‘I don’t know where to start,’ he said and put his elbows on the green gingham tablecloth, in between them. A busker played his accordion, by the fountain. Gabriel waved as he leant back in his deckchair and blew smoke rings. Serena, from the restaurant across the piazza, waved too. She was about Mary’s age and had invited her over there for a coffee, not long after she’d arrived. Having studied in London, for six months, she understood how it felt to move to foreign climes. She and Mary would tease each other about their cultures. Serena reckoned the Brits only ate frozen convenience food. Mary insisted Italians couldn’t hold a conversation without interrupting the other person at least ten times.
‘Those bruises … do you know what caused them?’ said Mary.
Rocco folded his arms.
‘I hope you don’t mind, but I took a look on the computer. There are various conditions … no need to worry,’ she added hastily, ‘but it couldn’t harm to make a doctor’s appointment.’
‘That’s not possible,’ he said, equally quickly.
‘You’re worried. Anyone would be in your position. But it’s probably something that can easily be treated – or managed. If you like, I could come with you.’
‘That’s very considerate but—’
Mary blushed. Sometimes she forgot that what was personal to some people wasn’t to her. She’d grown up being taken to the doctor’s by relative strangers.
‘Or perhaps you have a close friend who could go?’ Rocco didn’t have a girlfriend who could take him. ‘What about Paola?’
‘No. Please, Maria, don’t mention this to her. Promise?’ The colour drained further from his cheeks. He unfolded his arms. ‘I don’t want to worry her.’
‘What about Angelo, then?’
Rocco’s face flushed.
‘He’s one of your best friends, right?’
‘I don’t want to bother him either. Angelo is picking me up tonight, on the way back from a party. He knows I’m not feeling one hundred per cent so he insisted.’
‘Then what about talking to your mum and dad? Perhaps it’s something that runs in the family.’
‘You don’t understand.’ His voice broke.
Mary pulled her chair next to his and slipped an arm around his shoulder. ‘What is it?’
He shook his head.
‘I’m here to help. Let me.’
‘Like you – I have no parents. Mine have disowned me.’
What on earth could have caused that? Rocco was hardworking, caring …
‘My parents haven’t spoken to me for almost two years.’
‘Oh, Rocco. That must hurt. Life stinks sometimes, doesn’t it?’
‘They don’t accept me, for who I am.’
‘What, a waiter?’
Rocco shrugged.
Mary snorted. ‘They should try working a shift. It’s one of the hardest jobs in the world.’
‘No, it’s not that. You see …’ Rocco turned to face her and Mary’s arm dropped away. ‘I’m gay, Maria,’ he said, simply.
She stared.
‘You are shocked?’
‘Only because I had no idea. Why the secrecy? Does the Rossi family know?’
‘Yes. Since my parents disowned me. It happened around the time Dante lost his sight. I guess we all kind of pulled together. I asked them never to tell anyone.’
It made sense, now, why he was so loyal to the Rossis. ‘So, your mum and dad …?’
‘They are heavily involved in the local church. Good friends with the priest. He is hardline. Every time Italy has suffered earthquakes, over the years, he’s always said it is divine punishment for the existence of homosexuals.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘I know. Especially as our Pope Francis is helping the Catholic Church evolve – in a positive way – when it comes to people like me.’
‘So that’s why you never came out to them as a younger man?’
Rocco nodded. ‘I used to dress more flamboyantly – father never liked that. Every time I visited, mother would talk non-stop about some nice young woman she knew, who was looking for a boyfriend. Looking back … I don’t know … perhaps they guessed.’ He gulped. ‘If my own mum and dad can’t accept me, then what chance do I stand with anyone else?’
‘Well, I’m still here,’ she said, softly. ‘You might be surprised at other people’s acceptance. Your parents have raised you, so the stakes are higher for them, but anyone else…’ But then what did she know? It was impossible to truly imagine how difficult his life had been. ‘What about Paola?’
Rocco’s eyes glistened. ‘No. I love her too much. I can’t risk losing her as well.’
‘What does she think has happened between you and your parents?’
‘They made up some story about saying I never visit enough and am not a good son. I avoid the topic with my sister. She tried hard at the beginning, told them I just worked a lot, to build a good career … We’ve never been a family that talks openly about problems. Paola probably just accepts that something big has happened and she’ll never know.’ He gave her a sheepish look. ‘Excuse me, Maria – I know all this is self-indulgent. They may not have always been the most loving parents, but at least I had stability during my childhood. You had things much harder.’
‘Don’t apologise. You have every right to be upset. Who’s to say which is more difficult – missing something you’ve never had or missing the real deal. Tell me to mind my own business, but have you got a boyfriend? Perhaps he could go with you.’
‘It’s … Angelo. We are a little more than best friends.’ His face lit up for a second and Mary recognised that as the Look of Love. She’d seen it on foster couples’ faces, when their eyes met, and when Jill hugged her husband. Mary swallowed. She’d never seen it on Jake. And why should she have? You could also feel the Look of Love and she’d not felt that sparkle in her own expression, with her ex.
