For a second, she contemplated crying off sick but she couldn’t let the team down. Saturday was the busiest day of the week. And it would only delay the inevitable – the mortifying experience of facing Dante. Telling her to stay away for her own good must have been a tactic – his way of saying that maybe he didn’t like her. Perhaps the kissing, for him, hadn’t been that great.
Mary peeled her hands away from her face and got up. She turned the handle of her room and pulled the door open. Dante’s was firmly closed. She exhaled. The aroma of coffee hit her nostrils, as she went down the stairs, and lifted her mood. As she sat down at the kitchen table her eyes swept over the plate of crusty croissants but she couldn’t face one bite.
Natale kissed Mary on both cheeks before pouring her a coffee, then headed off to pack Lucia’s rucksack with sun cream and water. Lucia gabbled about her day. She was going to the park with a friend and then shopping with Natale to buy shoes. Mary listened, smiled, and wiped a splodge of jam off the little girl’s chin. She also held on very, very tight for a moment when Lucia gave her a hug before running off to clean her teeth.
After two strong flat whites Mary went down into the restaurant. Rocco had arrived and was setting the tables. Enzo was listening to Dean Martin music and in time to it, hammering steak. She went outside for some fresh air. Gabriel waved from the distance. With a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, he set up his easels and chair for the day. Half-heartedly, Mary waved back and then cleared up the ashtrays from the night before.
‘How are you today,’ she asked Rocco, on going back in.
He nodded but didn’t reply.
‘Has Fortuna been for her usual scraps?’
‘No.’ He sighed. ‘I’m a little worried. She never misses breakfast. I’ve texted Angelo. Asked him once again about taking her on.’ Rocco took his phone out of his back pocket and glanced at it nervously.
Mary hoped Dante would remember to have a word with his friend about taking in the dog, over at the flats. At that moment he appeared, in a crisp white shirt and black trousers tight in all the right places. Mary plastered a smile on her face – not that he could see but it made her feel better – and picked up some cutlery, to help Rocco.
‘Mary?’ he said. ‘Is that you?’
‘Good morning, Dante,’ she said, politely, and banged into a table as she tried to walk past.
He reached out and managed to find her elbow. He held it firmly. ‘About last night …’
‘We both know where we stand, now,’ she said. ‘Thanks for your honesty.’
‘But I didn’t mean—’
‘Please,’ she said. ‘Really. I’m fine. Just a little embarrassed. Again. But lesson learnt, this time, so for my sake, let’s not discuss it.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Right. I’ll bake some biscuits after the morning rush. We’re running low. What do you reckon – raspberry and coconut cookies, or chocolate and ginger thins?’ How on earth did she manage those singsong tones?
‘Chocolate, I think,’ he eventually offered.
Mary continued towards the bar, to fetch some water glasses. At least he understood the game now. Last night never happened and wouldn’t be mentioned again. They both had their masks back on. Those masks so many people wear.
After the busy breakfast period, Mary baked her biscuits, whilst Dante prepared the mini pizzas that were still selling so well. Enzo even admitted that the Cupid’s Cuore Pizza broken heart pizza was the most popular dessert yet.
‘I can always tell which dishes are proving to be a hit,’ he said, ‘by which dishes the customers photograph. Thank you, Instagram!’
Rocco came to the hatch. ‘Just going to look for Fortuna,’ he mumbled, to no one in particular.
Mary left the kitchen and headed over to the waiter.
‘Everything okay? Have you made that doctor’s appointment?’
‘Look. I appreciate the interest, Maria, but please, leave it alone now. I will sort it out. This is my business.’
Mary felt as if she’d been slapped. First by Dante, now him. But she couldn’t stop worrying about Rocco. He didn’t find Fortuna and was really quiet when he returned. He kept looking at his phone, in between customers. Until, halfway through service, she heard his phone ping to announce that a text had arrived. When he read the message, his face lit up. When the last lunchtime customer left, he fetched his cycle helmet.
