by Anna Premoli
The farmhouses we see tell us that we are going the right way for Gaggiano, which eventually appears but not before we’ve passed several of the farms that are located here to exploit the abundance of water. Arriving near the Sant’Invenzio sanctuary, my tongue begins to hang out like a thirsty dog’s. I hope to god that all this is going to end soon, or I’ll have no choice but to jump into the canal.
Ari brakes and stops to wait for me. “This area is called Castelletto – we’re at the beginning of the Ticino Park. We’re nearly at Abbiategrasso,” he consoles me.
“Thank God,” I pant. “I was starting to worry I wouldn’t get there alive.”
My backside is killing me and my calves have seen better days too.
“What a drama queen,” he teases me kindly. “I thought...”
“Ah, so you’ve started thinking now, have you?”
“Yes, from time to time...” he replies with a smile. “But only when strictly necessary. Anyway, I thought we could go to Morimondo Abbey.”
“Mori as in Memento Mori, I imagine, because getting there kills you.”
Ari laughs and shakes his head. “You’re in the wrong profession: standup comedian would have been a much better fit.”
“Yes, I do sometimes have my doubts. But I have no doubts about the fact that I can’t go much further today. I’m exhausted.”
“Ok,” Ariberto says. “Just as soon as we find a nice field where we can stop.”
Thank God for that! We pedal again for about ten minutes and then, shortly before Abbiategrasso, we choose a grassy area and get off our bikes. I collapse gracelessly into the grass, then close my eyes and enjoy the moment of peace and silence, breathing deeply and savouring the smell of nature. Or, to be more precise, the smell of the canal, even thought the smell of nature sounds more poetic.
When I lift my eyelids, Ari’s face is looming over mine. It’s the portrait of satisfaction.
“I thought you’d quit earlier,” he says mockingly.
“You... asshole!” I yell, punching him on one of his well-defined forearms. Today he’s wearing a simple white short-sleeved shirt. I’m surprised, because I didn’t know he had one, especially without his initials on it.
Despite everything, last night ended with nothing more passionate than kisses. In fact, Ari turned out to be a perfect gentleman. Too perfect... We ate pizza, laughed ourselves stupid at a horrible movie on TV and then kissed until three in the morning. And yet somehow, today he looks as fresh as a rose. I really don’t understand how that’s possible, I should probably ask him about his beauty regime. I only managed to remedy the dramatic situation by applying a generous dose of foundation.
Ari comes over to me and plants a loud kiss on my lips. “I was starting to feel withdrawal symptoms,” he explains.
“You kissed me less than an hour ago,” I remind him.
“Exactly! Ages ago!”
“The same old drama queen...” I groan. But this time it’s me who grabs his face and pulls his mouth back to my lips. They feel so nice there, I can’t see what point there is in moving them.
“Listen...” he says when we eventually manage to get our mouths off each other.
“I can hear you, Ari, I’m not totally deaf, “ I say mockingly.
“Funny girl. Anyway, I was saying, what are you doing next weekend?”
“The weekend of the 25th of April? Absolutely nothing. Apart from working on my thesis, of course. I ought to go and see my parents, but they let me off the hook by telling me they’d booked to go somewhere with two pairs of friends. Let’s just say I didn’t exactly tear out my hair when I found out.”
Without Fil around, the idea of spending time with my family is even less appetising than it used to be.
“Then you could come with me,” he proposes. “My folks have a house in Santa Margherita Ligure in Liguria. It’ll be empty next weekend, so I thought we could... I don’t know, have a change of scenery,” he murmurs, his voice fading away towards the end of the sentence.
Ari doesn’t just want to have a change of scenery. No, he wants to do it with me.
I blink in surprise and stare at him for a long time. If I agree to leave with him, I’ll be exposing myself to a whole series of dangers. Like getting even more attached.
“Bertha, I wouldn’t want you to get any weird ideas...” I try to be tactful.
“No pressure. Seriously, I’m not trying to force you into sleeping with me,” he reassures me with a smile. “There are three bedrooms. You’re free to choose whichever one you prefer.”
“Bedrooms aside, it would still be a bit of a... how can I put it...”
“Temptation?” he suggests with a chuckle.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Come on, I know I’m irresistible but I’m not that irresistible,” he jokes.
Noooo, of course you’re not... And I’m Snow White.
I really don’t like this habit my heart seems to have developed over the last few days of pounding in my chest, especially seeing as I don’t have my GP’s number handy.
“I don’t know Bertha...” I say, trying to play for time. “Not that I don’t feel like going to the sea, mind you.”
“With me,” he points out.
“Yes sure. With you. I didn’t actually say it but I haven’t forgotten that one small detail, whatever you might think,” I snort in exasperation. “The problem is that I can’t help thinking of you and me as a bad match.”
He raises an eyebrow and looks at me with confusion. “A bad match? Really?”
“I can imagine you with some girl who looks like you – someone who’s always smiling, someone uncomplicated.” I realize that I probably sound stupid, but I’ve never felt as completely inadequate as I do at this moment. Inadequate towards the situation, towards him, towards life in general. And I don’t like the feeling at all.
