This Changes Everything

by Helen Mcginn

  ‘He looks hungry to me. I don’t know how you have time for that stuff.’ Jess gestured towards Annie’s phone.

  ‘Try being stuck at home with two boys. Then you’d understand.’

  The sisters soaked up the scene before them as they demolished their pastries, listening to the cheerful shouts and calls of the locals, feasting their eyes on the rich colours of produce and flowers. ‘It’s like watching the most brilliant play,’ Annie mused.

  ‘Last time I went to the theatre, I fell asleep. This is much better.’

  ‘So, what’s the plan? I mean we’ve lost our only lead now that we’ve all moved hotel.’

  ‘Well, let’s just see how it goes. We might not even find her. Fun, isn’t it?’ Jess grinned at her sister. ‘Come on, where do you fancy going? Let’s do some cultural stuff before the shops open.’

  ‘Can’t believe you’re even thinking about clothes shopping when we’re surrounded by some of the greatest art in the world! Seriously, I think we should head for the Forum, then to the Colosseum, then up to the Villa Borghese via the Trevi Fountain. I have a whole route mapped, here on my phone.’ Annie stood up, brushed the crumbs from her clothes and hitched her bag onto her shoulder. ‘Come on, time to go.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ Jess grabbed Annie’s proffered hand and glanced up at Bruno before turning and heading back across the square, her arm looped gently through her sister’s as they headed back into the maze of the Centro Storico.

  ‘What an extraordinary creation.’ Julia stood in front of a statue in a museum in the grounds of the Villa Borghese. They’d made their way here to escape from the heat of the late morning sun. It showed the figure of a young man and woman in a seemingly tragic not-quite embrace.

  ‘It’s Apollo and Daphne. He loved her but she was destined to return to the earth at his touch. Well, turn into a laurel tree, at least.’ Patrick looked up at Daphne’s face.

  ‘It looks like they’re actually moving,’ Julia whispered as she moved around the statue, taking in its detailed form. ‘Look, her skin is turning to bark. Her feet are growing roots! Poor thing, she looks terrified.’

  ‘Well, you would be, wouldn’t you? Apollo is after you and you’re repulsed, thanks to Eros playing dirty tricks. Daphne’s father intervened and turned her into a tree. Not the happiest story.’ Patrick spoke gently, his eyes now fixed on Apollo’s outstretched hand.

  ‘But to get such movement from stone… I mean, look at their faces. So sad… and those laurel leaves. To do that with a chunk of marble is just…’ Julia shook her head gently as she, too, gazed at Daphne.

  They continued wandering the rooms of the museum, feasting their eyes on the rich colours and forms of paintings of Titian, Rubens and Raphael, which hung on marble walls at every turn. They stopped to admire Bernini’s David, showing him poised to fire his slingshot at Goliath, his face epitomising intent.

  ‘I feel like I don’t even want to stand in front of this one. I mean, that rock looks like it’s actually going to ping out and hit me any second.’ Julia moved to the side of David, pulling her scarf around her shoulders as she did. The stone-cooled temperature inside the museum was in stark contrast to the skin-prickling heat outside.

  Patrick reached for his Leica, taking a quick snap of David and Julia as she passed. The sound of the click pleased him, even after all these years. ‘How about we go and find something to eat? All that walking’s made me hungry.’

  ‘I can’t quite believe I’m saying this but I’m actually hungry again, too.’

  ‘There’s a great little place just round the corner from here. We should be early enough to get a good table outside, in the shade.’

  ‘Perfect.’ Julia took one last look at David from the side, his body twisted so that it seemed to fill the grey-flecked white marble stone with energy, before turning and heading for the door, Patrick a step behind.

  ‘Not going to Instagram this one?’ Jess elbowed her sister gently in the ribs.

  They were perched side by side on a white stone ledge, while water frothed from the mouths of carved galloping horses behind them, tumbling with a thunderous roar into the pool below. They’d left the cool of the narrow side streets, turning a corner to find the Trevi Fountain nestling in a small square. Groups of tourists came and went in quick succession, standing momentarily before taking selfies, most of them adding peace signs and pouts as they pointed their iPhones.