‘I’m heading back home for one hour. Alfonso said he can spare me.’
‘You know we have two big parties of people in tonight, Rocco, as well as the usual Saturday night trade?’ called Enzo from the kitchen.
‘I’ll be back on time.’ He glanced at Mary. ‘It is Angelo. He said he’s thought about Fortuna and has bought something he wants me to see.’ His lips upturned. ‘Maybe it is a dog bed and equipment to say that he’s changed his mind.’
‘Good luck,’ Mary said, stiffly, and carried her lunch – a couple of slices of pizza – over to a table in the corner. Rocco followed her and sat down.
‘I am sorry. About earlier today. I was a little abrupt. Just having a bad week. I appreciate your interest in my health. Truly.’
‘Really?’ she croaked. ‘I haven’t been too intrusive? It feels like I’m doing everything wrong at the moment.’
‘No. I’m grateful.’ After a quick kiss on her cheek, he hurried off.
She took out the amethyst crystal and stared at it for a second. Just eat your pizza and keep on keeping on. She bit into the luscious triangle and the flavours of delicate herbs fought for space on her tongue. Gooey yet crispy at the same time, doughy deliciousness hit all of Mary’s buttons that needed pressing. It offered comfort. A feeling of fullness, when before she’d felt as empty as a wallflower’s dance card.
The afternoon passed in a steady manner for the weekend. A busker and mime artist both lifted Mary’s spirits. They worked their way around the piazza, performing in front of each restaurant. How she admired them. Following their dreams. Daring to be different.
But perhaps, like her, it wasn’t a matter of being courageous. Her neighbour back in Hackney, the twins’ mum, had said that Mary was so brave, going to Italy. Mary didn’t see it like that. Moving abroad, right then, had seemed like the only option. Perhaps that was the same for these street performers.
After a couple of hours of serving coffees and biscuits, Mary glanced at her watch.
‘Rocco not back yet?’ said Alfonso, as he put the finishing touches to two large tables inside, one for a works’ do, the other a twenty-first birthday.
‘No. Not like him to be late,’ she said.
Alfonso put down the wine glass he’d just polished, and fiddled with the end of his moustache. He hitched up his trousers, which had sunk below his pasta-fed waist. ‘I hope he isn’t much longer. I’m going to be busy playing host in here, and won’t be out front much.’
‘Where’s Natale?’
‘Just bathing Lucia. Soil and grass stains everywhere!’
‘Don’t worry. We’ll manage, somehow,’ she said.
‘You’re a good girl.’ He shot her a grateful smile.
Mary smiled back, but her chest didn’t glow as usual. She wasn’t part of this family. Never would be. Dante had made that clear. And he was right to do so. The last thing she wanted was to be the cuckoo in the nest. Alfonso caught her eye and jerked his head towards the canopy. The first couple of the evening had arrived and were waiting to be seated.
Mary loved the woman’s silky floral dress. It was unusual for customers to dress up. Most were dusty tourists who stumbled in exhausted, after a day traipsing around the awe-inspiring Vatican or far-reaching Roman Forum. She showed them to a table for two at the front. Mary had learnt all the tricks by now. At the start of the evening, seat customers where they can be seen, to make the restaurant look busier than it is. Then, as the evening progressed, seat families with small children towards the back as they might put off some diners.
She took their drinks order and as she made her
way to the mahogany bar Rocco hurried passed. Well kind of. He was limping. Out of breath. Perspiring in the face. And he seemed to have difficulty talking off his cycling helmet. Plus he avoided eye contact. In fact he avoided contact all evening. He flinched carrying trays and even frightened off a couple of tourists by snapping when they asked for the gluten-free options.
Mary had never seen him quite so irritable but couldn’t speak to Dante about it. Alfonso was far too busy and Natale had had to go upstairs as the child monitor revealed that Lucia was still awake and playing with her toys.
