The five of them – Mary, Dante, Alfonso, Natale, and Lucia … six including Oro – stood on the platform. Little Lucia was feeling much better and had sat on Dante’s lap, on the train, whilst he told her a story about a dog that found a new home. He based it on Fortuna.
‘The kind waiter who always fed the dog scraps was so, so happy to see him,’ he’d said to Lucia. His strong arms held her close and he spoke incredibly gently as she was a little fragile after her bug. Mary had been entranced, annoyed to feel impressed. It made his rejection so much more difficult to deal with.
They headed towards the steps, walked down and handed in their tickets before ending up on a narrow pavement. Mary breathed in. The smell of pollen owned the atmosphere. Right opposite was an olive grove, resplendent with bushy trees. Mary’s eyes narrowed, as she studied the thin leaves, bright green on top, whiter underneath. She admired the trees’ twisted, cavernous trunks. Wild flowers, dancing among tall grasses, bordered the road.
She pulled down her sunhat and put on dark glasses. To the right, in the distance, on the left-hand side she could see a bright red slide and yellow swings. That must have been the park Natale had mentioned. It was opposite the graveyard and a baroque-style church. From there the town spread upwards, over a hill.
Mary lifted her head and gazed at the grey houses and their small windows. The boxed, symmetrical shapes contrasted with the curve of the landscape and randomness of vegetation. Purple lavender bushes and yellow wild flowers added a splash of colour and punctuated the whole scene. Crickets chirped, their song a welcome change from the hooting car horns of Rome. The sun’s rays hunted out the back of her neck and arms.
Natale, Alfonso, and Lucia walked ahead, in silence, apart from Lucia coughing now and again. Alfonso held a bunch of pink roses – his late wife’s favourite. Dante and Mary carried the picnic baskets, Oro by Dante’s left side.
‘I take it, from your storytelling, that Rocco was pleased to see the dog this morning?’ Mary kept her voice breezy.
‘Si. He crouched down to give her the biggest hug. In response, the dog threw herself on the floor for a tummy tickle. They clearly have a bond.’
‘How was he?’
‘He looked as if he hasn’t slept for a month. Ruffled hair. Unshaven. Black under his eyes. It will take time. Right now, what has happened, splitting with Angelo – it will just be sinking in. I remember when Alessia left. It actually felt as if I had a heavy medicine ball inside my chest.’
Her stomach twisted at the thought of another woman making him feel like that.
‘But he has agreed to go to the police station, later. I said I’d take him there, when we got back today. This is a good sign.’
‘He’s taking back control.’
‘Exactly and it means it is less likely that Angelo will be able to persuade him to return.’
‘I understand that medicine-ball feeling. I used to get a similar thing when leaving a foster family.’
‘And how about after your last boyfriend went to Dubai?’
Mary thought about it. How she felt about Dante. How she’d felt about Jake. ‘It has taken me a while to move on, but I can see now … well … the upset. It wasn’t so much about Jake – it was a sense of loss at the future I thought we had together.’ She looked sideways at him. ‘You were actually engaged to Alessia, weren’t you? It’s bound to take you a long time to get over her – I mean, you aren’t yet, right?’ she said. ‘Sorry – um, not that it’s really any of my business.’
And here they were, all of a sudden in the middle of a deep conversation. She and Jake had skirted around the really important issues. Mary had told herself to ignore the niggles, her inner voice saying that perhaps she expected too much. So what if he’d just grabbed some flowers from the petrol station for her birthday? And why should Jake have told her about Dubai when his employer first mooted the idea – what would have been the point until it was certain?
Then there was the time she’d been late for their first anniversary dinner. Brenda had made her stay on to tidy up after a crate of wine crashed to the floor. Jake had said it was fine but gave her the cold shoulder all evening. Mary swallowed. Perhaps, looking back, it was because neither of them cared enough about the relationship to put in the work needed to make it really shine.
But that wouldn’t explain why she and Dante had proper, real, grown-up discussions. He’d made it clear that Mary was simply an employee. Yet he spoke about feelings with sincerity and he listened. Really listened.
‘What makes you think I’m not over her?’ His brow knitted. ‘I am. We bumped into each other about six months ago. I’d gone to the Trevi Fountain to meet a friend. There’s a favourite restaurant of ours, nearby. The base of the fountain had been covered with glass panels and a fashion show was being held on top of it. Alessia was there with her sister.’
‘Oh. So … you talked?’
‘Obviously I didn’t notice her but she saw me – came over and explained why the little piazza there was even busier than usual. We caught up with each other’s news. She petted Oro. I asked about her job and … nothing.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘No feelings. No broken heart.’
