by Beth Miller
Our apartment was inside a three-storey golden-walled palace on the edge of the Castello district, and it was stunning. We had two floors to ourselves, including a large bedroom and bathroom each, and an enormous sitting room and kitchen. My bathroom alone was bigger than my bedroom at home. I mean, in the house I shared with Richard. The room I used to share with Richard. God.
I was discovering that long-haul travel made me manically wide awake, but Bear slept straight through almost the whole flight. However, she was still tired when at last we landed in Italy. Once the housekeeper had shown us round the palazzo, and we’d picked our dropped jaws off the floor, Bear went to lie down. Despite the beauty of the apartment, I was eager to get outside. The taxi-boat from the airport had shown me glimpses of a city even more thrilling than I’d imagined.
That first afternoon in Venice, by myself, strolling at will through the bright late sun, my shadows lengthening ahead of me as I walked, was one of the most glorious days of my life. I was alone, abroad, completely free. No one knew exactly where I was. Including me; I got lost straight away, but I didn’t care. I flitted in and out of strange alleyways, stopping to inspect a shop window, or pause at the top of one of the sets of steps that bridged the little canals to stare at the view. I pretended I lived here, that I was a Venetian lady. I always go to this café, I thought to myself, for my espresso. And to this market, for my fish and flowers. Wandering around alone in Sydney, I’d thought my single life was going to be lonely, but I didn’t feel that today, not at all.
I had to ask several people for directions on my way back. Though they mostly turned out to be tourists, they were all very friendly and helpful. I went into the golden palazzo to find Bear sitting on the window seat in the living room, looking out at the canal. She asked what I’d seen, where I’d been. She was pale and rather washed out, despite the epic amount of sleep she’d had. She blamed the jet lag, and seemed disinclined to go out. I’d been looking forward to dinner by the Grand Canal but I offered to make something in the apartment.
The kitchen was fully stocked, because it was an apartment for extremely rich people who presumably couldn’t be arsed to get their own shopping in. Mind you, they’d have probably brought a chef with them; Bear just had me. I made a simple pasta – when in Italy – with a creamy sauce I’d learned from Alice, and a salad of delicious tomatoes that actually tasted of something. There was a separate fridge full of wine, so I cracked open a bottle and Bear and I sat at the huge kitchen table under a Venetian-glass chandelier, toasting each other and peeping out of the window every so often to check that the view was still there.
‘I’ll clear up,’ Bear said after a while. She had barely eaten or drunk anything.
‘You should rest,’ I said. ‘You’ll want to feel strong for sightseeing tomorrow.’ I went to take her bowl, but her hand curled protectively round it.
‘Darling, I know you’ve not got much of an appetite, it’s fine. You don’t need to hide it from me.’
She gave me a tight little smile. ‘OK. Thank you. Not sure where it’s gone. Goddamn menopause. I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow.’ She stood. ‘Do you mind if I go up?’
‘Of course not!’ I remembered that in Sydney she’d said the menopause was the least of her problems.
I stayed in the kitchen, sipping my wine, till the light faded. It was the last day of May, and the days were long. When I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, I went to bed. I hoped Bear would be more of a travel companion in the morning.
But she wasn’t. I breakfasted alone, wondering if the smell of coffee would bring her out. But she didn’t appear. I had a bath in the huge bathroom, and got dressed slowly to give her time to surface, but eventually I gave up and went back out on my own. I felt a little down-hearted at first, but soon Venice worked its magic and I snapped back into my fantasy that I lived here and saw these sights every day. I drifted along with no clue of my direction until I saw the Rialto Bridge. It was crammed with people, so I didn’t try to cross it. Instead, I walked down a nearby alley, and discovered at the end of it a tiny stationery shop, the window filled with glass fountain pens and tiny bottles of ink in every colour. Such beautiful things, so different from the stationery back home. Richard would have been in heaven. I went in and spent a very enjoyable fifteen minutes sorting through a display of soft suede-covered notebooks. Even the littlest ones were ten euros, but they were exquisite. I chose a sage-green one, tiny enough to fit in my pocket, and also a few sheets of thick cream writing paper with marbled edges.
