Rome at night – was there anything more beautiful? Mary gawped at the impressive architecture lit up against the ebony sky. Flocks of seagulls darted in and out of the light, even though it was way past their bedtime. She’d got off the underground one stop early, to walk through a couple of piazzas and admire yet another illuminated fountain. A tall man with a merry-go-round of dreadlocks, tied with colourful beads, tried to sell her jewellery but she was especially streetwise now. Day in, day out, back at the pizzeria, she’d come face to face with street vendors wanting her money. Eventually she’d mastered the right tone and expression to deliver a firm no.
It was heading for midnight as she finally arrived outside Margherita Margherita. The small building looked especially pretty at night, with tealight candles on the tables and daisy white and yellow fairy lights across the canopy front. The place was half-empty, with the remaining customers finishing off dessert. Mary sat down in a corner. Margherita was in and came over, dark hair up in a bun with untamed strands hanging down. She wiped her hands on her apron. Her nose wrinkled.
‘Not very good at spying, are you, turning up when I have so few customers in.’
‘Could I have a mochaccino please,’ Mary said. This wasn’t going to be easy. Five minutes later, Margherita came back with the drink. ‘Per favore. I’m here to talk to you. Please, join me.’
‘I have nothing to say to you.’
‘But I have something I need to say – about Dante. About Pizzeria Dolce Vita. All I ask is for ten minutes of your time – then I won’t return again.’
‘That man and that restaurant are the last things I would want to discuss – especially at the end of one of the busiest nights of the week.’
‘Please?’
With a sigh, Margherita took off her apron and sat down. ‘Look – it is nothing personal. I am sure you mean well. But I am ambitious and as far as I can tell Pizzeria Dolce Vita is the weakest link on the Lombardi List. It’s my way in.’
‘By spreading rumours about food poisoning?’ Mary shrugged. ‘Why would you do that? I mean, this place has really taken off. You don’t need to use dirty tactics.’
Margherita brushed damp strands of hair from her face. ‘I didn’t make it up. One of our customers ate there and was ill the next day.’
‘Did they go back to complain?’
Her face flushed. ‘No. I mean … she was also in the early stages of pregnancy, but still …’
‘So, it wasn’t Pizzeria Dolce Vita’s fault.’
‘Who knows?’ said Margherita without making eye contact.
‘Come on. You know it wasn’t. Why are you targeting the Rossi family like this?’
She jabbed her finger in the air. ‘No restaurant run by a coward deserves to be on that list.’
‘You mean Dante? Look, your English friend, the other day, she told me about your granddad – the way the Germans—’
‘Then you’ll understand why, for me, the services come first. Your friend Dante should have saved his partner.’
‘It’s not as if he got off scot-free.’
She snorted.
Mary’s body tensed. ‘Have you no compassion? Dante had a split second to decide what to do. He lost his sight – and the life he knew.’
‘But he didn’t lose his physical life. And now he’s making pizzas. Dating English waitresses—’
‘We’re not—’
‘And having a good time.’
She stared at her. ‘Your support of those heroes who protect nations against danger is admirable but what about the policeman who was killed? Hugo. Do you think he would have rather Dante saved his life instead of a civilian’s?’
Margherita looked away for a moment. ‘I’ve nothing against you. I’m just very patriotic. Proud of this country’s soldiers and police force. Many of my family members have worked in the armed services. Put others before themselves.’ She turned back. ‘Dante took the easy option. I have no respect for that.’
‘Easy? That night was a tragedy. For both men. And his family.’ Mary shook her head. ‘It’s two years on and I still haven’t got the full story – all I know is that the fallout from that day is still affecting all their lives. I’ve just come from a small flat the other side of town. Dante is determined to live there – alone, with his dog. Part of the reason? Every time there is a security scare at least one newspaper runs a story about him, dragging up the past. He gets paranoid that people visit the restaurant to catch sight of him and gossip and to see if he really is the monster those one or two journalists make him out to be.’ Her voice broke. ‘He just can’t take it any more.’
Margherita pursed her lips. ‘Go now. I have heard you out. You have not changed my mind.’
She disappeared inside and, chest feeling heavy, Mary left the right change by her drink. She’d done her best. With a deep sigh she left the table and turned around as Margherita called something to the staff about locking up.
‘I assumed you lived upstairs,’ said Mary.
‘I did, until recently – but business is booming so we are having the next floor up converted into another dining area. I will eventually move back, into the very top floor, but am renting a small place until all the work is done.’
‘Congratulations. All your hard work is paying off.’ Mary gave her a small smile and turned away.
Margherita cleared her throat. ‘You are going to the underground station?’
‘Yes.’
‘The last train has gone by now.’
Mary looked at her watch and groaned. ‘Of course. How stupid of me.’
‘If you come with me, I can show you the nearest taxi rank.’
‘Oh. Right. Thanks.’
‘I’m not a monster either … scusa, I don’t know your name …?’
‘Mary.’
‘Mary. I am no monster. If …’ She swallowed. ‘If Pizzeria Dolce Vita deserves to stay on the list, it will. But you can’t blame me for doing everything I can to raise my restaurant’s profile.’
