by Lucy Coleman
‘No. As with all sport there were favourites. The voice of the crowd could succeed in saving them on the day, even after a defeat. If the match was a good one, demonstrating great skill and bravery, then there was no shame in defeat. Although the high ranking magistrate editor, who sponsored the games, could choose not to endorse the popular opinion. But either way, the crowd would have been very vocal.’
Once more I feel that cold seeping into me, despite the fact this is now the home to lavish operatic productions. From the barbaric to the civilised… how time changes but the mark is still left upon it and, to me, it’s tangible.
‘Shall we move on?’ Arran asks diplomatically, seeing that the experience has moved me, and I nod.
‘I’m eager to see Juliet’s balcony.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘It’s over rated in my opinion,’ he bemoans.
‘Oh, so the site of wanton bloodshed is a monument, but the inspiration for Shakespeare’s heartrending Romeo and Juliet is hardly worth a glance?’
As we walk back towards the steps to make our way out, he begins laughing softly.
‘I didn’t say that, I simply think it’s no big deal. This is an incredible testament to the Roman empire and history in general. Up against a mere balcony it’s hardly a comparison.’
As we start the descent, walking side by side, I glance across at him.
‘They were so young and it’s a cruel end for lovers, thwarted by family rivalry.’
He at least manages to look chastised.
‘Yes, sorry. Sad story, fittingly immortalised by Shakespeare, of course.’
He’s trying to sound genuine for my sake but it’s insincere. He managed not to roll his eyes for a second time, but I could tell it took a concerted effort not to do so. I reward him with a pleasant smile, thinking that I’ll be glad once we’re outside in the square again.
Crossing the Piazza there’s a constant stream of people walking in both directions. We follow the wide, paved walkway flanked on one side by tall, rather elegant lamp posts and on the other by an imposing array of buildings. At ground floor level most are shops with emerald green sunshades extending out above us and casting some very welcome shade.
From here we head into a knot of smaller streets, off which run a series of lanes. The buildings are beautiful, reflecting the era of Renaissance romance in all its glory. Verona exudes a sense of passion for life and a love of all things that make the heart swell, whether that’s history, architecture, food or, of course, music. Any country so in love with opera has a romantic beat at its heart.
As we walk along it gets busier as the volume of people walking in the same direction is funnelled into the narrower pedestrian thoroughfare. With the contrast of the brilliant blue of the sky against the pale yellow and terracotta hues of the buildings, offset against beautiful old stonework, there is a richness to the scene. It’s bustling and vibrant, full of life. The general hubbub of chatter and everyday background noise seems to fill my ears as a steady stream of people start to turn into more of a crowd.
Suddenly Arran turns to me, laughter in his eyes. ‘You have reached your Mecca.’
A tall archway on our left, with oversized metal gates pinned open, heralds the entrance. The first thing I notice is what appears to be graffiti and on closer inspection the stonework is covered with handwritten messages. A sea of colour: black, white, red, blue – from a distance it looks like there’s been a paint explosion. The walls of the entire entrance tunnel – to just beyond a reachable height – are covered and some people have attached notes written on small pieces of paper. It’s tightly packed with sightseers and the acoustics are such that the volume of chatter is very loud indeed. We thread our way through with difficulty. Arran clasps my hand quite tightly as he leads us into an inner courtyard, which thankfully widens out.
The building is beautiful and the balcony is in the far right hand corner. The façade is a mix of brick, stonework and cement but the balcony itself isn’t large and is made up of carved, creamy white stonework. The wall adjacent to it is covered in a rampant climber and a large castor oil plant at the base is the backdrop for a statue of Juliet herself. She stands with her head turned towards the house and her left hand clutched to her breast, covering her heart.
Arran leans in to me as I take it all in. ‘The gift shop is just here.’ He steers my elbow in the direction of the other side of the courtyard.
