by Jules Wake
‘I’m not a good bet, Lisa. Is this a good idea? I can’t make any promises. Not when I feel like I’m never going to escape. My parents are so hopeless. I’ve got enough commitment on my plate. I can’t take on anything more.’
She’d touched his face in return, wanting to reassure him. ‘And I’m not looking for commitment. I don’t want to rely on other people. Nan won’t be around for ever. When she goes, I’ll have no one. I can’t afford to be reliant on anyone.’ She’d been on her own for so long. She knew people didn’t stick around. Her mother had died. Her father had run off. She’d built up her independence and she was proud of it.
‘Maybe we’re well-suited then. I know one thing, I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a very long time and I’m not sure I want to stop.’ The look he gave her made her shiver. ‘I want you.’ His body shifted, backing up his words.
‘I want you too, but I’m not asking for anything.’
‘Perhaps we can take it one day at a time, see what happens.’ Despite the eagerness of their bodies, somehow they’d agreed to take it slowly and she’d fallen asleep in his bed, wrapped in his arms.
Lisa glanced at Will, wondering once again if he remembered that night with such crystal clarity and why, despite saying he would, he’d not called her the very next day or for the three days following.
She’d been too proud and too angry at herself for giving in to her fledgling feelings and that sharp ache of loneliness. Instead she’d held her head up high, turned up for her next shift the following week and kept a cool distance, pretending that night had never happened. To her relief he’d followed suit and never mentioned it either.
Chapter 16
They flopped into wooden chairs under a large cream umbrella, relieved to get out of the sun for a while. The bar, tucked away down a side street, had an outdoor terrace at the back and it would have been easy to walk on by, but Will seemed to have unerring talent for finding the right place and snagging the last table.
He’d spotted it as soon as they arrived and homed in on it with determined assurance.
‘Have you been here before?’ asked Lisa.
‘No, but it’s great, isn’t it?’ He was already perusing the menu, looking like a sniffer dog on a mission.
‘It is, but it looks nothing outside. How did you know?’
He looked up, serious for once. Will with his businessman head on. ‘I didn’t.’
‘So what? Are you like some kind of restaurant-diviner? Or is there a secret code, like a sign in the window to tell other people who own restaurants that this one’s okay?’
Will laughed. ‘No, that’s a Trip Advisor certificate. This place looked busy, nowhere else around here did, so I figured it was a good bet.
‘What would you like to drink?’
She caught him giving the room a quick sweep to see what everyone else was drinking.
‘How about an Aperol spritz?’ He nodded towards the table across the way where two middle-age couples sipped at balloon glasses of an orange-hued drink.
With a thoughtful frown, he started rummaging in one of the pockets of his shorts before producing a stub of a pencil and a battered notebook. ‘It’s an Italian favourite. I’d forgotten about it. Definitely needs to go on the menu.’
She watched as he hastily scribbled notes with the quick, jerky strokes she associated with him. Decisive and determined that was Will. When he made his mind up, he acted quickly and made things happen. A smile crossed her face as he looked up.
‘What?’
‘Nothing?’ He would be horrified if he knew who she’d compared him to. Like him, Nan didn’t dwell on things, made her mind up quickly and didn’t regret or admit she’d made a wrong decision. As an approach to life it had both pros and cons.
He tucked the notebook away with a pleased flourish. He was nothing if not single-minded when it came to business.
‘Have you got your menu all worked out?’ she asked.
‘A rough idea. I know the sorts of dishes I want to serve and the feeling I want to create, but coming here cements things. And sourcing some local ingredients will give me a bit of a marketing edge, as well as that touch of authenticity.’
‘I never asked, how was the artisan cheese?’
‘Perfect, in fact Mario has also put me in touch with a guy who makes Nduja salami.’ He picked up his phone and checked the screen, as he’d been doing periodically, rather than obsessively, throughout the day. ‘I’m hoping to go and visit him tomorrow. Just trying to make some arrangements.’ With a lift of his head he acknowledged the waitress on the other side of the room.
‘I’m going to try one of those.’ He nodded to the Lucozade look-a-like at the next table.
‘What’s in it?’ asked Lisa, regretting the touch of suspicion that tinged her words. She should take a leaf out of Will’s book and embrace all this different stuff. It was a drink, not life or death.
‘Two parts Aperol, three parts Prosecco and one part soda.’ And before she asked, he explained that Aperol was an aperitif made with bitter oranges and herbs.
‘Okay, I’ll try one,’ she said, feeling positively cosmopolitan as Will ordered their drinks with the calm confidence of a native. None of that dithering that tourists often did, pointing to the menu or making a halting request.
They sat in companionable silence, reading the menus and soaking up the atmosphere. The terrace held about twelve tables, each one full and a low-level hum of chatter buzzed in the air, a pleasant change from the loud, jostling crowds on the Spanish Steps.
