by Helen Mcginn
It had started with cappuccino on the guesthouse terrace, surrounded by pink-tiled rooftops and glimpses of freshly washed sheets billowing gently on washing lines strung between windows like spaghetti. She’d met Patrick in front of the fountain in the piazza below and together they’d set off towards the Aventine Hill. According to Antonio, this was the place to go for the best views across the city. The idea was to find the perfect spot to scatter their friend’s ashes but they’d decided, over dinner the night before, that a recce was in order to give them a chance to find the right place and return there when it was less crowded.
Their first evening together after all those years had been all about filling in the gaps, talking about their lives, marriages – Julia’s three had taken less time to explain than Patrick’s one – and their children. But the following morning was spent very much in the present. As they headed away from Trastevere, crossing the Tiber by the Ponte Palatino, the noise of the busy city enveloped them. Then, as the hill approached, the traffic fell quiet and the crowds on the pavements thinned out. Up ahead stood a large church with enormous Y-shaped stone pine trees lined up on either side.
‘That’s it; that’s where we’re heading.’ Patrick gestured up ahead. He took hold of the camera around his neck, a Leica. Years of working as a war photographer had left him completely incapable of going anywhere without a camera. He quickly lifted it and pointed it in the direction of the church.
They left the main road and the tourists on Segways and walked through a huge green door in the wall, stepping into the most beautiful garden full of orange trees. They passed a stone bath filled with fountain water trickling in from a comical carved face in the wall. The heat from the sun was warm but not yet hot enough to make them sticky, the sky clear blue and the scent of citrus hung heavy in the air.
‘It feels like we’ve got Rome to ourselves for a moment.’ Julia looked around at the high walls of the church beyond, the wistful stone figures that stood gazing not at her, but towards the sky.
‘It really does. But not for long. I think we might find a crowd around the next corner but hopefully we’re here early enough for it not to be too busy. I think you are going to like this view.’ Patrick led the way, Julia following close behind as they crossed the garden and turned the corner. There, before them, lay the city. From here, Julia could see across the Tiber all the way to the unmistakable dome of St Peter’s Basilica. The hum of the city lay far below; the only sounds to contend with, the backdrop of gentle conversations between other tourists as they too took in the view. Or rather, tried to. Julia didn’t quite know where to start: the domes that dotted the line between city and sky; the imposing hills that lay behind and the beautiful combination of sun-washed oranges, off-whites, yellows and pinks of the buildings below. It looked so peaceful. Yet she’d been walking among the life that buzzed on the roads and pavements below only moments before. It didn’t seem possible from here.
‘What do you think? Worth the wait?’ Patrick looked at Julia.
Julie sighed. ‘Definitely worth the wait; I just can’t believe it took me so long to come to Rome.’ She stood, still as one of the nearby statues, drinking in the view, committing it to memory.
‘Come on, let’s take a look inside the Basilica before we go and find something to eat.’
Their walk back into the city took them down towards the vast open space of the Circus Maximus, where the path was dry and dusty underfoot. On they went through the paths of the Roman Forum, marvelling at the ruins that lay before them; so ancient yet so solid. They passed around the Colosseum, deciding to admire the imposing, sun-drenched arches from the outside rather than join the snaking queue of people waiting to catch a glimpse of the ruins inside. Turning north, they were relieved to find shade in the small cobbled streets ahead where the hum of traffic fell quiet.
Spotting a small taverna, they settled at a table covered with a simple white cloth and a single set of cutlery at each place.
‘Buon giorno!’ A short, bald man with steel-framed glasses and smiling eyes greeted them. ‘Please, I’ll get you a menu. But first, wine. I bring you a glass of something to refresh you both.’
‘Thank you, and some water too, please.’ Julia hung her scarf on the back of the chair.
