Tell Me Something (Contemporary Romance)

by Adele Parks

  'Tell me more about your family,' he says.

  'What more do you want to know?'

  'Everything.'

  So I tell him everything. I tell him that as a kid I was largely embarrassed by my parents' age and austerity but I add that I've come to respect and understand them more now I'm older. They were always, and still are, old-fashioned but caring.

  'I mean truly caring. They wanted me to be safe and healthy like all parents do but they also wanted me to know stuff. You know, about buildings and music and history and important dead people. Largely it went over my head but now I sort of see what they were trying to achieve. They wanted me to understand the enormity of being human. Obviously, I've let them down.'

  'How so?'

  'Max and Thomas, my brothers, went to prestigious universities; they both got firsts and great careers after that. Max isn't a slimy tabloid journo, which would actually suit me fine, no, he's the sort that's always uncovering injustice and campaigning against it. His byline, Max Gardiner, has graced every quality newspaper imaginable. Honestly, he's terrifying as a guest for lunch on Christmas day. I only understand about thirty per cent of what he talks about. And Thomas pretty much runs the NHS if Mum is to be believed, and she usually can be. They are both so worthwhile. The same can't be said of me.'

  'You've achieved other things.'

  'Like?'

  'You are travelling, seeing a bit of the world. Your parents must be pleased about that.'

  'Maybe they would be, if I could tell them a little more about Renaissance art and architecture or the sculptors of Biduino, but when I call every Sunday night I normally limit my conversation to what I've eaten for lunch. I'm living in Italy but I'm still pouring beer.'

  'Not everyone has a kick-ass career. It takes people different lengths of time to discover what they want in life. What some call drifting might just be -' he searches for the right word and lands upon – 'exploring the options. Think of it as research?'

  'I like that idea. I've never thought of it like that.'

  I am tempted to explain that I haven't been drifting or researching a career but that I've always, always known what I wanted from life. I wanted to marry an Italian and then after that I wanted babies. I've been totally, completely, entirely focused on that for years, but to no avail. Would he get it? Before I can decide if I want to reveal this much, Chuck makes a suggestion.

  'Have you thought of getting a job outside the bar? Maybe a bit of independence would be a good thing.'

  'No, I haven't thought of that.' But maybe he's on to something. It would be worth finding a new job just for the satisfaction of telling Mamma-in-law where to shove her unreasonable and unpaid hours. 'What could I do?'

  'I don't know. Work in another bar.'

  'It seems a bit disloyal,' I murmur.

  'Maybe,' agrees Chuck, understanding the nuances of my family life. 'You could teach English.'

  I start to laugh again but this time Chuck doesn't join in.

  'You're serious, aren't you?'

  'Deadly. I could ask around for you and see if there are any jobs going in any of the language schools. Truly, you can't spit around here without hitting a language school and everyone will want to employ a beautiful . English rose with the proper accent.'

  I've never thought of myself as an English rose, beautiful or otherwise. I blush and smile and bloody hell, I simper. I try to pull myself together as I point out, 'But I can't speak Italian.'

  'Well, you are working on that – besides, you could teach the more advanced full-immersion classes.'

  This doesn't sound like total madness. I nod and tell Chuck I'd appreciate him asking around on my behalf; he smiles. Then he makes a trivial comment about something or other, I can't even remember what, but we both dissolve into peals of laughter once again and we don't stop chatting all night, not until Chuck drops me back at Raffaella's at midnight.

  35

  14 March

  Roberto comes in at two and while he's undressing I go to the bathroom with a familiar sinking feeling. This month when I return to our bedroom to root out a new box of Tampax Roberto doesn't take me in his arms. He shrugs and mutters, 'Maybe next time.'

  'Yes, there's always next month,' I reply quietly. I manage to say this without weeping; that's what we call progress.

  I get back into bed and stare through the darkness at the ceiling. Within minutes Roberto's breathing calms and I know he is asleep. I can't sleep but I can't stay still either. I decide to get up and make myself some warm milk.

