by Paige Toon
‘You want me to fill some of your shifts?’ Alessandro asks.
‘Um… Do you need me Friday daytime?’ It would be nice to go into Rome without the weekend crowds. ‘I can still work Friday night.’
He nods. ‘No problem. And when you return from Venice, let’s go through the rota.’
‘Thank you.’ I get on with my work.
*
Carlo and I agree that I’ll meet him at Bruno’s when my shift ends, but as I’m finishing up, he walks through the door of Serafina’s. Alessandro greets him with a handshake and Giulio comes out of the kitchen to say a friendly hello.
‘Everything okay? You run out of something?’ my father asks as I take off my apron. ‘What do you need?’
‘Just your daughter,’ Carlo replies with a smile in my direction.
‘I’ll get my bag,’ I tell him, aware of Alessandro and Giulio’s surprise as I hurry into the stockroom.
I feel nervous for some reason and I don’t think it’s because of my date with Carlo. I stash my apron in the dirty washing basket, grab my bag and return to the bar area.
‘See you tomorrow,’ I say with forced cheer, kissing my father goodbye and steadily avoiding eye contact with Alessandro.
‘See you tomorrow,’ Giulio replies.
I don’t think he disapproves of my date choice, even if it has come out of the blue.
Carlo takes me to the bistro I went to with Alessandro and my father on my first night in Rome. It’s more intimate than I would have liked – I was hoping we’d go into the centre for something a bit livelier – but it’s still lovely and we find plenty to discuss. There’s no deep or meaningful heavy talk, and although I’m not up for ending our evening with a kiss as I sense he might like, I do fall asleep that night with a lightness of heart.
The next day I venture into town on the urban railway, still finding the whole experience daunting. But when I come out at Flaminio and walk across Piazza del Popolo with blue skies overhead, I’m filled with an incredible sense of achievement. I did it. All on my own.
Today the only person I need to worry about is myself, and even though the thought of Alessandro takes the shine off my mood, I’m determined to push those negative feelings aside. I can go anywhere I want, and I do – I venture all the way to the Colosseum and pay to go inside, wandering around the huge arched enclosure and soaking up the history of the place with a happy heart. From there, I head to the Forum, and afterwards I stroll in the direction of the bustling centre, purposefully wandering off the beaten track to explore. At one point I happen across a quiet square dotted with trees and edged by sand-and stone-coloured buildings. On the far side is a restaurant spilling out onto the pavement, its silver chairs and tables glinting in the afternoon sun. I’m starving, so I pluck up the courage to walk over and take a seat at a vacant table. When a plate of crunchy calamari fritti appears beside my chilled, fizzing glass of prosecco, a bubble of joy swells inside me. I can’t believe how far I’ve come.
I feel like calling Jimmy and telling him what I’m up to, but it’s the middle of the night in Australia so instead I get out one of the postcards that I bought at the Colosseum and pen a message to him.
Dear Jimmy, I’ve just been to the Colosseum! It’s mind-blowing to think that 2,000 years ago, Roman emperors used to sit there & watch Russell Crowe fight lions… Ha ha – we must watch Gladiator when I get home! Now I’m eating lunch outside in the sun – and, shock, horror, it’s not too hot! Loving it here, but I do miss you. Love, Angie xxx
I’m still in good spirits when I go into work that night, but I’m slightly dreading being on my feet after a day of walking.
After a week of mutual coolness, I’m able to greet Alessandro with relative warmth. Stefano, Cristina and I are on tonight and it’s the first time the three of us have worked together since Julia and Nino joined.
My Italian is coming along – not very fast and certainly not brilliantly – but I’m up for taking a couple of non-English-speaking tables. Giulio exits the kitchen occasionally to announce to my customers that I’m his daughter, so they give me an easy time and are especially good-natured when he pours them free shots of Limoncello.
Cristina appears slightly put out at this favouritism, but I shrug at her, palms-up, and remind her that we’re sharing the tips.
This makes her smile.