‘But a shadow falls over you whenever you mention her name.’
Oro and then Dante stopped behind the others as they came to a kerb. He and Mary crossed over and carried on talking once the others were on the move again.
‘I guess it’s a bit like Jake – you’ve worked out he didn’t break your heart, what did was the loss of your future. For me … eventually I realised that I was more hurt that she felt I wasn’t her protector any more – and angry that my blindness had caused the relationship to fall apart. Does that make sense?’ His shoulders hitched. ‘The gloom I feel over how it ended, it’s not because I’m still in love with her. In fact, just lately, I’ve even entertained the idea that perhaps us breaking up was for the best. I thought I loved her but …’ He stared ahead for a second.
‘Well, frankly, I see your blindness as an absolute asset,’ she said, shyly. ‘No one should have to see me first thing, with my scarecrow hair and morning face.’
He burst out laughing. Oro looked up, eyes wide. Dante seemed to sense that and bent down to tickle her head.
‘It wasn’t that good a joke,’ she said and blushed as the others turned around.
He looked serious for a moment. ‘It was, cara Maria. Like I’ve said before, not many people dare joke about my sight. Before I went blind friends and family would tease me about all sorts of things – a new haircut or quirky T-shirt, but two years on and they still tiptoe around as if I am made of eggshell.’
She adjusted her sunhat so that no one else could see a wave of emotion cross her face. At least they had a friendship, albeit with boundaries.
Mary took a small tube of sun cream out of her bag and applied it to her arms whilst they headed into the graveyard. She held back and whilst the family crowded around an upright, grey stone, she went for a walk, reading the engravings. Taken too soon was a common tribute and Mary stopped at one particular patch – the burial place of a young mum. She gave an involuntary shiver. Two children left behind. She wondered how they were doing now. The grave was well tended with no weeds and a bunch of fresh flowers. Somehow this comforted Mary. They hinted that the people she’d left behind were organised and kindhearted, not living in chaos through bitterness. Life went on.
As a sob floated across from the Rossis, Mary looked over. Dante’s arm was draped around Natale’s shoulders. Lucia caught her eye and beckoned for her to go over. Tentatively Mary joined them and Lucia pulled her right up to the gravestone and pointed to a small card.
‘Do you like it?’ she said, in Italian. ‘I drew that flower for Granny.’
‘It is beautiful,’ she mumbled and put down her picnic basket. ‘Your granny will think you a very talented girl.’
Alfonso had placed his bouquet next to the card. He took a small gardening fork out of the picnic basket Mary had carried and tended the grass surrounding that patch, digging out clumps of long grass and turning over the soil.
‘She shouldn’t have gone. It’s so unfair,’ muttered Natale and Dante took his arm away as she blew her nose.
‘I’ll go across to the park and find a picnic bench,’ he said, in an unsteady voice. ‘I think I can just about remember the layout. Come on, Oro.’
‘I’ll come too,’ said Mary and she picked up her basket again. Natale crouched down and ran her fingers over the headstone. Lucia held Dante’s hand and sang a nursery rhyme as they left the others behind and had soon crossed the road. To all appearances fully recovered from her bug, Lucia charged into the playground and shot straight to the slide.
Natale caught up and went to supervise, armed with cough sweets and tissues. ‘Be careful, now, my little treasure,’ she called. ‘Don’t overdo it.’
‘Here’s a suitable bench,’ said Mary. ‘Straight ahead. Under the shade of a beech tree.’
They picked their way through a patch of uncut grass and placed the picnic baskets on top of it. Oro sat to attention as a crowd of teenagers, laughing and playing ball, passed. Mary never ceased to admire the way the dog completely understood her job and was consistently on duty, out of the house.
Dante leant down and stroked her back. ‘It’s okay, my best girl.’
‘You’re so attuned to her moods,’ said Mary.
‘It is not hard. Whenever there is noise – like me bursting out laughing, earlier, or those teenagers, I know it will give her cause for concern. I see it as my job to reassure her at those moments.’
‘Job? It has nothing to do with love?’
His mouth twitched and he bent right down to kiss Oro’s head. ‘Does that answer your question? Although, seriously, I see it as a partnership. We look out for each other. Obviously, not literally in my case.’
Mary smiled.
‘Right, it is time to eat, no?’ said a deep voice. Alfonso had appeared, eyes looking red. He brushed soil off his checked shirt and beige shorts. Mary didn’t often get to see his legs and they were quite the hairiest she’d ever seen.