When the evening finally quietened, Rocco went missing – perhaps to look for Fortuna again. Mary wasn’t sure. It just wasn’t like him. He took pride in always being the last tidying up, even though Alfonso told him he put in too many extra hours. She was just about to go looking for the dog, herself, when she noticed a customer who’d sat down at the front. Mary went over.
‘Margherita?’
The competitor shrugged. ‘Just thought I would return your visit. A cappuccino please.’
Mary fetched her drink and went to sit down but Margherita waved her away.
‘It’s okay. I didn’t come to chat.’ She gazed over Mary’s shoulder, towards Dante behind the hatch.
Too worried about Rocco to argue, Mary collected up the salt cellars – half needed refilling. She’d do that before hunting for Fortuna. She headed into the pantry. It was to the right of the hatch and accessible from the dining area as well as the kitchen out the back. Mary pushed open the door and walked to the far end of it where the dried foods and spices were kept and caught her breath. What was that on the floor, in the darkness? She flicked on the light and her stomach twisted.
‘Rocco?’ she murmured. He sat on the ground, body bent over, hands over his head, Harry Potter glasses lying beside his legs. She crouched down and slipped an arm across his shoulders.
‘Ow!’ he said and moved away.
Only then did she notice specks of blood through his white shirt. The collar poked backwards, away from his head and left a space. She gazed down it and her eyes widened as on his back, she saw the biggest bruise ever. A sob escaped his lips.
‘Turn out that light!’ he gulped.
Mary’s hands formed fists as suddenly everything made sense.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mary turned off the light and slumped to the ground next to him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
In the dim light, Rocco covered his eyes again. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You don’t need to see a doctor, do you?’ she said, gently. ‘At least not for the reasons I thought.’
‘Leave it. Please.’
‘Why, Rocco? I thought you and Angelo were happy together.’ Her lips pursed. ‘How long has he been doing this to you?’
Eyes puffy and red, he looked up. ‘How dare you suggest that …’
He couldn’t even say the words. Perhaps admitting it, to her, would mean admitting it to himself.
She held his hand. ‘You can trust me. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. Just tell me about it. How long has this been going on?’ He stared at her. ‘Come here,’ she said and wrapped him in her arms.
For a moment he said nothing and then his shoulders started to shudder. Mary held him firmly as his body jerked with emotion.
‘We’ll sort this out,’ she said, voice thick. ‘You’re safe now.’ Mary reached into her apron and pulled out a tissue. Rocco blew his nose and they sat facing each other.
‘It’s all such a mess. I should never have asked Angelo about the dog.’
‘But you thought he might have changed his mind. What did he have to show you this afternoon?’
‘A new trouser press. He shouted. Said maybe it would make me understand how much he liked to look smart. That he’d never agree to having some hairy animal in our home – especially a flea-bitten stray. His words, not mine.’
‘Is his appearance really that important to him?’
‘Yes. His whole image. Everyone is always telling him how great he looks. He thrives on the attention.’
‘Dante said that you used to dress more like him.’
‘I know … I’ve changed a lot.’
‘I’m not saying it as criticism,’ she added quickly. ‘But does that indicate that you and Angelo have grown apart?’
‘No! I love fashion, music, everything he does and when we first met everyone used to say we were such a good match – even though I was always the quieter one.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I used to call him my angel.’
‘What changed?’
‘Angelo wanted me to tell my parents. We’d been living together for three years when he absolutely insisted. He felt it was a slight that I hadn’t and had always kept badgering me – asking if I was ashamed. I’d tried explaining what they were like but he threatened to leave. So as you know, I told them two years ago. I decided Angelo was right and that I couldn’t – shouldn’t have to – keep living a lie. They disowned me and looking back …’ he swallowed ‘… I think Angelo partly knew that would happen and did it to make me even more dependent on him.’
‘How so?’
Rocco blew his nose again. ‘I shouldn’t be burdening you with all this,’ he mumbled and stared at the floor.
‘Hey! Stop that! Look at me.’
He raised his head. Mary got up and switched on the light. She sat back down. ‘If it makes you feel more comfortable, do you want me to share something really embarrassing?’