Despite my sore feet, it’s a good service, but by the end of the night, I am ready for a breather.
Perching on a stool at the bar, I turn and face Stefano, who’s doing, bizarrely, a tap-dancing jig in front of me in an attempt to convince me to go clubbing.
‘I must’ve walked thirty thousand steps today,’ I tell him with a groan that is only slightly exaggerated. ‘How are you feeling?’ I ask Cristina.
Rebecca rang her earlier. She cancelled the call.
She nods. ‘Okay.’
‘She needs to go dancing too! Lindsey is coming,’ Stefano says slyly.
‘I’m not interested in Lindsey,’ Cristina replies.
‘I think she’s nice,’ I say.
‘She is nice,’ Cristina agrees. ‘That’s why we’re friends.’
‘Friends can have benefits,’ Stefano jokes.
Alessandro gently taps me on my shoulder. I turn to see that he’s trying to pass me a glass of red wine. He looks straight into my eyes – the first proper eye contact we’ve had in days – and our fingers brush as I take the glass, making me feel jittery.
‘You coming, Alessandro?’ Stefano asks, as he does every Friday night. I think he’d keel over with a heart attack if Alessandro one day accepted. He doesn’t even wait for an answer, slapping me on my arm. ‘Maybe we invite Carlo, eh?’
I shrug. ‘Could do.’
‘Yay! We’re going clubbing!’ Stefano cries as though it’s the first time in months he’s managed to make this happen.
I put down my glass of wine on the bar top and slip off my stool, my feet stinging all the way to the stockroom. I’m crazy for allowing myself to be roped into this after a day of walking, but you only live once, right?
Carlo replies to Stefano’s text as we’re getting stuck into our pizza. He’s keen.
‘That’s four in a taxi,’ Stefano realises. ‘Perfetto. I’ll book one now.’
Something makes me look over at Alessandro. He’s wiping down the bar top and hasn’t joined us at our table. I ignore my better judgement and get up to go and speak to him.
‘You can’t be persuaded to come with us?’
He shakes his head, still polishing the bar top. ‘I’m working tomorrow.’
My eyes drop to his neck where his gold cross pendant has broken free from his black T-shirt. When I look at his face, his expression is hollow, vacant.
No, lost.
My hand acts of its own accord, slipping into his.
It’s like turning a light on, using a dimmer switch. His hand slowly comes to life in mine and his eyes burn with intensity as we stare at each other.
For that brief moment, before Carlo raps on the door, my heart sings.
Chapter 36
Have you bought a train ticket to Venice? Alessandro asks me by text on Sunday morning.
No, I text back.
Don’t.
Why?
He doesn’t reply.
I’m still in bed, but I drag myself through to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, only to remember that we ran out of milk yesterday. The shops aren’t open yet so I knock back a black espresso before throwing myself in the shower.
Alessandro still hasn’t replied when I’m dressed and ready. I’m trying not to fixate on my phone, but that’s easier said than done.
Grabbing shopping bags from the stash by the door, I call out to Cristina to let her know what I’m up to and set off out the door.
It’s a clear, bright morning. The birds are singing in the trees and the sun is shining overhead. It rained yesterday and as I walk through the small triangle of green space, the ground beneath my feet sq
uelches with every step.
I soon find myself passing Alessandro’s old home. I haven’t come this way all week because Cristina has given me a lift on her scooter. She still takes it slowly, and by the end of each journey, I’ve relaxed a bit. But those first few seconds when she sets off are like a shot of adrenalin.
I could never be an adrenalin junkie. The high does not outweigh the terror.
It’s not until I’m standing outside the closed supermarket that I remember Sunday opening hours. I don’t mind killing a bit of time because it’s such a beautiful day so I decide to go for a walk.
A few minutes later, I find myself strolling past a big, official-looking building that stands out amongst its neighbours. It’s fronted with white columns and has white stone steps leading down to the tree-lined pavement. A stream of people begins to pour from its doors and only then do I realise it’s a church. Sunday Mass has finished, from the looks of it.