I had a sandwich for lunch, and visited the Accademia art gallery. I got a text from Bear at about four, apologising for sleeping the whole day away. I hastened back to the apartment, thinking she’d be ready to go out now, but she was lying on a sofa, reading a book about Venice. I bit back a comment about why she was reading about it when the real thing was right outside the front door. Instead, I said, ‘You look better.’
‘I don’t know why the jet lag’s been so bad this time. Sorry I’m being a rubbish friend.’
‘Not at all,’ I said, hoping I sounded convincing.
She still wasn’t up for going out in the evening, but I told myself that if we had to be stuck indoors, at least we were in a palace. I went out again and bought sardines from the market I’d seen yesterday, and grilled them with bread and more tomatoes. Bear ate more than the previous evening, and afterwards there was a little more colour in her cheeks.
‘So, Kay,’ she said softly, as she sipped her wine. ‘Have you decided what to do about Edward?’
‘Yes.’ It had all been simmering away in the back of my head these last few days, and now I had reached a clear decision. ‘I’m going to reach out to David—’
‘Reach out, is it? How modern.’
‘And offer him the chance to meet Edward.’
‘What if he says no?’
‘I’m going to tell Edward the truth anyway.’
‘It’s the right thing to do,’ Bear said. ‘Edward should be given the chance to decide what he wants to do.’
‘I’m scared, though, Bear,’ I said. ‘What if Edward hates me for lying all this time? What if he’s really angry?’ I tried to smile, as if I didn’t really mean it. But whenever I thought about telling him, I could only picture a furious reaction. Him towering over me, his face contorted with rage, yelling, pointing a finger at me, telling me to go, that I would never see him or the twins ever again.
‘I’m sure he will understand,’ Bear said, completely failing to engage with my angst. She stretched out her arms and yawned. ‘Gosh, I’m sorry, I think I need a sleep.’
I couldn’t help but glance at my watch; it wasn’t even nine o’clock. ‘Another one?’ I said, regretting the words as soon as they were out of my mouth.
She looked at me for a moment, then said goodnight and went to her room.
I sent a few Venice photos from my phone to Stella and Edward, neither of whom acknowledged them, and to Rose, who did. I told her how knackered Bear was.
Is she ill?
Rose’s stark text put into words the possibility that had been floating in my head for some time.
Maybe, but if she is, she is very keen not to tell me about it.
You should ask. She has come with you, after all. She might be waiting for you to ask.
I resolved to do so the following day, which was initially a replay of the first two days here: breakfast on my own and solo sightseeing. In the afternoon I returned to the palazzo, but this time Bear was waiting for me, keen to go out for coffee, and she looked so much better that questions about her health seemed intrusive and rude.
* * *
And that was where we were now, sipping coffee by the canal, testing out superlatives to describe the view, as the light started to fade.
‘Delectable.’
‘Sumptuous.’
‘Delicious.’
‘On a more prosaic note,’ I said, ‘shall I buy more fish to cook tonight?’ Last night’s s
ardines had seemed to go down well, better than the pasta, which perhaps she found a bit heavy.
‘I think we should go out.’
‘Oh great! There’s a book of recommended places back at the palazzo.’
‘I’d like to go to the Club del Doge,’ Bear said, without hesitation.
‘The what now?’
‘It’s the restaurant of the Gritti Palace.’
‘Have you been looking at guidebooks this arvo, Miss Ursula?’
‘It’s somewhere I’ve always wanted to go. It has this terrace overlooking the canal.’
‘Surely that’s true of pretty much every restaurant here.’
‘It’s special. Look.’ Bear got out her phone and showed me a picture of a stunning restaurant. ‘When Murray and I planned our honeymoon to Venice, we were going to stay at the Gritti.’
‘Oh! I didn’t remember you came here for your honeymoon.’