Patrick stretched out his long legs to one side of the table and picked up the menu. A young waitress – the owner’s daughter, Julia thought, glancing at her features – put a small basket of herb-flecked bread on the table. The smell of fresh rosemary and sage filled the air. The man reappeared with a small silver tray and two glasses of orange-coloured sparkling wine, so bright they looked as if they had fairy lights in the ice cubes.
‘Thank you! They look beautiful!’ cried Julia.
‘Prego. Now, today’s specials, I must tell you. We have tonnarelli cacio e pepe, is like thin spaghetti with green olive oil, black pepper and pecorino. And before that, if you want, we have some fresh burrata with tomatoes.’
‘Well, I don’t know about you but that sounds completely perfect.’
‘Absolutely.’ Julia smiled at him. ‘Thank you, signore.’
‘Is a pleasure. Now, I leave to enjoy.’
‘Cheers, Patrick.’ Julia raised her glass.
‘To you.’ For a moment, he looked serious. ‘Thank you for coming. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you did.’
‘So am I, Patrick. So am I.’
Walking off lunch, gelato in hand, they stopped to look in the windows of tiny shops filled with curiosities, beautifully crafted jewellery and towering piles of second-hand books. Now well into the afternoon, the heat was starting to ease but the light was still dazzling. As they rounded a corner, the magnificent dome of the Pantheon came into view, making everything around it look like small toy buildings.
‘We’re a day early. We’d said tomorrow. To meet here, I mean.’ Patrick picked up his camera and pointed it seemingly carelessly towards the centerpiece in front of them.
‘Well, there’s no point in wasting time at our age, is there?’ Julia grinned and headed towards the huge doors, draping her purple scarf around her shoulders as she went.
Once inside, they stood side by side, looking around them, above them, in easy companionable silence. Sunlight streamed through the oculus above, throwing a perfect, giant golden ball of light against the wall inside. The air was cool and calm; the atmosphere matched it.
‘Someone once told me that when the rain pours through there,’ Julia motioned to the hole in the roof above them, ‘it comes down and scatters raindrops across the floor like a million marbles.’
Patrick looked at her. ‘That was me. Back when we talked about coming to Rome.’ They spoke in soft whispers as people wandered around them, eyes drawn to the roof above.
Julia smiled. ‘I know you did. I just wanted to see if you’d remember, too.’
‘How could I not?’ Patrick smiled and Julia took in the already familiar lines around his eyes.
‘Patrick, I think I’d like to talk about that now.’
‘Are you sure? I mean, I want to, too. But I’m just as happy leaving it where it is, if you’d prefer.’
‘Yes, I’m absolutely sure. Also, coffee.’ Julia took Patrick’s hand in hers and together they walked out into the sunshine and back into the narrow streets.
The smell of roasting coffee hit them before they’d even stepped through the door. A long, dark wooden bar ran the length of the small room and a partition hid the waiters from view as they worked the gleaming silver coffee machines along the back wall. They appeared from one end, one after the other, with trays and saucers held high. Patrick ordered two grandi caffè and they waited in a small booth at one end, perched on burgundy velvet-covered banquette seats. No sooner had they settled in, than the coffee was on the table. Each one came with a small exquisitely wrapped sweet in gold tissue paper, tied with a thin ribbon on the side of the saucer.
‘Even these are beautifully done. I mean, they could just come wrapped in
clear plastic but really, for them it’s as much about how it looks as how it tastes,’ mused Julia.
‘Exactly. Form and function.’ Patrick placed his sweet on Julia’s saucer.
‘Patrick, I know we’ve talked about our families, filled in the gaps.’ Julia took a breath, met his gaze. ‘I feel like we both had the lives we were meant to have, given that we couldn’t have one together.’
‘I know. Your daughters sound like wonderful people. You seem as happy and strong as you ever were.’ Patrick raised his cup; put it back down. ‘But if there is one regret I’ve had in life, it’s not doing everything I could to make it possible for us to have stayed together. To have challenged those who said we couldn’t.’