As I’m about to move on, something catches my eye, making me do a double-take. A man dressed all in black is coming down the steps. I watch as Alessandro disappears beneath the trees and walks in the opposite direction from me. He’s too far away for me to call out to him and I’m not sure I would anyway.
He goes to church?
What was it that he said in St Peter’s Square? He has a tumultuous relationship with God.
I don’t know why I think it, but I wonder if his necklace belonged to his mother.
A moment later, I finally receive a response to my text: I can give you a lift. I need to take some time off.
Seeking instant clarification, I dial Alessandro’s number. ‘You’re coming to Venice?’ I ask slightly breathlessly when he answers.
‘No, but I will take you there and bring you home via Florence and Siena. I thought you might like to see them.’
‘Where are you going?’ I’m confused.
‘Dolomites.’
I tense. ‘Base jumping?’
‘Possibly. I need a break from the city.’
‘Are you okay?’ I ask.
‘Fine,’ he replies simply. ‘Where are you?’ I think he’s registered the sound of traffic in the background.
‘I’m on my way to the supermarket. You?’
‘Running an errand.’
That might not be a lie, but it sounds like he’s being selective with the truth.
He doesn’t ask me about Friday night and I’m not sure how to feel about that. I should be relieved – I don’t really want to have to go into detail about how Carlo tried to kiss me at the club or how I turned away before he could make contact. It was mortifying enough at the time.
I thought I was open to some light romance and I like Carlo. He’s warm and friendly, an open book.
Yet I can’t see us being anything more than friends.
I’m aware of the irony. Alessandro wants to be no more than friends with me, so why am I drawn to him?
I hope I’m not just drawn to the darkness within him. I hope I’m not seeing another problem that I want to solve.
*
This thought is still spinning round my head that night when I’m getting ready for bed.
Despite already betraying Alessandro’s confidence by talking to Louise, I call Bonnie. I need to hear a calm voice of reason.
‘Be careful, Angie,’ she says when I’ve brought her up to date. ‘He sounds like he could be a very troubled individual. I know what you’re like. Your instinct is to help people, but you can’t help everyone, love. I hate the thought of you getting mixed up in something on the other side of the world when you’re all alone.’
‘I’m not alone,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve made friends here.’
Not that I can talk to any of them about Alessandro.
‘I wish you’d called me earlier, before you’d turned Carlo down. He seems like a nice, uncomplicated boy.’
‘There’s no such thing as a nice, uncomplicated boy,’ I say wryly.
‘No, maybe not,’ Bonnie agrees. ‘But it did sound like you were on the right track, having fun with friends and dating. Why don’t you continue to do that for a while, see where it takes you?’
‘Maybe,’ I reply unenthusiastically.
‘You’ve always said you didn’t want to get tied down again, not until you’ve had a chance to live a little. Try to live a little now, Angie. This all sounds very heavy. And remember, you can come home anytime you want to. Your flight can be changed. We’re all still here and we miss you.’
The thought of returning to the desert leaves me feeling surprisingly cold.
Chapter 37
Alessandro and I set off to Venice early on Tuesday morning. It’s a five-and-a-half-hour drive and he claims it’ll be a boring one. Normally he would avoid motorway routes in his van, preferring to explore on his way to somewhere. But in this case, I think he wants to get me there as quickly as possible so he can continue on to the mountains.
‘Tivoli was good yesterday,’ I tell him. He hasn’t asked.
‘I’m glad,’ he replies. Not exactly a conversation continuer, but I press on regardless.
‘I milked the goats again.’
He grins and shoots me a look. ‘You milked the goats?’
‘Yes. I did it last week as well.’
‘Now that I would have liked to see.’
‘You should’ve come.’
He shakes his head. ‘You don’t need me anymore.’
That’s a strange thing to say, but then I recall how I asked him to come with me the first time, how unsure I was of meeting my family.
‘It’s not only about me, your family like seeing you too. Jacopo especially.’
