‘One, two, three, one two, three,’ said Cheyenne, as the couples’ bodies moved together. Mary marvelled at how much everyone had improved. Rocco and Paola had clearly been practising – for hours, in front of YouTube videos, he’d explained and pulled a face. Mary concentrated hard on the music. Jill’s ill husband had taught her a little about mindfulness. It was all about focusing on the sounds and sights of the present, to take your mind away from negative thoughts and stress – or in her case, away from thoughts of Dante moving out.
At least she’d immediately been able to recognise these feelings as selfish. Alfonso and his family had offered her a job, among colleagues – not a home where she would become part of a family unit. It was up to her to build her own future, independently – just like she’d always had to.
‘You must be excited about the move,’ she said in bright tones, as their bodies swayed together.
‘It will be good to get back some power over my own life,’ he replied. ‘Instead of Natale tutting if I leave a towel on the bathroom floor or Alfonso telling me to turn down my music. Some days I feel like a teenager.’
‘Won’t you miss everyone? Who will you read stories to late at night?’ Mary forced a small laugh.
‘You’ll find someone else to listen to.’
‘Idiot,’ she said. ‘I mean reading to Lucia. Although I guess you’ll still be working at Pizzeria Dolce Vita – won’t you?’ What if he wanted to leave the restaurant trade altogether, away from the prying eyes of customers?
‘Naturalmente. My cooking skills are indispensable. Everyone knows that.’ He lowered his voice as they moved gauchely across the floor. ‘Thanks, by the way.’
‘What for?’
‘Just listening. Supporting. Natale and Alfonso would have done everything possible to try and make me stay. They worry. Think the worst. I’ve tried telling them I’ll have Oro, plus a human friend right next door. Alessia was the same. I think that’s one reason why we broke up. She felt as if her life was going to be spent looking after me. She became full of duty instead of … of love and fun.’ He swallowed. ‘Not that I blame her. I mean anyone would find my situation difficult. Charming personality aside, I’m not the easiest person to live with.’
‘Charming? I think you’ve mistranslated that word.’
He tightened his grip and those soft lips curved upwards. ‘Oh, Mary,’ he said in those hot-chocolate tones he’d now direct at her, ‘you don’t know how refreshing it is to be with someone who’s not afraid of hurting my feelings.’
‘So why, Dante … why did you tell Alfonso to send me back to England?’
‘It wasn’t personal. Sarah, the waitress before you, was great but … almost too helpful towards me and it sometimes felt as if she treated me like an invalid. I don’t think she was able to see past my blindness. So, I became paranoid that my family wanted a live-in waitress as an extra pair of hands to keep me safe. They worry so much. I am so independent it … it riled me. And also … It’s just that … after Alessia … I …’ He held his breath and then seemed to rethink his words. ‘Isn’t it obvious? Put yourself in my position. A woman whose voice I like on Skype turns up with biscuits and then I’m told she looks like Audrey Hepburn. I needed to protect my wounded heart against that!’
Mary rolled her lips together. His teasing tones couldn’t hide the vulnerability. Would he ever be ready to move on from his ex-girlfriend?
Gently she stood on his foot – anything to divert the moment away from her newfound affection for him.
‘Aye!’ he said.
‘Just proving you correct. Hurting you doesn’t bother me in the slightest. And I am no featherweight Audrey Hepburn – although I do make excellent biscuits …’
He chuckled.
‘You’ll never win, at this rate, with all that chatting,’ said Paola gleefully. ‘Although my brother has been dancing very stiffly tonight. We must practise more.’
Rocco gave a rueful smile.
At the end, when Cheyenne was giving some extra tips to Paola and Dante, the waiter went over to Mary. ‘It is tiring, no?’
‘Especially in this heat. I wish I’d brought a spare T-shirt like Dante has. I don’t know how you can wear those long sleeves.’
Rocco’s cheeks flushed. ‘I’m okay.’