‘Let’s begin before the wasps beat us to it,’ he called, in Italian once more, and little Lucia ran over, clapping her hands. Natale followed.
‘Of course, you won’t want to eat much, because you are ill,’ Dante said to the little girl.
She folded her arms. ‘Don’t be silly, Uncle. Everyone knows to get better people need to eat lots – especially chocolate cake.’
Everyone laughed. Natale arrived just in time to hear and ruffled Lucia’s black curls. Then she sat down and fanned her heart-shaped face with her sunhat.
‘This shade is most welcome,’ she said. ‘This must be the hottest day of the year, so far. My back feels drenched.’
‘Mamma never felt the humidity as much as us, having grown up here,’ said Dante and smiled. ‘She used to say the Roman buildings protected us from the heat and that you needed true grit to survive a summer in the countryside.’
Alfonso nodded. ‘She never burnt. Her skin always went straight to golden brown, whilst mine looks redder than your pizza sauce.’
Mary passed Alfonso her sun cream and Lucia begged him to let her play the grown-up and rub it in, whilst everyone else unpacked the picnic. Mary’s mouth watered at the growing spread on the bench. Eagerly she passed around plastic plates. Lucia wiped her hands on her yellow sundress and reached for a plump purple grape. Mary inhaled the savoury aromas travelling her way from fresh salami, cold pizza and glistening mozzarella, and the basil and tomato salad drenched in garlic dressing. She’d only ever had a picnic once before, with Jake. The pork pies and cheese sandwiches now seemed bland in comparison with this orchestra of Mediterranean flavours.
The wasps did, indeed, want their fair share and the meal was narrated by Lucia telling off the insects. Mary finished with the juiciest nectarine ever, glad there were plenty of napkins to wipe her sticky chin and drops from her T-shirt.
‘Now, what was that about chocolate cake?’ Natale said and winked at Lucia. Mary shook her head. She couldn’t manage another mouthful, having gorged on the flavoursome cold pizza.
Eventually, they all finished eating and Lucia ran back to the slide. Natale turned to watch her and sipped from her water bottle.
‘That was delicious,’ said Mary. ‘Grazie mille for inviting me on your special day.’
Alfonso nodded. Once again it struck her how little they spoke about his wife. In fact, back in Rome her name was hardly mentioned – Mary didn’t even know what it was.
‘What was your wife called? I’m embarrassed, after all this time, to say I don’t know.’
He took off his sunglasses and laid them on the table. ‘Viola.’
‘That’s beautiful,’ said Mary, softly.
‘She was a beautiful woman. A figure curvier than Sophia Loren. Thick brown hair cut by her chin. Big chocolate eyes. A good heart inside, too. She used to help out at the local soup kitchen once a month and always had a charity box on the bar.’
Dante took a mouthful of water. ‘What was your mum called, Mary?’ he said, switching to English.
‘Julie.’
‘Can you remember her at all?’ said Natale. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking.’
Away from the familiar city traffic and smells, this tranquil village had the atmosphere of a trusted confession box.
‘I have a vague image of a face in my mind. Young. Sad. Long hair dyed pink.’
Natale nodded encouragement. Mary crossed her legs and fiddled with her napkin. Should she tell what no one else knew – not even Jake, nor Jill?
‘My mum … she was a drug addict.’
Dante and Natale made sympathetic noises. Alfonso looked shocked.
‘I haven’t been given much information, but from what I can tell she got in with the wrong crowd at school. Failed her exams. Went travelling abroad and slipped into some bad habits. Then when she got back, she stole from her parents to fund her addiction. After a few years they cut all ties with her. Then she got pregnant.’
‘Oh, Maria. I am so sorry,’ said Natale.
‘It’s okay. I’ve understood more, the older I’ve got. She just had bad coping mechanisms for dealing with life. Despite everything, my grandparents agreed to bring me up. Mum saw me from time to time, when she had a period of being clean. But Grandma and Granddad were heading for seventy. Hadn’t got on with my mum for years and probably resented the responsibility. So at five years old I was handed over to Social Services.’
‘Oh, Maria. Was there no one else in your family who could help?’ asked Alfonso.
Mary shook her head. ‘But now there’s my good friend, Jill,’ she said and heat radiated through her chest. Jill had texted last night. Told Mary she missed her but hoped, one day, to visit Rome. ‘But apart from that … no. My placements with foster families didn’t tend to last very long. Yet lately, I can see that most of the couples tried hard and in their own way, genuinely cared.’
‘So, you don’t have any contact with your mum now?’ asked Dante, who’d been taking it all in.
‘No. She died. Three weeks after my grandparents gave me up.’