with her ex.

  ‘You told me once that you first met him in a club …’ she said.

  ‘Si. I used to love parties. I’d got a job in a posh hotel and a place of my own. Finally I became part of the gay scene and came out to like-minded people. It was exhilarating, the sense of freedom after so many years of living with my parents who worried what the neighbours thought about everything from their make of car to the cut of their lawn.’

  ‘I can relate to that,’ Mary said. ‘Even though it was scary, being catapulted into the real world at eighteen, with no support, I found it liberating. At school everyone wants to know about your parents and family set-up. Suddenly I was just “me” with no questions being asked. I had the power to direct my own life.’

  Rocco nodded. ‘I felt normal, for the first time in years. I made lots of friends. And then I attended a party organised by Angelo.’

  ‘Was it love at first sight?’ Mary grinned.

  Rocco’s eyes shone. ‘For me, yes. Angelo was so confident. So sure about who he was. I guess I looked up to him. He dressed stylishly, with confidence – still does – and I watched him work his way around the room, talking to everyone, making jokes. People followed him as if they hoped his flair would transfer to them.’ He shrugged. ‘We got talking. Liked the same food. The same music. I couldn’t believe someone like him would be interested in me. But he spent the whole evening by my side. At the time I was working in room service, in a five-star hotel. Angelo loved hearing about the celebrities I served.’

  ‘How come you ended up working in Pizzeria Dolce Vita? Dante said you moved in with Angelo shortly before starting work here …’

  ‘Yes. Our relationship developed. In my old job, I often had to work through the night. When I got home, I was going to bed whilst Angelo was getting up. We hardly saw each other. Angelo always earned a lot more than me and suggested I change jobs. He was happy to pay most of the rent.’ Rocco clasped his hands together. ‘At last I had someone I could picture a future with. I had wanted a career in hotel management but decided to put my relationship first. It works much better. We both get home around the same time, when I am working late. The hotel hours were crazy, with shifts during the night. This way I have time to look after the flat and cook as well. Eventually, as months passed, my partying days stopped and I became something of … how do you say … a homebird?’

  Yet, day in, day out, he didn’t look happy. ‘I’m glad you don’t have to hide your true identity here.’

  ‘The whole Rossi family has been truly magnifico.’ He gave a small smile. ‘Although I don’t think Alfonso had met many gay men before me. It was my birthday, shortly after I told them, and he bought me a CD of Broadway musical soundtracks and a pair of rainbow socks.’

 
Mary smiled. ‘So, back to the point in hand. You need a doctor’s appointment, Rocco – if not for yourself, for everyone who cares about you, like me, the Rossis, Paola … pregnant Fortuna, and of course Angelo. Will you talk to him about it? At the most, you might just need a blood test.’

  Rocco looked away.

  ‘Just think about it?’ she said, more gently.

  A taxi pulled up and Rocco hurriedly got to his feet. ‘Please, Maria, don’t say anything to him.’

  The taxi door opened and a tall man got out. She could understand why Rocco had been bowled over. Angelo was tall. Sleek but somehow solid. His bright blue suit hung perfectly, accompanied by a crisp white shirt opened to reveal a tanned chest. His slicked-back hair boasted distinguished strands of grey and Mary thought he had make-love-to-me eyes.

  ‘You must be Maria – or rather, Audrey Hepburn,’ said a voice as smooth as his hair.

  ‘You’ve been talking to Gabriel,’ she said to Rocco, accusingly.

  Angelo came forward and kissed her hand. A whiff of musky aftershave flirted with the night air. He draped an arm around Rocco. ‘Stai bene?’ he asked, gently.

  ‘I’m okay.’ Rocco looked at Mary and nodded, before climbing into the back of the taxi. Angelo joined him. The taxi drove away.

  With a yawn, Mary locked up and was soon stretched out, in bed. She stared at the ceiling, following the shadows that danced to and fro, directed by trees outside in front of orange streetlight. She threw off the sheet, glad of the slight breeze coming through the window, and thought about Pizzeria Dolce Vita, her new home.

