Mary looked at her phone. Could Dante have possibly known? She read the messages from him.
Don’t go to Colosseo.
Mary?
If you are there hide and be quiet.
Turn your phone to silent.
You’ll be okay.
Mary’s heart raced as she met the confused faces of other commuters. A middle-aged man in a business suit tentatively knocked on the train doors as it left, but it was building up speed. Mary looked at her phone once more. How had Dante known something was amiss? How frustrating that down here, she couldn’t text back. Mary looked around. Those texts sounded urgent yet no one here seemed overly concerned.
She saw a sign for the exit and wasn’t sure what to do. Crowds headed that way whilst other people shrugged and stood still. Even if she’d felt in danger, there was nowhere to hide. The walls just ran along the side of walkways or escalators. So did she stay down in the belly of the train station and head to another tube line or take the escalators to an upstairs exit and try to get outside?
An Italian man gabbled to her and surrounding commuters. Mary just picked out a few words. He was pointing to the dark train tunnel and started walking that way. But what about the electrified tracks? And wasn’t this all a bit over the top? There was no evidence yet that they were under attack. Other travellers told him as much. One even yawned. Said since the Paris, London, and Manchester attacks, police were being super cautious. Mary agreed and everyone patiently waited.
Apart from one passenger – a smart, middle-aged woman. She started to hyperventilate. Wildly, she looked around. Mary recognised the signs. The little twins’ mum, back in England, suffered from panic attacks. Quickly Mary asked a man to vacate his seat and she guided the woman to the bench, at the side of the platform.
‘Close your eyes,’ said Mary, in Italian. ‘Breathe in slowly, through your nose, and out through your mouth. Everything will be all right. We would have heard a commotion by now, if there was really a problem.’
But the woman’s breathing became raspier and she flapped her hands. She pointed to her shoes. Mary could only just make out the panicked Italian as she shared her anxiety that she’d never be able to run away in high heels, if an armed attacker arrived.
Mary studied the woman’s feet. They looked the same size as hers. So, she took off her trainers and after a mutual nod of agreement they swapped shoes. Eventually the executive’s breathing slowed and she sat, eyes closed, with her head in her hands. Mary looked around. Train guards and police had arrived and were telling people not to worry. It was a false alarm. Could everyone exit the station in an orderly manner?
Ignoring that request, impatient crowds of people surged forwards. Mary tried to push backwards, to help the woman having a panic attack, but it was as fruitless as swimming against a riptide. Someone jostled her. At this rate she’d get trampled. Mary forced herself to the side and waited, pressed against the platform wall. A dad did the same, with his tired little boy who was crying and said he just wanted to go home.
Without having to glance down, Mary felt around in her handbag. Finally she landed on a chocolate bar. She’d been curious to see how Italian candy compared to Cadbury’s. Mary showed the treat to the dad who gratefully nodded. The boy instantly stopped crying when Mary passed it to him.
She hadn’t really believed her life was under threat tonight. Yet this security scare, like the mugging, made her analyse her life. It sent her mind racing over the past. Sent it examining her weeks in Rome. She realised what was important. Trust. Kindness. Dante had both those qualities in abundance. And their kissing had been magical.
Rainbows and Northern Lights … she tried to think of other magical moments from her past, like … birthday gifts from regulars at the pub; a Food Tech teacher who’d stay behind after class, to give keen Mary extra lessons; the sister of one foster mum who always took the time to play and read Mary stories.
Her relationship with Dante – even if it just remained platonic – was too special to throw away, just because her pride had been hurt. So she decided, right then and there, that she had to ditch her sense of rejection. Dante could be a true friend. She didn’t have enough of them in her life.
The crowds eventually cleared and, when the bench came into view, the executive had gone. Mary glanced at the dad and the little boy. The three of them followed the tail end of the commuters. Her phone bleeped. Two texts from Dante. One from Natale. Even Alfonso who disliked mobile phones.
Her eyes tingled as she recalled the time she’d broken her arm, aged fourteen, and had to stay in hospital for two nights due to complications. Mary had been in between foster families and just got one call – from her social worker. Her only company had been the girl in the bed next to hers, who made the usual, unintentionally hurtful comments.
What did you do wrong to be in foster care?
You must hate your real mum and dad.
How does it feel to grow up with strangers?
Are your foster parents doing it for the money?
Mary looked at the new messages on her phone again and a cosy sensation glowed in her chest.
‘You’re so lucky, Mary Smith,’ she muttered to herself, as she reached the top of the escalator. ‘You have a life really worth living, at last. Don’t mess it up.’
As she walked through the barriers, the Coliseum stood directly ahead. Strong. Enduring. Beautiful. Tranquil in the evening light. She went out into the humid evening air. Perspiration ran down her back. The underground had been cloying, musty, and she couldn’t wait to enjoy a refreshing cool shower. Deeply, she breathed in and serenity washed over her until an angry voice caught her attention.