  ‘No, of course not! This is something you’ve just got to look at. Enjoy it. And try to commit it to memory. Not that I can remember what I came into the room for half the time nowadays.’ Annie gazed at the gleaming white stone stallions. The soft salmon-coloured walls of the surrounding buildings stood in stark contrast to the white stone palazzo, a suitably dramatic backdrop to the fountain.

  ‘Where does all this water come from?’ Jess trailed her fingers in the pleasingly cold, pale blue water of the fountain.

  ‘Aquaducts. The city is built on them. There’s a whole network of them running underneath.’

  ‘How do you know this stuff?’

  ‘I’d love to say it’s my old art history coming back to me but actually I saw it in a documentary ages ago. There are sinkholes everywhere, too.’

  ‘That explains the Locarna hotel, maybe.’

  ‘Exactly! That’s what I thought. Not that it seemed like the best time to bring it up.’

  ‘So where to next? And can we stop for a drink?’ Jess took a surreptitious drag on her e-cig, the thick vapour hanging in the air with no wind to shift it. Annie clocked a group of tourists with selfie sticks drift away. Jess was oblivious.

  ‘Not before we’ve thrown a coin in the fountain. And made a wish. I know what I’m going to wish for.’ Annie rummaged in her bag, hoping to find some small change among the detritus that sat in the bottom. ‘Obviously I can’t tell you otherwise it won’t come true.’ The look on her face told Jess she was being absolutely serious.

  ‘I love that you actually believe that.’

  Annie tossed a coin over her shoulder, into the fountain, wishing for her sister’s happiness as she did so.

  They wandered north along small streets, grateful for the shade of the buildings. Even the narrowest street was lined either side with mopeds, small cars and tiny vans squeezed in wherever space allowed. They crossed the Via Condotti, lined with its boutiques, designer names above the doors glinting gold in the sun, glimpsing the Spanish Steps set back at one end as they did. The sight of the crowds spurred them back into the narrow streets and as they turned a corner, Jess walked slap-bang into the back of a tall man with a mop of dark hair.

  ‘Scusi!’ He turned quickly, reaching out to steady her with – she couldn’t help but notice – a rather beautifully tanned forearm.

  ‘Oh God, sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was… oh God!’ Jess’s breath caught in her throat. ‘You look… like someone I know. Used to know,’ Jess corrected herself quickly.

  ‘What’s with the queue?’ Annie gestured to the snake of people standing in front of him.

  The stranger smiled. ‘Ah, this is for the best takeaway in Rome. But it’s a secret! The best pasta you will have from a plastic bowl,’ he smiled and tapped his nose, ‘so don’t tell anyone I’ve told you about it.’

  ‘Secret’s safe with us.’ Jess winked.

  ‘So what do you recommend?’ Annie was trying her best to peer ahead to see what people had in their bowls.

  ‘Well, that’s easy. There are only two dishes to choose from. But we won’t know until we’re at the counter.’ He whispered, so as to not blow their cover in the queue.

  Annie could hear the conversations among the young Romani in front of them, animated with words tumbling out over each other. The dress code was clearly smart-casual with the men in white linen shirts casually rolled up to the elbow. The women looked effortlessly stylish, like something out of one of the catalogues that landed on her doorstep from time to time, where everything looked relaxed but clearly well-cut.
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  ‘So, are you here on holiday?’ The stranger fixed Jess with his dark brown eyes.

  ‘Yes, we are. Well, we’re looking for our mother. Actually, only sort of looking for her. She’s here with a friend.’ Jess lifted her sunglasses and perched them on her head, sweeping back her caramel hair as she did so.

  ‘She lives here?’

  ‘No, she’s on holiday, too.’

  ‘But you didn’t come together?’ The stranger was understandably confused.

  ‘No, she came with a friend. And we just wanted to check she’s OK. But we haven’t found her yet.’

  ‘I’m not surprised! There are three million people living here!’ His eyes sparkled with amusement.

  ‘I know it sounds ridiculous but, to be honest, I fancied a break and… oh, sorry, this is my sister, Annie…’

  ‘Hi.’ Annie raised her hand in greeting before craning her neck to peer into the next passing bowl.