He says nothing so neither do I. Maybe if I wait patiently, as I normally do…
‘Shall we put on some music?’ he asks, passing me his phone.
Oh.
‘Sure,’ I mutter, taking it from him and trying to work out what to do.
‘It’s there,’ he says gently, reaching over to point at the music icon. ‘You really have been living in a cave for years, haven’t you?’ he teases, and despite the fact that he’s making fun of my incompetence when it comes to hi-tech smartphones, I’m glad to see the return of his light-hearted side.
‘Press shuffle,’ he says.
‘Where’s that?’
‘There.’
I plug in his phone and music fills the van.
We talk on and off, but mostly stay silent, listening to the music. There’s not much to see from the motorway, but I’m still in awe of how green everything is, how pretty the umbrella-shaped stone pines are that pepper the landscape and how tall the cypress trees soar into the forget-me-not-blue sky. I know there’s beauty in the desert – the vastness of a sky awash with the colours of a sunset or inky black and sparkling with stars – but here there’s so much life, so much succulent greenery. And birds! Swooping and soaring in big black flocks above the trees. We cross over brown rivers and blue lakes and off in the distance I can sometimes see villages nestled into the hazy hills, with ornate churches, striking bell towers and houses painted in shades of peach and cream.
As we approach Venice via a busy dual carriageway, the view outside my window becomes quite industrial. I catch a glimpse of the water to my right and see the docks with a variety of different-sized boats, and then we’re on a long, straight bridge, running parallel to train and tram tracks, and speeding towards the island of Venice.
The water glistens under the sunny sky and then we come off the bridge, pass by a sea of parked scooters and turn right.
Alessandro stops at a checkpoint and speaks to the woman on duty. She raises the barrier and lets us pass.
‘You can’t normally drive down here,’ he tells me. ‘But Melissa has arranged a parking space at the university so I can drop you off near the hotel. It’s close by.’
We pull up right by the waterfront and I’m staggered at the size of the cruise liners in the nearby docks.
Cristina let me borrow a big backpack so I
didn’t have to lug a suitcase around – Alessandro takes it from me after locking his van.
‘I’ll see you into the hotel,’ he says, as if reminding me that he doesn’t plan to stay long.
We walk around the back of some converted red-brick warehouse buildings that belong to the university, then take a footbridge over a canal filled with water not dissimilar in colour to Alessandro’s eyes. I grin at him, excitement detonating my insides as it finally dawns on me that I’m here in Venice, one of the places I’ve dreamed about visiting for so long.
I don’t think he can help but return my smile.
Loreta and Boris’s hotel is in Santa Croce, west of the historic centre. The outskirts are ideal for travellers on a smaller budget, and compared to the flashier central hotels, it’s not expensive – only around fifty euros a night.
However, my aunt has insisted that I stay for free. Melissa – Loreta’s niece and the twins’ older sister – also boards with them. It warms my heart to know how much this family looks out for one another.
The hotel is a white-painted building with green shutters. It’s on a corner plot, and one side runs along a canal where several boats are moored. There’s not a car in sight; here it’s fully pedestrianised.
We enter a dark reception area. No one is behind the desk. To our right is a compact dining room filled with round tables and antique wooden chairs.
‘Breakfast room,’ Alessandro tells me, pressing a bell on the desk.
The floor beneath our feet is shiny speckled yellow marble.
It smells of cleaning product, but nothing masks the scent of pongy seawater coursing through the canal outside.
A door opens off the reception area and a plump middle-aged man with thinning jet-black hair appears. He recognises Alessandro instantly and throws his hands in the air with delight.
‘You are early!’ he cries.
‘We made good time,’ Alessandro replies as the man, who I’m assuming is Boris, clasps his upper arms and shakes him. It’s not quite a hug, but it’s done with affection. He turns to me.
‘Hi, I’m Angie.’
‘Aah, Angie!’ he exclaims, giving me two kisses. ‘Welcome to Venezia! I am Boris. How was your journey?’