‘We didn’t.’ Bear’s face darkened. ‘Once he worked out how much it would cost he persuaded me we should save the money for a deposit on our first house instead.’
‘I guess that was practical.’
‘Yeah, exactly what a gal wants from her new husband: extreme parsimoniousness. Is that even a word? Tightness. Stinginess. I should have run for the hills right then. It was a warning sign.’
‘So remind me where you did go?’
‘Perth.’ Bear snorted. ‘His mother had a holiday home there. Look, I made the best of it, but somewhere, who knows where, there’s another Ursula who went to Venice on her honeymoon and lived happily ever after.’
I knew exactly what she meant. Somewhere there was another Kay, who lived in Venice and made a living from her world-renowned photography. ‘Ah, that’s sad.’
‘Yeah, so now I’ve tugged your heartstrings, let’s go to the Gritti.’
‘Honestly, I’d love to, it looks beautiful, and I don’t want to be a Murray, but I’m slightly worried about my cash flow. I spent five times my entire Venice budget on my flight and our apartment.’
‘Ah, don’t even think about it, Kay, it’s my treat tonight.’
‘Ursula, you can’t.’
‘I can. I want to. In fact, I insist. It would be an absolute pleasure. First, you’ve been super-patient with me being under the weather, and haven’t complained once about having to go sightseeing on your own. Second, you’ve made me dinner two nights running. Third – look, Kay – if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here now. And if I wasn’t here now, I might never have got to see Venice at all.’
Her face was glowing with pleasure at being here. That was what this whole thing was about, wasn’t it? Doing things we had always wanted to do. I pushed down into a dark place what her last sentence might mean, and said, ‘Let’s go for it, Bear.’
‘Yay! I can’t wait!’
‘Shall I ring them?’ I took my phone out.
‘No need.’
‘Really? It doesn’t look the sort of place where you can just rock up.’
‘Oh,’ Bear said, ‘now I need to tell you that I took the liberty of booking it yesterday.’
‘You cheeky monkey!’ I laughed. ‘What if I had refused to go?’
‘I knew you wouldn’t. But also, I knew I could cancel the booking if you turned out to be as much fun as Murray.’
I felt that I had passed some sort of test, which was slightly uncomfortable. But, what the hell. After all those years with Miserly Murray, perhaps she’d got into the habit of making plans under the radar.
I smiled at her. ‘Shall we pretend it’s your honeymoon?’
‘Are you offering to drag up?’
‘Maybe not. I’d make a lousy man. Let’s just be two old friends, having a wonderful time.’
‘Yes, that’s what I want.’
I saw that there were tears in her eyes. I put my arm round her.
‘Are you OK, love?’
‘Fine. Bit emosh. Can’t believe we’re here, and I’ve finally made it outside.’ She squeezed my hand, and turned her head back to the view. ‘I mean, fucking look at it. Glorious.’
‘Outstanding.’
‘Spectacular.’
‘Sensational.’
* * *
Both done up to the nines, we were shown to our table at the Club del Doge. We hadn’t saved up any adjectives for this particular setting, but it would have been pointless anyway, as it was beyond words. We sat out on the terrace, right over the canal. The combined effect of the subtle lights of the restaurant, and the dark inky water, the quiet lapping of the canal below our feet, the gentle swooshing of the occasional gondola gliding past, meant that we were silent for several minutes, drinking it in. It was still warm enough not to need the cardigans that we’d brought with us, middle-aged lady-style. There were other diners out on the terrace, but the tables were far apart, and anyway they were all quiet too; any conversation was undertaken in low tones, so as not to disturb the tranquillity.
‘Wow, Bear,’ I whispered, forgetting in my astonishment to call her by her proper name. But she didn’t seem to notice.
‘I’m here,’ she whispered back, talking to herself as much as me. ‘I’m really here.’
The waiter, treading so softly as to be pretty much silent, and thus a little startling, appeared at my side with bread, water and menus. Despite the candles glittering on every table, it was pretty dark, and I didn’t have my reading glasses, but I could see that the prices were something else.