  Home. That wasn’t a word she’d used often. It held idealistic meaning for her. As a child she’d always imagined that real homes brimmed with comfort, warmth, and compassion. And finally, here in Italy, she’d got to live with a family who weren’t paid to look after her and that allowed Mary a genuine look at what she’d been missing.

  Sure enough, every interaction between the Rossis, whether it was a compliment or sharp word, at its root came from a place of love. However, as time progressed, she realised that her idea of what family life must be like wasn’t real. It got just as messy as any person’s in care. Take Natale’s unexpected pregnancy. The Rossis’ bereavement. Dante’s tragedy. And then there was Rocco who’d become part of their unit, because he’d been disowned by his parents.

  As Mary fought with the sheets for that perfect temperature, she understood that normal families, not just foster ones, had their problems. That meant that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t so different.

  She wished she’d grown up with her parents. Rocco wished his would accept him for who he was. Natale and Dante wished they still had a dad and a mum.

  With her own imperfect history, Mary was one of the crowd.

  Mary fitted.

  Mary Smith belonged.

  Chapter Twenty

  Even though he couldn’t see, Dante appeared to gaze at Mary across the empty flat. It was Friday evening, after another dance class. The sun had just begun its peach-tinged descent towards the horizon, looking like a reflection in water as it rippled behind the humidity haze.

  Yesterday Dante had signed the rental contract and this was her first look at the place. Alfonso hadn’t needed them back at the pizzeria. Occasionally the restaurant was hired out. The daughter of one of his oldest friends was celebrating her wedding. Dante and Enzo had prepared the buffet and the Sinatra-loving chef could heat up what needed to be warm without any help.

  Mary had caught sight of the trays of mouth-watering food and savoured the aroma of olives, parma ham, goat’s cheese, herby focaccia. As for the wedding cake, Natale had excelled. It consisted of four layers of soft yellow sponge cakes, each with a different fruit, cream, or chocolate filling, all of them soaked in rum.

  Mary had contributed by baking traditional Italian almond cookies, but also a batch of heart-shaped plum shortbread biscuits, which she decorated with pink icing and sprinkles. The evening would be a casual event, with families helping themselves, so minimal waiter service was required.

  Dante stood in the kitchen and she sat across the open-plan room, in the lounge area, on a small sofa. Oro snored at her feet. Dante shook his head.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘You.’ He smiled.

  ‘I can always go, if my company isn’t appreciated,’ she said and noisily stood up so that he could share the joke about her pretending to leave.

  ‘No. Per favore! I am just counting myself lucky. You prove yourself to be a good friend. Natale and Alfonso are still making last-ditch attempts to stop me moving out. They think it is subtle, commenting about the importance of family.’

  ‘But you’re a grown man. Isn’t that just a stereotype that Italian relatives live together, across generations?’

  Dante straightened up on one of the breakfast stools. ‘Si. Certainly nowadays – although restaurant businesses can be different if they’ve been built up.’ He shrugged. ‘But I need somewhere to breathe, away from those who don’t think I know they are constantly pushing in chairs and tidying the floor out of fear that I will fall over.’ His face dropped for a second. ‘I’ll miss everyone, of course I will, but it’s time to build a home of my own.’

  It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

  ‘And it means a lot,’ he said, ‘that you believe in me. Alessia, she once said …’

  ‘What?’ asked Mary, gently.

  ‘We’d argued. I was in a foul mood. I’d knocked over a glass of orange juice, tripped over a slipper, and then discovered I’d worn a shirt inside out all day. She hadn’t told me. So I accused her of not caring. Alessia replied that was because I was like an incapable child except that she hadn’t given birth to me so that maternal instinct was missing.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘She apologised immediately but I realised then, she no longer saw me as me.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Whereas you, Mary … you’ve always treated me like an equal. And I’m grateful. You’re a super, genuine person.’