‘So. Fortuna … Dante has a friend, with a flat, over the other side of Rome. I’m going to see if we can persuade him to take in your little friend, if we buy the food and bedding, even if it’s just until she’s had the puppies. It’s worth asking.’
‘You mean over at the place Dante is moving into?’
Mary raised her eyebrows.
‘It’s okay. I know. Alfonso implored me to convince Dante to change his mind, but my boss should know me by now – I don’t get involved in family disagreements. Dante is a young man – it is only natural he should want his own place, no?’
Mary felt her face fall as she couldn’t help agreeing.
He squeezed her arm. ‘He’ll still be part of our lives. We just won’t have to put up with his clever comments, so often.’
‘Talking about me?’ Dante interrupted.
‘Please. The world doesn’t revolve around you,’ Mary said and grinned.
Cheyenne came over with one of her juices. This one was a luminous orange. As she took off the lid, one of the retired couples, practising their moves, knocked into her at speed. The cup flew out of Cheyenne’s hands and onto Rocco’s shirt.
‘Dio Mio!’ he shouted and looked down. Everyone hesitated before Paola started to laugh. The class joined in. Cheyenne and the retired couple immediately got out tissues and tried to dry him down but Rocco winced and stepped back – said he just needed to go to the toilets to wash.
‘Take my spare shirt.’ Dante rummaged in his rucksack and passed it over.
‘Grazie mille,’ said Rocco.
Mary looked at her watch. ‘We’d better leave as soon as he’s ready, Dante. The evening shift service begins soon. I’m just going to cool down my face. Remind me, next time, to bring a change of clothes too.’
She made her way to the toilets and as she passed, heard someone give a low groan. Mary peered through a crack in the door and saw Rocco, bare-chested and just about to pull on Dante’s T-shirt. She went to turn away when something caught her eye … a black mark on his shoulder. Another on his arm and bluish-greenish bruises covered his back, as if a tattoo artist had messed up his art. The floorboard creaked and Rocco swung around. He caught her eye.
Mary hurried into the ladies’ toilets and stood in front of the basin. As she splashed water onto her face, her stomach knotted. All she could think of was Jill’s husband. Before he’d been formally diagnosed with the leukaemia, he’d often come out in bruises. Jill used to laugh that he was clumsier than Mary, but in the end the couple couldn’t ignore the marks and went to the doctors.
She dried her face on a paper towel. How could she quiz him without getting him worried? Someone knocked on the door. Mary straightened herself. Rocco came in and glared.
‘Were you spying on me?’ he snapped.
‘Of course I wasn’t! I heard a noise and was worried.’
‘You should keep your nose out of other people’s business.’
A month or so ago Mary would have retreated into herself and apologised. But she was beginning to understand that when people got bullish, it was usually because, for some reason, they were suffering. She’d begun to wonder about her old boss, Brenda. Mary recalled the occasional comment she’d made about having to look after her mother, about never having time to date. She stared at Rocco. He wasn’t a happy man. Perhaps these bruises were the clue to unlocking his story.
‘We’re friends, aren’t we?’ she said, softly. ‘You aren’t just some other person.’
Mary braced herself for another sharp retort but instead Rocco’s shoulders started to shake violently. Mary’s eyes tingled. Rocco, poor Rocco was sobbing. He leant against the white-tiled walls and slid to the ground. He held his head in his hands, body in spasms.
She sped over, knelt down, and leant forward to give him a big hug. Her throat ached as his arms wrapped around her shoulders and he gripped tight, like a child who had just fallen over.
‘It’s okay,’ she murmured, voice thick. ‘Whatever it is, I’ll help you sort it out.’
He sniffed noisily and pulled away. Then his face crumpled again, as if weeks, months of distress were finally being let out. He opened his mouth and was just about to speak when Paola’s voice called.
‘Rocco! Maria! Hurry up! Me and Dante are ready!’
Quickly he wiped his eyes with his arm and took a deep breath. Mary got up and grabbed a paper towel for him. Rocco blew his nose.