‘Me, too.’ Julia twisted the ends of the sweet in her hands, admiring the way the paper glinted in the late afternoon sun. ‘But regrets at our time of life are a waste of time. And energy. I’m so grateful for all that I have. And the fact that you’ve come back into my life now seems like it was always going to happen, even if I never dared imagine it would.’
Both were silent for a moment. The sound of empty cups hitting saucers on the bar as busy Romans drained their cups, shouting their greetings and goodbyes was all they could hear.
Patrick spoke softly. ‘We were so young. But we were so sure. I hate that it ended like it did. Forced apart. Forced to do something we didn’t want to do.’
‘I know, but how could it have been any other way? We had nothing – and nowhere – to go to. We would have been helpless.’
‘It still makes me angry thinking about it now.’ Patrick drained his cup, adding his own sound of cup on saucer to the chorus.
‘Patrick, honestly, we have to let that go. We have to remember what we had, when it was good. Not be cross for the things that were beyond our control. Doing that is the only way to live the rest of our lives and enjoy it, as we deserve to. You can’t change the past.’
‘When did you get so wise?’ Patrick’s blue eyes fell on her, a gentle smile on his lips.
‘I surprise myself sometimes.’ Julia laughed, raising her coffee to her mouth, letting the bittersweet aroma fill her nose before she sipped. ‘Look, all I know is that I spent years wondering “what if” before realising that the more I did that, the less I could fully enjoy the life that I had. My girls, my husbands – even the bad ones had their good points. Anyway, feeling angry is exhausting. So I decided to let it go. I think you should, too.’
‘But what if…’
‘Don’t. Just don’t think about it. That belongs in the past. We have our lives now and I for one am determined to make the most of it. So, how about we go and find the hidden Caravaggio tomorrow?’ Julia popped a chocolate-covered coffee bean into her mouth.
‘You don’t forget a thing, do you?’ Patrick laughed.
‘I think you’ll find, if you remember correctly, that it was me that told you about that.’
‘So you did.’
Jess had woken early to the sound of church bells, thankfully muffled by the functional double-glazed windows of the Mellini. The Negronis and cherry-scented red wine that followed had left her helpless in the face of tiramisu, which they feasted on after plates of coscio di agnello in a busy, bustling restaurant tucked away behind the Spanish Steps. She glanced at the hotel clock radio on the table beside the bed. The angry red numbers stared back at her: 05:03. Why could she never sleep in properly? She lifted the mascara-streaked pillow up and over her head, rolling onto her other side, cocooning herself in the thick duvet as she did. Finding the coolness she craved, she sighed and tried to find sleep again, at least for a few moments.
Down the hall Annie lay in bed, eye mask in place, snoring lightly. A few hours later than Jess, she woke to the sound of her mobile phone telling her there was a message. It was from James. She lifted the eye mask and squinted at the phone. The room was dark; the blackout blinds doing their job admirably against the breaking day.
Hope having a lovely time. All good here boys fed and dressed. Mum doing school run. I miss you.
Annie took the eye mask off with one hand and put the phone down, propping herself up on the pillows before texting back.
All good, Rome amazing! Dinner delicious, Jess on great form. Miss you all so much too. No sign of Mum. Give boys a big kiss from me xx
Next, she texted Jess.
Oi! Are you awake?
* * *
Yes, have been for bloody hours.
* * *
Breakfast in half an hour?
* * *
Roman breakfast for me.
* * *
What’s that? Sounds delicious.
* * *
Coffee and a cigarette. Well, an e-cigarette.
* * *
Oh. I want coffee and pastries.
* * *
Let’s skip the buffet here. Meet you in the lobby in half an hour.
* * *
Fab, see you in a bit.