‘Ursula, are you sure…’
She held up a hand. ‘Not another word. Let’s really go for it. Three courses, champagne, the works.’
The waiter re-materialised at the word ‘champagne’, quietly spoken though it was. Ursula spoke to him in Italian – she was always good at languages, I remembered – and he smiled and disappeared.
‘What did you order?’ I said.
‘I knew they had a Billecart-Salmon champagne, so I asked for that.’
‘Is it expensive?’ I asked, pointlessly. I’d already seen that one of the starters was thirty-five euros, so we weren’t in the ballpark of my usual nine-pound Sainsbury’s prosecco.
‘Devastatingly so,’ she said, and raised her empty glass to me. There was something so reckless, so brittle, about the way she smiled as she said this that I was forced to address the thing I wished with all my heart I could ignore.
‘Ursula, this is difficult… can I ask you…?’
‘Not yet, darling. Don’t ask me anything yet.’ She turned to me, her eyes lit by candlelight, a tiny flickering flame dancing in the middle of each pupil. The dreadful answer to my question was on her face, visible as a birthmark. ‘Let’s have the most wonderful meal together. What shall we eat?’
I forced myself to look at the menu, but the printed words, already tiny, swam in front of my eyes. My heart was beating hard. I chose almost blindly, more or less the first things I could see, and closed the menu the better to focus on Bear. But she didn’t want to be focused on. The champagne arrived and she glanced at the label and grinned.
‘I had this once before,’ she said, ‘and it’s the nicest thing I ever tasted.’
‘I hope it lives up to your memory,’ I said, doing my best to match her tone. A breeze ruffled my hair, making me cold, and I pulled my cardigan over my shoulders.
The waiter popped the cork with the perfect amount of drama. After he’d poured, Bear and I clinked our fizzing glasses together.
‘To us,’ Bear said, ‘and our long-lasting friendship.’
‘To us,’ I repeated, and sipped my champagne. It tasted astonishing, like melted ice cream, but it could have been lemonade for all I cared.
‘Like it?’ Bear said.
‘Delicious.’ I managed to make my face match the sentiment. ‘When did you have it before?’
‘Ah, it was years ago, when Murray took me home to meet his parents after we were engaged. His dad was in the wine trade then, and clearly thought Murray had done well with me as he cracked this little beauty op
en. I drank too much and got giggly with his mum. I miss them. That’s something you never think of with divorce, that you’re gonna miss the in-laws. They were always terribly sweet to me.’
‘Did they keep in touch after you got divorced?’
‘They tried. But it’s hard, they live near Perth, it’s a huge distance. And they’re pretty elderly now. Murray takes Charlie to see them twice a year.’
‘I wouldn’t mind a chance to miss my mother-in-law. Do you know she’s moved in with Richard and taken over my shop?’
‘Wow, she’s a bit of a gal, isn’t she? So, darling. Talking of divorce, how are you feeling about Richard now?’
This wasn’t what I wanted to talk about, it seemed all at once completely irrelevant, but it was her call. I mustered my thoughts as best I could. How did I feel?
‘Well, I suppose I’m a little warmer towards him than I was. I don’t know if that’s just because we’ve had some time apart. I was so angry with him when I left, and completely certain that we’d reached the end of the road.’
‘And now?’
‘Oh, I’m still sure it’s the end of the road. But I can think of him without feeling the usual rush of pissed-off emotions. When I bought him that pen in Sydney, I know it sounds stupid, but choosing it and sending it to him, imagining his face when he opened the parcel, made me feel closer to him than I have done for a long time.’
Bear took a long swig of her champagne, and a waiter silently appeared and topped up her glass. She waited till he’d gone, then said, ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Sorry to hear I felt closer to him? Well, I know what you mean, but don’t worry, I’m not flitting about here, I—’
‘No, Kay. I’m sorry you think it’s still the end of the road.’
‘Oh.’ I sat back in my chair. ‘What do you mean, exactly?’
‘Being on your own is shitty.’
‘Well, it can be…’