‘Please, say nothing to nobody,’ he said, in a broken voice, and took sunglasses out of his back pocket.
‘As long as you promise to talk to me about this later,’ she said, gently.
His face crumpled again.
‘Rocco. You can trust me.’
He met her gaze. Tears streamed down his cheeks. ‘Grazie, Maria. After the way I’ve treated you at the beginning, I don’t deserve—’
‘Hey. That’s in the past. And you’ve recently realised that clumsy me was never any threat to your job.’
He wiped his eyes. Mary stood for a moment. Her chest felt as if she was wearing the tightest bodice. Seeing him like that had reminded her of instances in her childhood when she’d sorely missed having a confidante. Mary would share her problems with toys until she grew out of make-believe. Crystals took their place.
Rocco’s demeanour brightened slightly on the underground journey home. He and Dante discussed the Lombardi List and what they could do if, this year, they failed to make the grade. Talk had started of other pizzerias that had raised their game over the last year. One was frequented by celebrities; the other used nothing but organic ingredients.
The Rossi family were beginning to harbour real doubts about their position and decided last-minute action was worth a shot. Rocco had a friend in the leafleting business who could offer them a cheap deal. Concern permeated their voices. Dante wrung his hands and in that instant she decided that the new, straight-talking Mary Smith should pay ambitious Margherita another visit. She had to make her realise that this vendetta wasn’t just against a competing restaurant but people and their lives.
‘Do you really think that’s a good idea?’ said Rocco, as he and Mary sat outside, later that night. Dante had gone to bed earlier, as his friend had given him a copy of the rental terms for the flat and he hadn’t had time to look over them yet. Fortuna sat at Rocco’s feet after feasting on a meaty bone the waiter had bought from the butcher’s.
‘What harm can it do? Hopefully she’ll see me as objective as I’m not a member of the Rossi family.’
‘You may not be a Rossi on paper but that family has taken you to their hearts. The other day Lucia asked me if I’d suggest to Alfonso that you stay for ever.’
Little Lucia had asked that? A rush of emotions made Mary feel as if she might spontaneously combust.
At that point Alfonso and Natale came over to say goodnight.
‘Lucia will miss her uncle, won’t she, when he moves out?’ said Mary, to no one in particular. They all knew about the paperwork Dante was looking over.
Rocco patted her arm. ‘Everyone will but we all suspected that, one day, this would happen.’
‘You know Dante – independent as anything,’ said Natale. ‘As soon as he got Oro, he said it was part of his plan. To live alone. We thought he’d change his mind.’
‘But my son is as stubborn as a bull,’ said Alfonso and ran a hand over his bald head.
Mary shrugged. ‘I guess he would have been married anyway, by now.’
Natale’s brunette eyebrows shot up. ‘He talked to you about Alessia?’
‘A little.’
‘Perhaps my son needs to move forwards in some way,’ Alfonso eventually said and his shoulders, reluctantly, bobbed up and down. ‘What will be will be. Dante knows there is always a home for him here, if things don’t work out.’ His eyes drooped at the corners. ‘First his lovely mamma leaves us. Now him.’ He took Natale’s hand. ‘But that is the way of the modern world and I must accept it.’
‘Don’t worry. Lucia has already promised to look after you, when she’s grown up. Apparently she’ll be running the restaurant by then.’ Natale forced a smile and kissed Mary on the cheeks before she and her father headed upstairs.
Mary gazed up at the moon. Unusually, cloud defaced it tonight. Rocco clicked his biro in and out. She’d found time to have a quick search on the internet for the early symptoms of acute lymphocytic leukaemia. Among other things they were tiredness, weight loss … or the bruising could be due to a clotting disorder, liver disease, or maybe lupus. But the only way to find out what was happening would be to persuade him to make a doctor’s appointment.
‘Finally we’re alone,’ she said, softly. ‘Tell me, Rocco. Please. What was today all about? I’ll do whatever I can to help.’