The menu was in English and had plenty of familiar dishes listed and although they sounded delicious, her stomach protested.
‘I don’t know that I’m that hungry,’ she said regretfully, putting down her menu. ‘It’s a bit hot to eat a big meal. I had all these lovely visions of a proper Italian trattoria with proper pizza or lovely pasta, sitting outside drinking red wine. I think I’m destined not to eat a real Italian meal out while I’m here.’
‘Really? And what were you looking forward to? Fish fingers and beans don’t feature on many Italian menus.’
‘Pizza,’ she said defensively. ‘I eat pizza and pasta … just not anything too fancy.’
‘What sort of pizza? Let me guess, Margherita?’ he asked, with a teasing grin.
‘It’s my favourite and I like spaghetti Bolognese, but,’ she ticked off her fingers with her other hand, ‘last night I had a frozen flipping pizza and the first night we went to that bar and you cooked pasta, which lovely as it was, even with those brown things in it—’
‘Artichokes.’
‘Is that what they were? They looked like manky onions.’
‘Tasted good, though.’
Lisa shrugged.
‘You didn’t try them, did you?’ Will shook his head, smiling at her, which robbed his words of their accusing tone.
‘I don’t like them,’ said Lisa firmly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Will eyed her for a moment, considering. She met his gaze head-on, tilting her chin up a fraction.
‘Have you ever tried one?’
‘I know I wouldn’t like it.’
Will lifted his brow and stared at her, a smile playing at his lips as she realised how stupid she sounded. ‘How?’
Heat flooded her face. This conversation sounded horribly reminiscent of a previous one she’d had, except that time it had been with a four-year-old.
Will continued to watch her, as if wanting an answer.
‘Okay, I’ve never tried one. Darn it.’ She looked up at the sky. ‘I sound worse than the kids at school.’
Will put down his menu. ‘It’s a free country, no one has the right to force you to eat anything you don’t want to … but,’ his face gentled, ‘I feel bad for all the things you might miss out on.’
She thought of the sweet, intense bite of the sundried tomato in his pasta dish and honesty compelled her to say, ‘I did like the sundried tomatoes, even though they seriously look like
a mad professor’s embryonic science experiment gone wrong.’ She lifted her hands in a what-the-hell-type shrug. ‘Don’t they?’
‘Anything does if you’re not used to it.’
‘Until the age of ten I thought chips were a foodstuff in their own right, hatched right there in the second drawer down of the freezer. It was a shocker when I discovered they were made from potatoes and even more of a bummer to discover that despite “officially” being a vegetable, they don’t count as one of your five a day.’
‘That is a bummer,’ agreed Will gravely.
‘I bet you’re shocked, aren’t you Mr Foodie?’
‘No.’
‘Fibber.’
‘Okay, a bit surprised.’
‘I told you, Nan doesn’t hold with any of this foreign muck. I think it might have been a bit of a protest after my dad did his runner. See, I told you this foreign stuff is unreliable. Don’t touch it with a barge pole.’
‘Or she’s from a generation who were brought up only eating meat and two veg.
‘Yes, half a cow and vegetables from the allotment.’
‘I’ve heard far worse. It was quite a good diet, but there is a whole world out there. No wonder your food education is sadly lacking.’
She sighed. ‘I am rubbish at trying things. I know I should but … it’s like the sundried tomatoes. They look so horrible, I can’t bring myself to.’ She pulled a face. ‘But when I had one in your pasta it was quite nice.’
‘It’s a question of taste,’ Will laughed. ‘Tell you what, why don’t we have a plate of antipasti to share now and then when,’ he paused, ‘we’ve been to your father’s, we’ll go out for a proper meal. There’s a restaurant in that area that was recommended and does a Roman dish I’d like to try. And they do very good pizza.’
‘Sounds perfect.’ Lisa’s hands shook slightly as she picked up the menu. He’d said it. They were going to do it. Find her father.
As if he’d read her mind. Will laid a hand on hers, pushing the menu to one side.
‘It will be okay.’
She nodded, conscious of the weight of his hand on hers, anchoring her like some kind of safety rope. Several times today he’d managed to make her feel better, almost as if they were a team. Not a couple, not that, but two together. Somehow it made her feel different, stronger somehow, which didn’t make sense. You were strong on your own, leaning on someone else made you weaker, didn’t it?
Lisa picked up her menu, wanting to know exactly what was in the antipasti before she committed, but Will took it from her hands with a mischievous challenge, as if he knew exactly what she was doing.
‘You look worried,’ he observed.
She tilted her chin in the air. ‘No,’ and made her mind up that she was not going to ask him what the dish comprised of. She could easily avoid anything she didn’t like the look of. Antipasti usually included mozzarella, salamis. She liked those things. And there’d be bread.
She fiddled with the cutlery on the white napkin and then hurriedly put her hands in her lap when she realised what she was doing.