  I find Paolina in the kitchen. She's surrounded by waves of cigarette smoke.

  'Sorry,' she says, making an ineffective but well-meaning attempt to waft the smoke away.

  'Oh, don't worry for me,' I mutter.

  'I just know that –' she pauses and looks away. I stare at her and the penny drops.

  'You know that we are trying for a baby?'

  'Yes. I thought the smoke might be a bother to you.'

  'I'm not pregnant,' I say, trying to sound strong and factual when in fact I'm sad and fractured. 'I've just got my period. I've come down for some warm milk.'

  Paolina waves the bottle of red wine she's nursing. 'I think maybe this is more help.' I smile weakly and nod.

  She pours me a large glass and slides it across the table. I take a massive gulp. If I'd known that I wasn't pregnant I'd have' drunk with Chuck tonight; that would have been fun. The thought flits into my head and I instantly, violently punch it away. What am I saying? Not being pregnant is devastating. It's everything. How can I possibly think about something so trivial as missing a night's drinking at a time like this?

  'How are you, Paolina?' I ask in an attempt to think about something else.

  'Oh, you know, alone,' replies Paolina. She shrugs. 'But I brought it on myself, hey? This aloneness. You have no sympathy for me.'

  I don't know how to answer. I'm unused to such directness from the Risso family. Roberto communicates through the things he fails to say and Raffaella says the opposite to what she means. Paolina's honesty, while putting me in an uncomfortable position, is a great compliment.

  I search around for something that is non-offensive but sincere. 'Maybe it's for the best,' I say and I squeeze her hand.

  Her hands are dainty, cool and manicured. I am reminded of the first time I saw the marble statue of Venus in the British Museum. It was some ghastly, dreary trip my parents had dragged me on as a child. They said it was a birthday treat but I was deeply unimpressed and wanted to know what was wrong with the Odeon and Pizza Hut. I was bored stiff and desperate to be set free in the gift shop, where at least I could buy a compensatory pencil case or pin-on badge, but then I saw her: the marble Venus. I was drawn to her pearly skin and mellow curves. I studied this iconic statue that represented womanhood and I did not understand what I was seeing. She seemed podgier than my exacting youngster self imagined female perfection to be, and her nose seemed long and hard, plus she had tiny boobs and yet her pose was interesting. She managed to be both vulnerable and robust at once. I thought that was a fair representation of womanhood. Transfixed for some moments, I felt utterly compelled to trail my finger along the statue. As a pre-teen I was faintly embarrassed by this compulsion and I wondered whereabouts on the statue I should caress. A plump thigh, her stout arms, her gently rounded tummy? In the end I stroked her back, at about waist height, and was amazed that the marble felt at once cool and tender. Sturdy yet delicate. My sister-in-law feels the same.

  'Let's hope,' says Paolina with a reclusive smile. 'God moves in mysterious ways, hey? Sometimes we don't know what we really need.'

  'Well, right now I need ice-cream,' I say firmly. 'Join me?'

  Paolina nods. 'Right now, ice-cream would be wonderful.'

  36

  18 March

  It's Tuesday and I haven't heard a word from Chuck since we went out. I can't pretend not to be a little down in the mouth about this. We had such a laugh on Thursday evening I thought he'd be in
touch before now, just to say hi. Still, he has loads of friends here; five days probably doesn't seem an eternity to him.

  I've worked endless hours in the bar this week. I've done this so that Chuck can easily find me if he wants to and as he hasn't found me – only one conclusion can be drawn. I'm worried about how much that conclusion bothers me. I wish we'd swapped mobile numbers and I could have sent him a text, but he didn't offer his number so I was too shy to offer mine. Roberto interprets my willingness to do double shifts as a new-found interest in the bar and a sort of peace-offering to quell the tensions that have risen between us over the subject of Ana-Maria and our latest disappointment. He's delighted. Strangely, I hardly care that we are not bickering, as all my energy is focused on the entrance of the bar; I will Chuck to make an appearance.