They passed an old man, lying on tarpaulin. He had a bushy beard and dirt ingrained under his nails. As they walked past, Margherita reached into her handbag and put several coins into the paper cup by his legs.
‘Grazie mille, Bella.’ He then teased her as to why she brought him no pizza tonight.
For someone who resented Dante for saving a rough sleeper, she was surprisingly sympathetic to the homeless problem.
‘Here we go,’ said Margherita, as they walked around a corner.
Mary stared at the queue of taxis ahead. The women nodded at each other before each getting into a taxi. On the journey back, she hardly noticed the alluring night-time sights of Rome. She didn’t watch the taxi meter and worry as the euros clocked up. Thoughts spun around in her mind. She wanted to dislike Pizzeria Dolce Vita’s archenemy but for some reason couldn’t.
Eventually the car pulled up outside the Rossis’ place and Mary yawned, paid the driver, and got out. Dante sat outside.
‘I thought you might sleep at the flat.’
‘Changed my mind. It’s a bit sparse and I’m in work tomorrow.’
She sat down beside him and he draped an arm around her shoulder.
‘Gorgeous evening, isn’t it?’ he murmured. ‘This tranquillity. The lingering smells from happy diners eating out. The humidity that’s just bearable now, and makes you feel as if you’re wrapped up in one cosy embrace.’
She snuggled up. They could do this. Just be close friends.
‘Mamma loved this time of day and would often sit out here, last thing at night.’
‘You must miss her. I miss mine too – even though I never really knew her. Silly, isn’t it?’
‘Not at all. The things I miss most about my mother are the most basic qualities that we are wired to need, like hugs and a listening ear. Did you never have that, from any of your foster parents?’
‘You know, as a child, as a teenager, I never thought I did. It was easier to look at just the negatives. However, as I’ve matured, and just lately, I’ve been able to view my past with a different perspective. It’s a tough job being a foster parent – everything is regulated by rules and record-keeping. They weren’t even allowed to get my hair cut without getting permission.’
She shrugged. ‘I think my expectations were too high. I wanted the whole Disney shebang – the happy ending. Unconditional love. I can see now that I just had a run of bad luck, being placed with families who, through no fault of their own, had to pass me on. And whilst I didn’t cause lots of trouble at school, or with the police, I guess, over time it became harder for me to show affection – because I told myself my carers didn’t mean it when they did. And also I’ve got perspective from … your family … you see …’ Mary hesitated.
‘Go on.’
‘Don’t take this the wrong way but this is the first time I’ve lived with people outside of the foster programme. Now I can really see that all families have their problems. That all these years I’ve been idealising something that doesn’t really exist.’
‘Our family used to be pretty perfect,’ he muttered. ‘Then I messed it up.’
‘Messy, that’s just life. It’s not always someone’s fault.’ She glanced at him. ‘You – feeling responsible … is that part of why you are moving out? Because I get a sense that you don’t really want to.’
Dante’s head dropped.
Mary could stand it no longer. She stood up and sat on his lap. Tenderly, she ran a hand through his hair, just wanting to make everything all right. Dante slipped his arms around her waist.
‘Oh, Mary,’ he murmured, as she kissed the corner of his mouth, stomach tingling at the way he’d said her English name. As he responded, her kisses moved across his top lip until their mouths fully met. The sound of her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Dante stood, lifting her in his arms as he did. Eagerly, her fingers slipped under the front of his shirt. In the distance a car backfired and it was as if a bullet had fired and burst their sultry bubble of attraction. Dante straightened. Placed her on the ground.
‘What’s the matter?’ she murmured.
‘We’ve been through this. Us. Me. It’s no good.’
‘Why, Dante? I can’t fight it any longer,’ she said, sacrificing all those resolutions to make it work as good friends. ‘You want this. I can tell. So what’s the problem?’
‘Do I have to point it out? I’m blind, Mary. A liability. All the damage I’ve done …’ His voice sounded thick. ‘You’ll just end up with resentments.’
‘Don’t judge me on the basis of what happened with Alessia.’
A muscle in his cheek flinched.
‘The flat? What about me helping—’
‘What’s the point of interior design? I can’t see it. Never will,’ he said, voice raised.’ His chair scraped noisily on the ground as he pushed it back to look for his stick. It had fallen to the ground.
‘I’ll get it,’ mumbled Mary.
‘No! Just leave it. I can manage.’ His voice faltered. ‘I’m not the solution, to your … your difficult childhood.’
‘What?’
Finally he found the stick and straightened up. ‘You’re looking for something I can’t offer you. Security. Stability. All the things you never had. Just stay away from me. You’d only be disappointed.’
‘Sounds to me like you’re afraid,’ she stuttered.
‘Yes, afraid of having to live up to your expectations,’ he snapped. ‘You said it yourself, my family’s messed up. Stop trying to use it as a replacement to the one you never had. We’ve got enough problems of our own, without carrying yours.’
Mary’s throat ached. His words transported her back to childhood. Feeling as if she were on the outside, looking in. Loved only with conditions.
Humiliation swept over her. A sob escaped her lips as she muttered an apology. Dante tried to grab her hand and started to say he didn’t mean what he’d said, but Mary had left.