‘Scusami, scusami,’ she said and pushed through the crowds. The voices got louder and she finally reached a roped-off area. Oro? Dante? He stood arguing with a policeman. He looked furious and devastated all at once.
‘It’s all right, I’m here,’ she called.
‘Maria? Is that you?’ His face cleared.
The policeman caught her eye and lifted up the rope for her to come through. She took Dante’s hand that held the dog lead and he squeezed hers tight.
‘You are okay?’ he said.
His voice trembled slightly. Mary understood. Terrorist attacks – just the idea of them – shook people; made them question everything they thought they knew about where they lived. Yet, his reaction did seem a little overstated. No one else’s friends or relatives were waiting and commuters simply jumped on buses or hailed taxis, to continue their journey.
Mary linked her arm through his and led him twenty metres down the pavement, to a spot where there was room to breathe.
‘I … we … everyone was so worried,’ he continued. ‘Cheyenne has news alerts on her phone. Not long after you left I heard there was a security issue. I rang and texted you and got here in a taxi. If only I’d come with you. The police wouldn’t let me through the barriers. With my training, perhaps I could have helped if …’ He grimaced. ‘Listen to me. I’m blind. Useless.’
‘Dante. Stop it. There would have been nothing you or anyone could have done.’ Where had his sudden lack of confidence come from?
His voice rose. ‘Already I prove what I said to you, after we … it would never work, me with you – me with anyone. No one should feel safe in my company – I’m not good at protecting people from the worst.’
‘What a ridiculous thing to say! Attacks are random, and anyway – this was just a scare.’
Dante was attracting attention now, with people looking, including a photographer. He pursed his lips.
‘Or are you going to throw a pity party?’ she said, in a teasing voice. Goodness. She’d come over all Jill.
‘What?’
‘Feeling sorry for yourself – when really this is about me!’
‘You’re right. It’s just … if anything had happened … it got me thinking …’ He gripped the cane so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
‘Thoughts can be dangerous things,’ said Mary and she draped her arms around his neck, watched by a confused Oro. She pulled him close for a hug. Eventually … reluctantly … she backed away.
‘You seem so … calm,’ he said, sounding half embarrassed, half relieved.
‘What happened … It’s just made me appreciate the things and people in my life.’
‘Me too. Look, Mary … the other night …’
‘Shhh. Don’t, Dante. No need to say it all again.’
‘You don’t understand, I—’
‘You were right.’ The hardest words she’d ever said, but Mary didn’t need the cherry on the cake.
‘I was?’ he said, eventually.
‘Yes. We work together. Things could get messy. I’m just so grateful to know you. Your friendship means a lot. We never should have jeopardised that.’
Mary looked at his throat and tried oh so hard to ignore an urge to trail kisses along his neck.
‘Right … so …’
‘What was this scare all about, anyway? Has anyone been hurt – or arrested?’ she asked.
Dante stared at her for a moment. ‘What? No. No luckily. It was a false alarm. A black rucksack left at the top of the escalators with a copy of the Koran sticking out the top. It belonged to a young woman, on her way back from a mosque. She’s pregnant, felt sick, and took off her rucksack to look for a bottle of water. However, she panicked and without thinking rushed to the nearby toilets before throwing up. She didn’t quite make it in time and had to spend a while in there, cleaning herself.’
He shook his head. ‘I saw her from a distance, molto upset. The police handcuffed her until they had finished thoroughly examining the rucksack. Also sticking out of the top of her rucksack was just the head of a straight, plastic black handle – it belonged to her umbrella. The police thought it could be a firearm.’
‘Poor her. How do you know all this?’
Dante jerked his head towards the officer. ‘We used to work together.’
Journalists swarmed around the policeman, including a photographer who, for some reason, was pointing at Dante. The officer waved him away and then came over. He spoke urgently to Dante. Mary managed to pick out the words newspapers and vultures.
‘Grazie,’ murmured Dante to the officer, who clapped him on the back.
‘Right,’ said Dante, face grim but sounding more like himself. ‘Let’s go. Get you a strong coffee before heading back. Everyone back at Pizzeria Dolce Vita will be waiting to check for themselves that you are still in one piece.’
‘Good idea. There’s a photographer who, for some reason, has taken a real interest in you.’
Dante scowled and put an arm around her shoulder and forced the pace. She stumbled and realised that she was still wearing the smart executive’s high heels. Mary turned her head for a second, as she regained her balance and noticed the photographer staring their way. The man then quickly ran around to face them, raised his camera, and took a shot. The photographer winked at Mary and, with a smug expression, walked off as he took out his phone.
‘He took a photo,’ said Mary.
Dante quickened their pace further.