“Hang on Giada,” he says, becoming very serious, “what are you babbling about?”
“I’ve got a bad temper, in case you haven’t noticed,” I remind him.
He grins at me. “Really? No you’re right, I’d never have imagined...”
“And I always see the worst in people. For me, it’s the rule. And you’re so well-disposed towards everyone else...” I try to explain.
“I can’t do anything about that,” he says with a shrug. “It’s just a character flaw.”
“I know that’s the way you are and that you can’t do anything about it! It’s a good way to be! The world would be a bloody gloomy place if everyone was like me. So do you want to explain to me for once and for all just what it is you’re expecting from me? Why me?”
That’s the question I’ve been asking myself since all this started, and I can’t relax until I have an answer.
Looking very serious, Ari turns towards me and puts his hands on my shoulders. He takes a deep breath and looks me in the eyes.
“Giada, sometimes you can’t explain why you feel the way you do about a person. You just do. Maybe after I say this you’ll think I’m a bit shallow, but whether you believe it or not I don’t spend my nights tossing and turning in bed wondering why I like you. I just do, and I accept it,” he concludes. “You’re a gorgeous, intelligent girl with a fantastic sense of humour.”
Me, gorgeous? Did he bang his head or something?
“It’s called sarcasm, not ‘a sense of humour’,” I correct him. Yes, there are those people who know how to accept a compliment with a gracious smile, and then there’s me.
“All right, sarcasm. Well I obviously like sarcasm, then. And I like you. I don’t go in much for mental masturbation...” he says, looking a little exasperated by my endless uncertainties. “The real question is – do you like me?”
The expression on his face, which looks as though it was meant to be one of calm detachment, betrays a hint of worry. Ariberto Castelli would never be a great poker player, I’m afraid.
I look away from his face and think for a few moments. His question r
emains suspended in the air between us, as heavy as a boulder, while I watch a group of ducks, without a single thought in their heads, swim along the muddy canal.
And, in spite of myself, I smile. Sometimes surrendering to the evidence can be quite liberating.
“I really shouldn’t like you...” I mutter in spite of myself.
Out of the corner of my eye I notice a smile instantly spread across his face.
“So, you’re coming with me to Liguria, then?” he asks again.
There’s no point fighting – Ariberto Castelli knows what he’s about when it comes to being persuasive and he never seems to give up, even in the face of the most demanding obstacles.
Even, metaphorically speaking, an obstacle like me and my shitty character.
Puffing with resignation, I grab a long blade of grass.
“Yes. I am...”
Chapter 10
The Friday before we set off I beg a couple of hours leave from work and go with Lavinia with our trusted hairdresser: she has to have her highlights touched up and I have to decide what to do with myself. Which is no easy decision.
“So, what colour are we going for this time?” asks the smiling hairdresser, who has witnessed my various metamorphoses and spread endless amounts of dye on my hair over the last few years. I think I can state with some confidence that I’m not predictable, at least when it comes to hair colour.
“I was thinking...” I say, and then stop short, overcome with terror. My voice cracks and my face writhes in a strange grimace of effort. “I was thinking... we could do them in my natural colour?” I finally manage to croak, showing her my blonde roots.
But instead of any sound of agreement, there’s only a strange silence. Too much silence, given that neither my friend or the hairdresser ever usually stop chatting.
“What?” I ask incredulously, looking up.
Lavinia stands there, her mouth hanging open in shock, squinting and blinking as though trying to focus. “Oh. My. God, “he mutters in a reverential tone. “This is big!”
The hairdresser is no less amazed. “Holy smokes, Giada! You should have given us a bit of warning at least!”
In the mirror I look first at one and then the other, crossing my arms over the chest. “I didn’t say I was thinking of having it shaved off. I just said I’d like to try something similar to my natural colour for a while. What with all this dyeing, my hair has gotten really fragile...”. I’ve always known that people who try and justify themselves automatically look like they’re in the wrong; it’s a shame I forgot it in this difficult moment.
“I always thought you couldn’t care less about split ends,” says Vinny, who can’t seem to get her head around it. She’s even fanning herself with one hand as if she’s on the verge of passing out. So over the top... “I mean, I knew this trip was a big deal and that you two... well...” And she gives me a wink. She didn’t use to have such a dirty mind – I’m afraid that might be my fault too.
“Us two nothing”, I state firmly. “We’re just going to get some fresh air. The pollution’s so bad in Milan that people have forgotten what it means to be able to breathe normally.” There’s a warning light flashing quite visibly in my eyes that Lavinia manages to ignore with surprising ease. Now this is Sebastiano’s fault: he’s taught her to not care what people say.
“The bullshit you come out with, honestly...” she chuckles. “Anyway, wanting to take you to the sea is a very romantic gesture. I thought that the hell would freeze over before you lost your head over a guy like that...”
In fact, as much as I hate to admit it, it actually is a nice gesture. An unnecessary one, yes, and not one I’ve asked for. But Ari hasn’t exactly paid a great deal of attention to what I’ve said about all this so far. He wants to knock himself out taking me to the sea? That’s his hard cheese.
“My head is right here, firmly attached to the rest of my body,” I point out.