Hmm. He’s right. It’s jam-packed with people, small children diving around in all directions and a couple of crying babies – it’s bedlam. Somehow, I need to tune out from the noise and bustle going on around me. Shaking my head in dismay, I spin back around and direct my gaze upwards.
For one single moment I imagine the courtyard empty, as Juliet glances down at her lover, knowing in her heart all hope is dashed. I can feel Arran’s eyes upon me and he moves even closer, making sure I don’t get jostled. Suddenly his arm snakes around my waist and he gives it a gentle squeeze. An action that’s not prompted in any way but I feel… special. And Arran doesn’t think he’s the romantic sort. Well, maybe that isn’t strictly true.
‘I’m done. I’ve had my moment, thank you for indulging me. Now let’s get away from the madness.’
21
Facing Facts
In the minibus on the way back Arran asks everyone to share the highlight of their excursion.
The responses are enthusiastic, from Silvia, holding up a very smart designer carrier bag containing some extortionately priced shoes, to Rick, who is an architectural buff. He spent most of his time at Castelvecchio. It has seven towers and a castle keep, with four main buildings inside it which now form a museum housing art, as well as artefacts, he informs us. Arran declares the Romanesque style Basilica di San Zeno Maggiore with its huge bronze doorway as being his highlight, then he turns to me as I’m last in line.
‘Um, let me see.’ Having fallen in love with Verona, its Renaissance buildings and the people, so larger than life that it felt consuming, I’m at a loss. How can I pick one solitary thing? ‘It has to be that simply wonderful meal. The Italian style pork steaks with butter and sage was beautifully simple: exquisitely cooked and presented. The perfect end to a perfect trip.’
Arran looks surprised, lowering his voice and leaning in to me. ‘Oh, not the balcony, then. Now that’s a surprise.’
I shake my head. ‘Sometimes expectations run high and you were right. What spoilt it for me was the crowd and the noise. I had my moment, though.’
‘You didn’t believe me, did you, when I said it was over rated.’
‘I thought you simply failed to appreciate how powerful, emotive and romantic a setting it was going to be. I mean, it was all of those things, but hard to enjoy given the throng of people and the noise. So, you were right in one way. But when I switched off for a moment it was everything I wanted it to be and that’s something I’ll always treasure.’
Arran shrugs his shoulders, his face reflecting the fact that he still doesn’t get it. ‘Oh well, glad you’re happy. I’m going to head up to my room as soon as we get back and start looking at that manuscript. Is that alright with you?’
Reluctantly, I say yes as I need to encourage him to get on with it. But a part of me hates to think of slipping into bed alone when Arran is going to be just one floor below me.
‘It’s fine. I’ll be working, too. I need to get words on that screen as quickly as I can now. But first I must re-acquaint myself with the characters. I find the trail goes cold if I don’t commit to writing daily.’
As the minibus pulls into the parking area behind the villa, Arran squeezes my hand. ‘I’m grateful for what you’ve done. I’ll be honest – I will miss you tonight. The bed will feel empty without you next to me.’ His voice is soft and low as he whispers the words into my hair. Perhaps I was wrong thinking Arran had no idea at all about romance. I mean, that was sensitive.
Glancing at my watch I see it’s nearly midnight, but I don’t feel at all tired. Several
of the group head off in the direction of the terrace to sit and have a night cap. I say goodnight and head up to my room, purposely avoiding Arran.
Settling myself out on the balcony, I send an email to Carrie to tell her Arran is about to start work on making those changes to his manuscript.
Then I spend half an hour doing a list of bullet points for the session I’m going to be running in the morning. It’s all basically quite standard stuff – book blurb, synopsis and pitching – but it covers key areas where people often make big mistakes. It will be fun though, and I’m looking forward to it.
Then it’s time to think about Jed Jackman and Bella Hart. It isn’t long before they are tumbling into bed and Bella runs her finger tips lightly over Jed’s bruised ribs, following it up with a string of kisses. As Jed starts to get in on the action my body begins to ache for Arran’s touch and it’s easy to write the scene. I’m more awake than ever now.