  Of course, all I am interested in is whether he has found me a new position or, at the very least, an interview at a language school. Nothing more. Fingers crossed.

  This morning Roberto was out somewhere or other, leaving Gina and me alone in the bar, and the cleaner has called in sick – situation normal. I'm beginning to get the feeling people are taking advantage. So, as the miserable witch Lady Luck would have it, I am cleaning the loos when he arrives.

  Gina calls through to me, 'There is someone here to see you.'

  Having waited for him all week, I find that I'm no longer expecting him and so when I emerge from the loos, with bucket and mop in hand and wearing rubber gloves, I am startled by his big, blond presence. He looks amazing, I look horrific. Mop and bucket are not the accessories of choice.

  'Oh, hi,' I smile, despite my embarrassment. I'm simply pleased to see him.

  'Sorry, have I called at a bad time? You're obviously busy,' says Chuck.

  He seems considerably more formal than he did on Thursday evening and I begin to think I might have imagined our intimacy. Nascent friendships are tricky at the best of times but between men and women they are usually minefields.

  Bruno's, like all watering-holes, looks bizarre in the daylight before the customers arrive to give the place meaning. The zebra skin beanbags and low loungey sofas suddenly look sleazy rather than cool. The entire place has the appearance of a cheesy brothel; I feel like a Madam (one that does her own cleaning) and Chuck looks like a terrified virgin. We stare at one another for a few torturous, silent minutes. It's clear Chuck is at sea and I feel faintly ridiculous – the rubber gloves don't help. The dust particles dance between us, illuminated in the shafts of light that squeeze through the still-shuttered windows. Chuck looks away, which is considerate of him as I have time to struggle with the gloves and fling the bucket and mop to one side.

  'I just thought it was a good time to catch you alone, so we can talk about your new career,' he says.

  Suddenly the embarrassment between us dissolves, as I'm touched by his consideration and his confidence in my ability to teach; he really thinks I can do it! The relief is enormous. I realize that the idea of teaching has caught my imagination and I'd be crushed if Chuck wasn't serious about his suggestion.

  'Good thinking. This is a great time to talk. You're not interrupting anything at all. I was just cleaning the loos. They are the hideous little hole-in-the-floor affairs that perpetually stink. I must tell Roberto we need to install modern ones,' I garble. Then I clamp my mouth shut. 'Sorry, too much information?'

  'Not at all. I'm fascinated,' jokes Chuck.

  Gina hands Chuck a coke. 'It's on the house,' she says with a smile. How come she has the confidence to offer drinks on the house? I daren't do that and I'm married to the manager and shackled to the owner. I wonder if she fancies him? Not that it's any of my business if she does. But.

  I wash my hands and grab a lemonade and then Chuck and I make our way to the squishy leather settee in the corner. I try to put the initial brothel/Madam/virgin scenario out of my head as we sink into our seats.

  'I was wondering if I'd ever see you again,' I blurt.

  It appears that I'm truly incapable of filtering the thoughts in my brain; they rush out of my mouth – unchecked – whenever I'm with Chuck. I must try to sound less like a heroine in a black and white movie. I don't think it's a great idea for Chuck to know that he is my only friend and I'm disproportionately dependent on him. 'I just mean that on Thursday I went on a bit about Raffaella and everything, I wondered how boring I'd been.'

  'Not at all.'

  'I thought I might have scared you away.'

  'I've been busy.'

  'Right.' Distress lands with a fierce thump in my gut. I feel like I'm being dumped. Which is ridiculous. It's not like I'm his girlfriend. I wonder if he's got a new girlfriend already? Probably, he's gorgeous. Well, if so, I can kiss goodbye to the idea of us developing a friendship. One thing I do know about Italian women is that they don't allow their boyfriends to have unchecked friendships with members of the opposite sex. Thinking about Roberto and Ana-Maria, I admit their strategy might be wise.

  'I've been busy asking around, trying to find out if there's anywhere that's prepared to take you on without any relevant experience or qualifications.'