  ‘I’ll just put the light on,’ she said, breezily, ‘it’s a bit dark in here, isn’t it? I mean—’

  ‘See? To you I’m not first and foremost a blind man. I’m just me.’

  It was true. Dante was Dante. Sensitive. Strong. Seductive. And pig-headed sometimes! Mary flicked on the light and squinted as the bare light bulb blazed. She turned it off again.

  ‘Too bright? Guess I’ll need to get a lampshade, for you visitors.’ He smiled. ‘Thank you for being here. I can tell from your voice that, like the others, you’ve got reservations about me moving out. But it isn’t because you don’t think I can manage and your response is: Okay. Take me to your flat. Let me help in any way I can.’

  ‘You forget – I’ve seen your room back at the pizzeria, still decorated from before you lost your sight. Brown walls, Dante? Really? So uninspiring! And those matching, brown-spotted curtains …’ she said, in a teasing voice. ‘As soon as I heard you were getting your own flat, I felt it my duty to step in, for the sake of Oro and any guests.’

  ‘Dogs are colour blind,’ he said smugly.

  ‘They can still see patterns! Come on, show me the rest of this place and I’ll draw up a list of exactly what you’re going to need.’

  ‘Shall we eat, first? I’ve suddenly realised how hungry I am.’

  On the way over they’d bought eggs, milk, and crusty white bread. Dante soon familiarised himself with the hob and whisked up a melt-in-the-mouth omelette. They talked about how hard Cheyenne was working them. Mary told him about the ballroom reality shows she watched. The sun set. Night fell. Mary kept the lights turned off. It made her feel closer to Dante and her senses heightened, eating in the dark.

  They sat on the sofa, afterwards, laughing at how cross Enzo had become with them last night. Yet another English customer had requested pineapple on their pizza, so Mary had persuaded Dante to keep a tin behind the hatch, for “special” orders. Enzo found out. It wasn’t a pretty sight
.

  Dante took his phone out of his trouser pocket and pressed a button on the bottom end.

  ‘Ten twenty-five p.m.,’ said an automated voice.

  He pulled a face. ‘I had no idea it was so late.’

  The later the better for Mary, as she was on a mission tonight. On this rare evening off she’d decided to make the journey over to Margherita Margherita. The owner would definitely be there on a Friday night. Mary would catch her when they were almost ready to close. Try talking to her. Explain that Dante wasn’t the monster she thought.

  A visit during the daytime would be impossible as you were always getting ready for the next shift – whereas at the end of the day, the only distraction was the lure of sleep. It would be Mary’s best chance, with the announcement of the Lombardi List only one and a half weeks away. Fair enough to compete, but this woman was spreading lies about food poisoning. What had Mary got to lose?

  ‘I’ll need to get off soon, anyway,’ she said. ‘I’m meeting a friend.’

  ‘Scusa, Mary! I didn’t mean to keep you. I … I forget that you might have a life outside of Pizzeria Dolce Vita,’ he said in a flatter voice.

  ‘No, it’s fine – she doesn’t finish until late. Come on – give me a tour.’

  Dante picked up his stick, which was leaning against the sofa, and navigated his way to the corridor that led from the open-plan kitchen and lounge, down to the rest of the flat. Mary stood up.

  ‘This is a cheerful, airy room,’ she said, before leaving the lounge area. ‘Lots of glass. Magnolia paintwork. Whitewashed walls.’ She walked over to the window and squinted. ‘Outside, here on the right, you look down on the prettiest courtyard, filled with shrubs. Plus there are a couple of wooden benches, if you want to sit out. And outside of this garden is the rest of the estate. White town houses. Close together. Narrow roads. Pavements dotted with occasional trees.’ She hoped her descriptions would fill in the gaps for him and at least give him an imaginary world, like a reader living through a book.

  Dante held out his hand and Mary walked towards him, on the way over finally turning on the light. He slipped his arm around Mary’s shoulder and pulled her close for a moment.