To my dismay I find myself constantly having to push to the back of my mind a question that is battling to muscle through and grab my attention. Namely, what on earth am I doing letting this attraction to Arran develop as if it could be something? I need to put it into perspective. We’ve been thrown together under the strangest set of circumstances, outside which our lives don’t touch, at all. I’ve even offered to lend him my life’s savings as if he’s some long-standing acquaintance and trusted friend. And it’s an offer I would still honour because… well, just because.
Just after three in the morning I decide to at least try to get some sleep. Surprisingly, the next thing I’m conscious of is the early morning sunlight creeping into the room and I flick my eyes open to see it’s half past six. Something woke me, and I think it must have been a ping, so I grab my phone.
Are you awake?
It’s Mel and this is early for her.
Almost, I think. It was a late night. What are you doing up at this time of the morning?
I’ve known her to sleep through her alarm and no one would ever call her a morning person.
Can’t sleep. Thinking about Ross. Is it too early to call?
I immediately dial her number.
‘Morning. Can’t quite believe you are awake, let alone texting. So how is Ross? I take it that things are still going well?’
She gives a low chuckle.
‘We went back to his place last night and he cooked me a romantic dinner for two. Prosecco and candles, even. I met his fur babies, Bowie and Hendrix. After the meal we snuggled up on the sofa and watched the golf.’
Golf? Golf? Ye Gods, it must be love!
‘And?’
‘And nothing. Afterward he drove me home. We’re going to the cinema tonight and I can’t wait.’
She isn’t saying much but her voice is different somehow, as if she’s trying to contain her joy.
‘He’s such a compassionate and tender hearted man, Brie. I was wrong to be suspicious. Ross says he’s never met anyone until now who made him feel ready to commit. I could hardly believe it when he said that! But we’re taking our time to really get to know each other, which is precisely what you advised me to do. We have so much in common, it’s unbelievable, and I just want to keep hugging myself when he’s not with me, out of sheer happiness.’
That touches my heart.
‘Aww, Mel, you have no idea how wonderful that is to hear! But what if… hmm… I mean…’ Words fail me.
‘I have no doubts at all that when we get to the point of falling into bed neither of us will be disappointed. It’s wonderful to be courted in the old way. It’s a bit like unwrapping a chocolate bar and savouring how it looks, how it feels and how it smells before taking a first bite.’
I burst out laughing and Mel isn’t far behind me.
‘You are one crazy lady and I’m so blessed to have you as a friend.’
‘How is life at Lake Garda?’
I lay my head back against the headboard, not sure what to say. After the little lecture I gave Mel last time we spoke I’m going to sound like someone who can give good advice, but can’t take it. What’s weird is that we’re in the same (love) boat, at the same time, but our roles seem bizarrely reversed. By nature, I’m the cautious one and Mel has always been a little more adventurous. Or do I mean optimistic? Trusting?
‘Arran is a fascinating guy. He’s not at all what I expected! He sounds rather like Ross without the flowers. I mean, he’s not really a romantic because he isn’t wired that way. But I can’t get enough of him. I want to be glued to his side, constantly. How stupid does that sound?’
There’s a second or two of awkward silence.
‘You slept with him?’ She sounds horrified. ‘You hardly know him! And aren’t you in danger of giving out the wrong impression? You’ve been there what, five days?’
I can see why she sounds scandalised because I’m well aware this isn’t my style and I’m acting a little out of character. Well, maybe more like one of my characters, quite frankly! I don’t know quite what to say to explain myself.
‘Seriously, Brie, what were you thinking? You get annoyed when people meet you expecting some sort of worldly, party girl then you meet Mr Academic and more or less confirm the stereotype. I’d be speechless if I wasn’t so shocked!’
Mel hasn’t met him, and she has no idea how intensive this experience has been. I’ve been drawn into Arran’s life and I already feel like I’ve known him for a long time. I wish she could understand that I’m literally living with Arran full time and this isn’t some momentary madness. If our time together had been spun out over a series of dates, the timeline would be a long one in terms of what we’ve discovered about each other already.