  ‘Ciao, Annie.’ He returned the gesture. ‘So, how are you going to find her?’

  ‘Well, there are only so many places a tourist goes when they’re here for a few days. Hopefully our paths will cross at some point,’ said Jess, vaguely.

  ‘Why don’t you just call her?’

  ‘We don’t want to spook her. Just be here in case, you know, she needs us.’ As she said it, Jess realised quite how ridiculous the whole thing sounded.

  ‘The thing is, our mother gets married quite a lot – three times and counting – and, well, it’s getting a bit tiring. That’s why we’re here. Because if she calls us to say she’s getting married again, at least this time we might be here to witness it.’ Not once did Annie take her gaze from the front of the queue whilst delivering her explanation.

  ‘Well, yes, I guess that covers it.’ Jess shrugged her shoulders at the now laughing stranger.

  ‘Ha perfettamente senso! Seriously, it’s not too crazy. Not in this city, anyway. And it means you get to eat lunch from here, something you won’t ever forget.’

  ‘Exactly! I’m actually going to pass out, the smell is so good,’ Annie said.

  Soon they were at the front of the queue, inside the small shop front where a family – they had to be family, thought Annie, with their matching features among five faces of different ages – moved around behind a glass-fronted counter at great speed, somehow managing to avoid crashing into each other in such a tiny space. Behind the counter sat two enormous silver trays filled with pasta.

  Annie squinted at the menu, chalked up on a blackboard behind the whirling men. ‘What do you recommend?’

  ‘So, you have either gnocchi with tomato and sausage sauce or fettucine with funghi porcini. Mushrooms.’

  ‘Fettucine for me, definitely.’ Annie inhaled deeply, savouring the smells and sounds of the shop.

  ‘Gnocchi for me.’ Jess reached for her bag.

  ‘No, let me get these for you, please.’

  ‘You can’t do that! We don’t know you!’ protested Jess.

  ‘No, no, honestly, that’s very kind but we really can…’ added Annie.

  ‘Look, it’s four euros a bowl. I’d like to. Then I am part of your Roman holiday, whatever happens with your mother!’

  ‘Well, that’s really kind of you. Completely unnecessary but really kind, thank you.’ Jess moved to one side to let another customer out and seconds later had a bowl of warm pasta in her hands, along with a napkin and a fork.

  As they left the shop, the sisters once again thanked their new friend as he took off back round the corner, waving and wishing them luck as he went.

  ‘How do you do that, Jess?’ Annie mused as they watched him go.

  ‘Do what?’ Jess replied, with a shrug of her shoulders. They headed to find somewhere to eat, the small tables outside the shop already taken.

  ‘Get men to buy you lunch after a sentence.’ The pungent, earthy smell of mushrooms seeped from the sides of the sealed bowl in Annie’s hand.

  ‘I didn’t! I think it was you telling him what we’re doing here that did it. Whatever, I can’t wait to eat this, it looks absolutely amazing.’

  As they walked past the Spanish Steps, teeming with tourists climbing up and down the giant staircase, Annie turned to her sister. ‘I know who he reminded you of. I think you still love him, to be honest.’

  ‘I do not!’ Jess protested a little too vigorously. ‘Seriously, I don’t.’

  ‘Whatever.’ They passed the little restaurant from the night before, the only clue to its whereabouts a small menu behind glass on the wall beside the enormous – now closed – dark green wooden doors. ‘Let’s head to the gardens and find a spot in the shade to devour this.’

  6

  Filled with mozzarella and rich tomato sauce-topped pizzas and a couple of tumblers of Rosso Piceno, Julia and Patrick made their way from the tucked-away osteria, back through the labyrinth of narrow streets towards Piazza del Popolo.

  Over lunch, they’d made plans to take Richard’s ashes back to the spot on the Aventine Hill early the following morning, ahead of the crowds. The view was, they’d agreed, perfect; the city of Rome blanketed the ancient hills below them.

  For now, though, they strolled comfortably arm in arm towards the huge oblong-shaped piazza. In the middle stood a gigantic Roman obelisk. Churches sat around the edges, and on one side an enormous white stone monument was decorated with statues and busts, which gave Patrick and Julia haughty looks as they passed.