‘You told me once that you first met him in a club …’ she said.
‘Si. I used to love parties. I’d got a job in a posh hotel and a place of my own. Finally I became part of the gay scene and came out to like-minded people. It was exhilarating, the sense of freedom after so many years of living with my parents who worried what the neighbours thought about everything from their make of car to the cut of their lawn.’
‘I can relate to that,’ Mary said. ‘Even though it was scary, being catapulted into the real world at eighteen, with no support, I found it liberating. At school everyone wants to know about your parents and family set-up. Suddenly I was just “me” with no questions being asked. I had the power to direct my own life.’
Rocco nodded. ‘I felt normal, for the first time in years. I made lots of friends. And then I attended a party organised by Angelo.’
‘Was it love at first sight?’ Mary grinned.
Rocco’s eyes shone. ‘For me, yes. Angelo was so confident. So sure about who he was. I guess I looked up to him. He dressed stylishly, with confidence – still does – and I watched him work his way around the room, talking to everyone, making jokes. People followed him as if they hoped his flair would transfer to them.’ He shrugged. ‘We got talking. Liked the same food. The same music. I couldn’t believe someone like him would be interested in me. But he spent the whole evening by my side. At the time I was working in room service, in a five-star hotel. Angelo loved hearing about the celebrities I served.’
‘How come you ended up working in Pizzeria Dolce Vita? Dante said you moved in with Angelo shortly before starting work here …’
‘Yes. Our relationship developed. In my old job, I often had to work through the night. When I got home, I was going to bed whilst Angelo was getting up. We hardly saw each other. Angelo always earned a lot more than me and suggested I change jobs. He was happy to pay most of the rent.’ Rocco clasped his hands together. ‘At last I had someone I could picture a future with. I had wanted a career in hotel management but decided to put my relationship first. It works much better. We both get home around the same time, when I am working late. The hotel hours were crazy, with shifts during the night. This way I have time to look after the flat and cook as well. Eventually, as months passed, my partying days stopped and I became something of … how do you say … a homebird?’
Yet, day in, day out, he didn’t look happy. ‘I’m glad you don’t have to hide your true identity here.’
‘The whole Rossi family has been truly magnifico.’ He gave a small smile. ‘Although I don’t think Alfonso had met many gay men before me. It was my birthday, shortly after I told them, and he bought me a CD of Broadway musical soundtracks and a pair of rainbow socks.’
Mary smiled. ‘So, back to the point in hand. You need a doctor’s appointment, Rocco – if not for yourself, for everyone who cares about you, like me, the Rossis, Paola … pregnant Fortuna, and of course Angelo. Will you talk to him about it? At the most, you might just need a blood test.’
Rocco looked away.
‘Just think about it?’ she said, more gently.
A taxi pulled up and Rocco hurriedly got to his feet. ‘Please, Maria, don’t say anything to him.’
The taxi door opened and a tall man got out. She could understand why Rocco had been bowled over. Angelo was tall. Sleek but somehow solid. His bright blue suit hung perfectly, accompanied by a crisp white shirt opened to reveal a tanned chest. His slicked-back hair boasted distinguished strands of grey and Mary thought he had make-love-to-me eyes.
‘You must be Maria – or rather, Audrey Hepburn,’ said a voice as smooth as his hair.
‘You’ve been talking to Gabriel,’ she said to Rocco, accusingly.
Angelo came forward and kissed her hand. A whiff of musky aftershave flirted with the night air. He draped an arm around Rocco. ‘Stai bene?’ he asked, gently.
‘I’m okay.’ Rocco looked at Mary and nodded, before climbing into the back of the taxi. Angelo joined him. The taxi drove away.
With a yawn, Mary locked up and was soon stretched out, in bed. She stared at the ceiling, following the shadows that danced to and fro, directed by trees outside in front of orange streetlight. She threw off the sheet, glad of the slight breeze coming through the window, and thought about Pizzeria Dolce Vita, her new home.
Home. That wasn’t a word she’d used often. It held idealistic meaning for her. As a child she’d always imagined that real homes brimmed with comfort, warmth, and compassion. And finally, here in Italy, she’d got to live with a family who weren’t paid to look after her and that allowed Mary a genuine look at what she’d been missing.
Sure enough, every interaction between the Rossis, whether it was a compliment or sharp word, at its root came from a place of love. However, as time progressed, she realised that her idea of what family life must be like wasn’t real. It got just as messy as any person’s in care. Take Natale’s unexpected pregnancy. The Rossis’ bereavement. Dante’s tragedy. And then there was Rocco who’d become part of their unit, because he’d been disowned by his parents.
As Mary fought with the sheets for that perfect temperature, she understood that normal families, not just foster ones, had their problems. That meant that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t so different.
She wished she’d grown up with her parents. Rocco wished his would accept him for who he was. Natale and Dante wished they still had a dad and a mum.
With her own imperfect history, Mary was one of the crowd.
Mary fitted.
Mary Smith belonged.