‘You think I’ve turned into one of my headstrong, grab-what-you-want heroines but it’s not like that. This is a mutual attraction and we couldn’t help ourselves. It wasn’t planned, it just happened. And then it happened again—’ I trail off, embarrassed.
‘Un-be-lieveable! That’s even worse. Don’t either of you have any self-control? You are stuck there together for the next three plus weeks. I mean, a little flirting and romance… okay, I could understand that if there’s an attraction between the two of you. But to full on get down to business knowing you can’t just up and leave if it becomes awkward: that’s really not such a great idea, Brie. After everything you went through with Paul, I’m really scared you are going to get hurt again. It’s too much, too soon, and I’m worried you’re dropping your guard for the wrong reasons. It’s wonderful to think of you being on a high at the moment. And no one deserves it more than you, but following on so soon after a… profound low, alarm bells are ringing in my head.’
Her concern is palpable.
‘I’ll be fine, I promise. I’m over the blip, let’s say. I don’t need Arran to be romantic because he’s perfect as he is… really. And this isn’t just about the sex.’ I hesitate for a moment over that statement but let it go. ‘But if we spent the entire rest of my trip in bed I wouldn’t be complaining.’ Argh. I shouldn’t have added that last remark; it’s the truth but I didn’t mean to say the words out loud. ‘When I leave here, who knows what will happen?’
What I hear back is a cross between a raucous laugh and a choking splutter.
‘Oh, Brie. You’re the hopeless romantic here, remember, the one born on Valentine’s Day? You’re always bemoaning that sex sells more books than a poignant tale of the pursuit of true love. That overwhelmingly sensual fizz will wane and then what will you be left with? It’s like a holiday romance – exciting for a brief while. Closeted together in such a wonderful environment and away from reality, the adventure of it all has sucked you in. But I know you, lady; when it comes to forever after you don’t want a sizzling sex god, you want a romantic hero and what if you’re left wanting… more? It has disappointment stamped all over it and I wish I was there to drill some sense into you to slow it down a little!’
‘Maybe this is my summer of simply getting things back into perspective – that’s a win-win situa
tion. Which is just what the doctor ordered. Every single moment we’re together makes my confidence soar even higher. Arran thinks I’m beautiful just the way I am and I know it’s silly, but I did need to hear a man say that. My pride hadn’t simply been dented, it had been pulverised.’
It’s true. But does she have a point? Arran’s face flashes before my eyes and my body instantly starts to heat up. The impact of her words has made me stop and think though.
‘Are you falling in love with him?’ She sounds aghast.
‘I don’t know. Probably not.’
‘Has he indicated that he’s falling in love with you?’
I pause, chewing my lip. ‘No. He said he could get used to having me around…’
‘Were you just about to have sex when he said that?’
‘Yes, but—’
She’s relentless and that’s why she’s the best best friend in the whole world. She is also the person who put me back together after I fell apart, so I know why she wants me to exert caution. But this is different.
‘I don’t want to burst your bubble, lovely lady, but you’ve just clawed your way back up from a truly nightmarish situation. I’m glad you are out of the way of the trolls and taking a break from social media, but it sounds like you’re glossing over all of that. I’m so happy this trip to Italy has revitalised you but you’re in lust and it’s too early to say if it’s going to turn into love. You aren’t equipped for the overload of emotions you’re feeling now that you’re living life again. That’s understandable after Paul, because that episode spiralled way out of control. So far, that it sent you into recluse mode and now… this, whatever it is, smacks of trying to prove something to yourself. Remember those warnings you gave me? You need to listen to your own advice and step back a little, or you are going to be the one getting hurt.’
The sadness in her tone is a wake up call. She’s panicking on my behalf and yet I’m so elated and happy! We have each other’s backs and only Mel could give it to me straight like that. And I’d expect no less.