  'Oh.' I'm delighted that Chuck has been busy with me, even while he's not been with me. But then I'm instantly disappointed when I think of his realistic but somewhat depressing description of my job prospects. I can't imagine that he's here to give me good news.

  'And?' I ask tentatively.

  'Well, it's not straightforward. All the schools confirmed what I thought, that you do need to take a qualification in teaching English as a foreign language.'

  'Oh, TEFL, yes. A long time ago I considered doing that course.'

  'Why didn't you?'

  'I never got round to it, I suppose.'

  Chuck looks confused. Americans are self-improvers. I am a sloth by comparison.

  'Well, you can do it now as a correspondence course. Here.' He passes over a bundle of sheets of information which he's printed off the web, regarding ways in which I can study for this qualification.

  'Thanks,' I mutter. Oh bugger. I hate studying. Really, I just wanted to get on with teaching right away. Specifically, I wanted to get out of Bruno's and away from Raffaella. I try to hide my disappointment. Chuck is doing his best, especially considering the material he has to work with. It's not like he's my fairy godmother and can wave a magic wand to turn my rags into couture.

  'But the really good news is that there's an opportunity for you to teach a few hours a week straight away.'

  'Really?' I almost hug him. Almost.

  'Yes, well, more chat than teach, I suppose. I thought you'd be good at that.' Chuck grins at me with encouragement. I think he's gently teasing me but I don't mind in the slightest. 'The situation is as I expected, you can provide something unique just by talking in your mother tongue to pupils. My director is really pleased I found you. She thinks you'll provide quite a professional advantage over the other schools by offering conversational classes to the advanced pupils.'

  'Your director? I'm going to be working with you?'

  'Yes.'

  I beam at him; I can't help it. 'And someone's going to pay me to talk?' I ask with disbelief. It sounds amazing, especially considering that in my current position I'm not even paid for hard and dirty labour.

  'Pretty much. And to listen of course.'

  'Sounds wonderful.'

  'Doesn't it? What do you think Roberto will say?'

  'I'm not sure,' I admit.

  I feel a little shamefaced that I can't reassure this kind and gorgeous man that my husband will be delighted for me and that he will celebrate my independence and wish me well. The truth is I honestly have no idea how Roberto will react. A couple of months ago when we were still in London I would have been confident that he'd be thrilled in my taking an interest in anything other than baby-making. He'd have been ecstatic that I wanted to gain further qualifications, as he always said I was wasting my brain and marking time in my various waitress and bar jobs. But now that we run his bar his atti
tude seems to have changed. In Italy Roberto isn't so pro my independence. It's a funny position to be in when you can't gauge the likely reaction of your nearest and dearest.

  Chuck clearly senses that there might be an issue, but sensibly decides that it's my issue and doesn't delve any deeper into the subject of Roberto; instead he continues to tell me how he's fixed things to improve my life here in Italy.

  'With a bit of management of timetable the director and I think we'll be able to group all your classes into one morning. That way I can give you a lift over to the school and back again, if you like.'

  'Of course I like, that's so kind of you. Wow.'

  Chuck grins, clearly pleased I'm pleased. 'The director would like to meet you as soon as possible. The sooner you can get started the better. We are coming up to exam season and all the schools are very focused on results.'

  'Great. When can I meet her?'

  'Well, I thought perhaps we could drive over there now. I have three lessons so you'd have to kill a bit of time in Bassano del Grappa, but it's a pretty city and then I could bring you back by mid-afternoon.' He glances over to where I've abandoned my bucket and mop. 'But it looks like you are busy.'

  'I'll come now. Well, as soon as I've changed clothes. Can you wait while I do that? Gina can manage.'

  'Sure, but what about Roberto?'

  'What about him?' I ask as I dash for the door. 'Give me twenty minutes.'

  37

  'I'm in the middle of the most overwhelming infatuation and I don't know how to stop it,' I blurt down the phone.

  'Whoa, slow down, girl. What are you talking about?' asks Alison.

  'Chuck, the American, I'm falling for him.'