“Because I’d always thought you would have hated anyone with a house in Margherita Ligure on principle...” she insists, ignoring my words.
“Hey, even my folks have a seaside home in Veneto. So what?”
“But that’s exactly why you hate your folks! And then what do you do? You go and let Ari off the hook for it just because he’s got those lovely big shoulders?”
I clear my throat as I try, whatever the cost, not to burst out laughing. Because yes, his shoulders are a pretty powerful weapon. I can’t do anything about it, it’s really hard to look at him without getting caught up in the temptation to run my hands over his body. I imagined that the world would explode the day I found myself falling for someone like him, because a part of me has always deluded itself that I was – at least in some ways – different from the crowd.
And yet here we are, with no asteroids approaching to blow up the planet.
I suspect that he is well aware of my weakness and has no problem with exploiting it. Ariberto is basically a good guy, but not so good that he always plays by the rules.
“Can we give this nonsense a rest?” I exclaim, to try and bring them back to their senses. “We’re here to decide what colour to do my hair. Is this a hairdresser’s shop or not?”
“Of course, of course...” the hairdresser hastily reassures me. “You said, as close as possible to your natural colour, right. Perhaps with some highlights?” she proposes, going into the much more reassuring professional mode.
“Whatever you like, just as long as it doesn’t come out mouse-coloured.”
The two burst out laughing but I’m deadly serious. The last time I saw anything on my head that was even vaguely similar to my natural colour, I was about fifteen years old. I just might have my reasons for not wanting to repeat the experience, don’t you think?
But the real question at this point is something else: what the hell has happened to me over the last few days to make me find myself here today, sitting in this chair in the hairdresser’s, willing to consider changing one of the basic rules that has guided my adult life so fat? I hope to God that it’s all just some strange kind of passing phase.
*
Everyone in Milan knows that there’s no real way of outsmarting the traffic when you set off for Liguria: you can try and fool yourself that you’re thinking ahead, but a traffic jam will appear when you least expect it. Usually in Genoa Bolzaneto, where the ‘We apologize for any delay’ sign has been one of the few certainties in life since cars were first invented.
I suppose it is reassuring to have some certainties.
Sitting by my side, Ari goes into first and slowly follows the car in front of us. The traffic doesn’t seem to bother him at all.
“So Bertha, tell me the truth, weren’t your parents surprised that you wanted to go to the beach alone?” If I’d asked to use out beach house, my mother would have installed CCTV and bugged all the rooms.
“No, because I told them I was bringing someone with me...”
“Someone?”
“Ok, I said I was bringing a girl,” he confesses with a blush. “But, believe me, it’s better they heard it from me: to get inside we need to retrieve the keys from the neighbour, who is a very nosy old lady who acts like she’s the watchman.”
And there I was hoping to fly under enemy radar...
“And didn’t your parents ask you anything?” Maybe his folks are actually reasonable people, unlike mine.
“Oh yes, they asked me a few questions,” he confirms me with a smile. “And no, mostly I didn’t answer.”
“Mostly...” I echo. I’m dying to know what’s on his mind.
Taking advantage of the fact that we’re not moving, Ari turns to look at me.
“What is it you want me to tell you, Giada? Things you aren’t ready to hear?”
Errr, when did we get onto the difficult stuff? I was just fishing for a bit of information, I thought I had loads of time before we had to got onto the difficult stuff.
“So tell me, what do people do in Santa Margherita?” I ask
him.
“You’ve got a real talent for changing the subject...” he teases me good-naturedly, shaking his head. “They do what people always do when they’re at the sea: go to the beach. We could go for a walk, or sunbathe, and maybe even go to Portofino for dinner. What do you reckon?” he asks, as though it were no big deal.
“Portofino?!” I cry in alarm, checking that I heard him properly. Jeez, is he actually trying to cover every single romantic cliché in his attempt to woo me?
“Are you hyperventilating already?” he wants to know, smiling with amusement at my agitation.
“I do feel a bit like I’m having some sort of heart attack,” I confess to him in an extraordinary moment of sincerity. “Ari, listen, I’m never coming to Portofino.”
“What was it James Bond said? Never Say Never Again...”
“You are not James Bond.”
He puts on his sunglasses and peers at me.
“That, Ms. porcupine, remains to be seen.”
*
I still don’t understand how he managed to convince me. Well, I do understand: he spent an hour kissing and caressing me all over on the beach and then he whispered an invitation for dinner in my ear. I said yes against my own will. So now here we are, sitting by the sea in Portofino.
“Relax,” says Ari as he pours me some wine.
I give him a belligerent look. This absurd weakness of mine is beginning to get on my nerves.
“You’re going to pay for this...”
He bursts out laughing. “You know, you’re actually pretty sexy when you’re mad with me.”
“I really want to know why you’re doing all this,” I say, taking a forkful of the amazing seafood risotto in front of me.
“Because that’s the way I am. And I know that it’s different from the way you are, but if I like a girl, I want to take her to dinner in a nice place and behave like a gentleman, because it comes naturally to me and I don’t see anything wrong with it,” he explains with the utmost frankness.