Annie threw on the thick white towelling robe and headed for the storm shower. The Mellini, she thought, had its upsides. Half an hour later, she walked into the lobby dressed in her usual get-up – jeans, slightly shoddy white T-shirt, scruffy trainers. Jess swept in a few moments behind, similarly dressed but one look and Annie knew that everything Jess wore cost at least a few hundred pounds more than hers. The trainers were box-fresh designer ones compared with Annie’s beaten-up versions. The crisp white T-shirt hung loosely, as only an expensive cotton-linen mix can, and a black blazer sat across Jess’s angular shoulders. The sunglasses were enormous, adding a glamorous edge. Annie made a mental note to invest in bigger sunglasses next time she was replacing hers.
‘Right, shall we go and find proper caffeine?’ Jess led the way towards the hotel door.
‘Good plan.’ Annie followed.
They headed out along the anonymous, wide street and turned the corner back towards the Tiber, taking the bridge across as they’d done the night before. But instead of walking on towards the bar they headed south through narrow streets, now filled with carts of vegetables, fruit and flowers making their way, like the sisters, towards the Campo de’ Fiori.
‘You promised me a Roman breakfast.’ Annie struggled to keep up with her sister, who was by now striding ahead, sunglasses firmly fixed on her face.
‘It’s just up here, I promise.’ Jess had read about a little coffee place on the corner of a street leading to the square named after the hat makers who used to have workshops here. ‘There, Via dei Cappellari.’ They walked along the cobbled street, buildings on either side the colour of marzipan. Bars covered the big windows and peeling paint and plaster added an air of faded glamour to the enormous doorways. Motorini lined the street on one side and, this hour being too early for most tourists, Jess and Annie felt let in on the city’s secrets. A woman in an apron made pasta in an open doorway, the light catching the flour and the spray of olive oil in the air as she tossed it up and then down onto a cold, flat surface. As they drew nearer to the square, the noise of people and movement grew louder. They dashed into a café on the corner and made their way through the small crowd towards the counter.
‘Due caffè, per favore,’ called Jess, across the bar to the old man sitting behind an enormous gleaming silver cash register. She handed the money over. He took it, unsmiling and gestured for her to move down the bar.
‘What about food? I’m starving!’ cried Annie.
‘Have this coffee and then we’ll find something to eat. Promise.’
The coffees came, steaming hot and ever so slightly sweetened, in tiny cups on saucers. They both jostled for some elbow room at the bar, locals either side of them. Annie looked around, enjoying the noise, the smell of the place. Jess’s glasses remained firmly in place.
‘Those Negronis were quite strong last night.’ Jess took a sip of her coffee. ‘God, that’s better. Right, food.’
Annie took a long sniff of her coffee. ‘Got a text from James this morning: all good. So strange to think that
life goes on when you’re not there.’
‘It’ll do them no harm to manage without you for once. Enjoy it!’
‘Don’t you worry, I plan to.’ And with that, Annie drained her coffee cup in one go.
Leaving money tucked under the saucer, they left the café and crossed the square, passing stalls heaving with wooden crates filled with sun-ripened courgettes and salad leaves, ripe purple artichokes and dark, wrinkled cavolo nero. Rows of flowers, boxes of tomatoes and piles of melons fought for space, just as the cries of the sellers behind them fought for air time.
Just then, Annie caught a whiff of freshly baked bread hanging in the air. The scent took her to the door of a small bakery at the side of the square. A queue of locals outside was enough to make her join it, seeing that what this place sold was worth queuing for. Before long she had, in a small brown paper bag, a couple of cream-filled cornetti, little Italian pastries. Once back out in the square, Annie perched on a stone step and, taking her cornetto from the bag, took a good look before biting into it, crumbs falling onto her lap.
Jess sat beside her and took the bag, helping herself to the other one. ‘I wonder what this guy Bruno did.’
‘Who the hell is Bruno?’ Annie still had a mouthful. ‘Hang on, before you bite into yours, I need to take a picture. It’s not every day I get to Instagram my breakfast from Rome.’ She held the remaining half of her cornetto in her mouth and reached for her phone from her back pocket.
‘The guy behind you, eyeing up your breakfast.’
Annie turned and looked to see a formidable bronze figure on top of the stone plinth. ‘He looks lost in thought.’