  ‘So where is the Caravaggio?’ Patrick looked around, his eyes stopping at the smartest church at the end of Via del Corso.

  ‘It’s in the one behind you, actually.’

  ‘That one? But that’s so ordinary.’

  ‘I know. That’s the beauty of it. And there’s more than one by him. And statues by Bernini, too. And another beautiful painting by a little guy, but I can’t remember his name.’

  ‘How do you know he was little?’

  ‘Because his name means “little painter”… oh, what is it? It’ll come to me in a minute...’

  They entered the church through an enormous door at the top of a flight of wide stone steps. The cool of the air wrapped around them the second they stepped inside. Julia pulled her scarf across her shoulders and Patrick removed his beaten-up Panama hat from his head. They stood for a moment, taking in the impressive sight. White marble pillars and arches rose above simple wooden pews, an altar lying at the far end. Light came through small windows along the top, throwing sunbeams across the floor.

  ‘This way. Follow me,’ whispered Julia. She took a turn to the left, behind the wooden pews and along past the chapels lining the wall. Then, at the front of the church and to the left of the altar she stopped and stood at the entrance to a small chapel. Following her gaze, Patrick took in the riot of colour in front of them. Three enormous paintings dominated the walls. In the middle, the image showed the Virgin Mary, draped in a red dress, being held aloft – rather awkwardly, Patrick felt – by cherubs.

  But Julia had her eyes fixed on the painting on the left-hand side. ‘That’s by Carracci, the guy who painted the ceilings of the Farnese Palace. All rather over the top, if you ask me. But these…’ she looked from the left to the painting on the opposite wall, ‘… are by Caravaggio.’

  Patrick looked up, taking in the dark and light of the painting, showing a man, upside down, on a cross.

  ‘That’s The Crucifixion of St Peter. He wanted to be placed upside down so as not to look like he was trying to be Jesus. Just look at the men trying to carry him. He obviously weighed a ton.’

  ‘And what’s this one?’ Patrick gestured to painting opposite, showing a man on the ground, his horse being held by another man.

  ‘That’s The Conversion on the Way to Damascus, St Paul’s road to Damascus moment. He was so stunned he fell off his horse. Isn’t the light in these paintings incredible? It’s as if they’re lit from behind.’

  ‘My goodness, they really are.’ Patrick was mesmerised. ‘I mean, to have such pain
on one side, and such pleasure on the other.’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s pleasure. He’s just fallen off his horse.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’ Patrick nudged Julia, making her smile.

  Julia grabbed Patrick’s arm. ‘Let’s go and have a look at the little painter’s efforts.’

  The sisters sat on a bench in the park, in the shade of a towering umbrella pine, enjoying the relative peace and quiet of the surrounding gardens. It seemed a world away from the constant noise and movement of Rome’s streets. In front of them was a lake, dotted with couples in rowing boats attempting, badly, to reach an islet on one side where a small temple stood. Beside it, an ancient oak tree towered above.

  ‘What secrets that tree must have.’ Annie took a swig of her water and glanced at her phone.

  ‘Any news from home?’

  ‘Long update from Patty via text: the boys are fine. Not missing me at all, it seems.’

  ‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it? Better that they’re having a ball than in bits because you’re not there for five minutes.’

  ‘I suppose. Oh, and another apology from James for forgetting our anniversary. That makes four so far. I think I’ll have to tell him to stop now.’

  ‘Nah, let him sweat for a bit more. At least it won’t happen again.’

  ‘True. Now, what do you fancy doing? I feel like I’m forcing you to look at paintings when I think you’d rather be doing something else.’

  ‘No, I love it. Empties the head. I mean it empties it of stuff that’s usually in it. I’m enjoying filling it with other things.’

  ‘Well, there is one more painting I would love to see, given that we’re not far from the church it’s in. It’s a Nativity scene by Pinturicchio, really beautiful.’

  ‘Promise me after that we can go and find a Bellini?’ Jess placed her hands together in mock prayer.

  ‘Yes, of course we can! Just a few more paintings and I’ll be happy.’