She told him about her and Dante. By the end she found it difficult to speak. ‘I sat on his lap, Rocco. Threw myself at him.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. It doesn’t sound like that to me.’
‘But, you see, relationships get complicated for all of us. I can’t pretend to know what you’ve been through, but often we blame ourselves when perhaps we shouldn’t.’
Rocco’s eyes glistened.
‘What do you mean about Angelo wanting you to be dependent on him?’
‘A few weeks after we started dating, I noticed he got very jealous if another man talked to me or paid me a compliment. At first I was flattered by his possessiveness. So during the first year of living together I started dressing more conservatively. He liked it and I was so in love by then, I’d do anything to keep him happy – to keep him.’ Rocco bit his lip. ‘Angelo didn’t like my friends and slowly I stopped seeing them.’
‘And at the beginning you changed your job – gave up your career in hotel management … was that his idea?’ Becoming a homebird was fine – as long as you could still spread your wings.
‘It made such good sense at the time, but looking back …’ A tear trickled down his face. ‘Eventually the violence started, if he thought I wasn’t looking after him – or respecting him – as he, the main breadwinner, deserved. Things were great for the first couple of years but the signs were there – bad arguments where he’d throw things around. Snide, hurtful comments putting me down. Slammed doors. I just ignored them. I hoped I was wrong and that the underlying tension between us would resolve itself.’
‘You must have felt so lonely.’
‘I don’t think I’d have got through it without the Rossi family.’
‘Why didn’t you report him?’
His voice shook. ‘I did. Just once. After Angelo cracked two of my ribs. A nurse at the hospital guessed what was happening. I begged her not to say anything. She persuaded me to ring the police.’ He gave a sob. ‘The sergeant laughed. Said I was a man. That I should just fight back. Asked what was wrong with me.’
‘What?’
Rocco met her gaze. ‘Domestic violence between gay men … there’s not much understanding. I’ve gone on websites that offer support, anonymously and I’m not alone. And I get why people don’t understand. It’s humiliating. That policeman was right. I’m a man just like Angelo – why can’t I fight back?’
‘Gender doesn’t matter! He’s abusing you – and manipulating you mentally. Of
course you aren’t on an equal footing …’ Anger burnt through Mary’s chest, at the thought that someone could have stopped all this, months ago, if they weren’t so ignorant.
‘But what about the old friends you are still in touch with? Couldn’t they offer support?’
‘I couldn’t say anything. You see … Angelo … he’s threatened to out me publicly – said he’d accidentally reveal it to all the staff here and tell my sister.’
Words failed her.
Rocco wrung his hands. ‘He’s not really a bad person, Maria. He just had an unfortunate start. Angelo spoke once of how his dad treated his mum and put her down the whole time. She stayed with him for years. He also bullied Angelo who was overweight as a child.’ He gave a big sigh. ‘You’d think being through that would make him the opposite to his father, yet he’s turned out just the same.’
‘Don’t ever make excuses for him, Rocco. Lots of people have a bad start in life – they don’t deal with it by beating people up.’
‘You aren’t saying anything I haven’t said a million times to myself.’
‘Right.’ She cleared her throat. ‘We need to sort this.’ Just one word came into her head – despite recent events. Dante.
‘Maria. You promised, remember, you wouldn’t do anything I wasn’t happy with.’ Beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead.
‘And I meant that.’ She took both his hands. ‘Do you trust me?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
‘Dante, Rocco. Dante will know what to do. You know that. He is calm. Strong. He has his policing experience.’
Rocco gulped. ‘He will think me so weak. Such a coward. That I can’t stand up to another man. I will lose any respect he has for me.’
‘No, you won’t,’ she said, firmly. ‘And Angelo is not just another man. He is your partner. Your lover. That makes things a hundred times more complicated. Just look at your bruises. You know this cannot continue.’
He stared at her. Let go of her hands. Put on his glasses.
One Summer in Rome Page 18