Will tipped his head to one side, assessing, as if he could tell exactly what was going on in her head. He had an uncanny way of doing that. ‘Tell you what, let’s try a little experiment?’
‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that.’
The waiter brought their wooden platter, weaving through the tables, the platter held aloft like some championship trophy. Will stood and greeted him before he got to the table.
While they’d been sipping their Aperol spritzers, which Lisa had to admit slipped down a treat with its fragrant zing of orange and refreshing burst of bubbles, Will had rearranged the centre of the table. When the waitress had taken their order, he’d insisted on retaining their menus and set them up like a barricade in the middle of the table.
Lisa caught a quick glimpse of milky-white slices of mozzarella, shavings of pale-pink prosciutto, golden focaccia bread glistening with salt crystals and a blur of other items she couldn’t identify before the waiter deftly deposited the board behind the barrier of the menus.
‘No looking,’ said Will possessively, tucking the menus tightly around the board. ‘Okaaay,’ she said, unnerved by the sudden concentration on his face.
‘I want you to close your eyes.’
‘What, here? Now?’
‘Yes.’
She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs and wrapping a foot around her calf.
‘I’m going to feed you.’ His voice lowered and she swallowed, her pulse tripping lightly.
‘Feed me?’ she squeaked. ‘You can’t do that!’ She looked around at the other busy tables.
‘No one’s going to know.’
‘I’ll know. It’ll be … weird.’
‘It will be an education.’
She folded her arms and glared at him, goosebumps suddenly sweeping along her skin. ‘Who says I wanted to be educated?’
‘You work in a school.’
‘That’s below the belt,’ she muttered. ‘Besides, I’m on holiday.’
‘Don’t teachers have to take some Hippocratic oath, like doctors? I vow to educate all things that need educating.’
‘I’m a teaching assistant.’
Will gave her a sceptical look. ‘Okay, what about all the things you might be missing out on?’
‘Which I don’t know I’m missing. Ignorance is bliss, remember.’
‘Education enables you to discover your ignorance.’ Will’s touché wink robbed the statement of any pomposity.
‘Exactly, which means I’ll lose the bliss.’ She scowled at him ‘I’d forgotten about your private-school education.’
Will gave her a bitter smile. ‘Thank God it had some benefits. It certainly cost enough. I’ve just finished paying off the fees.’ He looked away over her shoulder, as if embarrassed that he’d let that slip.
He needn’t have been, everyone suspected that it was Will who had bailed the family out.
‘Oh, okay,’ she said, pretending to be cross, nerves rippling, making her stomach churn slightly. ‘But if I end up with a terrible addiction to sundried tomatoes, you’ll be the one I blame.’
With an approving nod, he shot her his twisted smile. ‘I can think of worse things.’
‘Be gentle with me. Nothing with tentacles, or fish-eggy things, or raw food that should be cooked. Nothing like oysters.’ She shuddered. ‘I couldn’t …’
Will held up a hand to halt her ridiculous flow.
‘Sorry. I’ll shut up.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s silly. I’m nervous. How crazy is that?’
‘Don’t be.’ Will’s earnest entreaty, spoken in a low voice, hit her hard, creating a low-level yearning for goodness knew what in her chest. It suddenly seemed a rather intimate thing to do in public, making her vulnerable. And food? Wasn’t that a bit 9½ Weeks?
‘Trust me.’ He laid a hand on hers and gave it a quick squeeze, making her heart flip over with the brief touch before he added with a wicked grin, ‘I’ll be gentle.’
That was what she was worried about.
‘Close your eyes.’
The noise around her intensified. She could hear the rolling rhythm of Italian spoken at the next table by two men in business suits, the rattle of a coffee cup being paired with its saucer, the chink of cutlery on plates, the scrape of chairs on stone and a sudden burst of laughter. Warm air teased her skin, the very slight breeze lifting the damp tendrils of hair that clung around her face. So many aromas swirled around her, and she inhaled, her taste buds tingling, suddenly aware of the true sense of the words mouth-watering.
She swallowed as she heard Will pick up his cutlery and the clink of metal against a china plate.
‘Okay, first up.’ Did she imagine it or had his voice taken on a sultry tone?
Hesitantly, she opened her mouth, licking her lips, not quite knowing what to expect.
‘It’s not a bush-tucker trial, Lisa.’
‘Easy for you to say t
hat.’
She heard him sigh and could picture his crooked smile of exasperation. Concentrate on the food, you fool, she told herself firmly, but her heart contracted at the easily conjured image.
The first forkful was easy. The cool touch of mozzarella, its texture soft and creamy. A known quantity. Then a spicy sliver of salami, the pungent flavours bursting with garlic and saltiness.
‘Now for the next one.’ His voice had dropped again and she almost opened her eyes. Was he doing it on purpose?
The tines of the fork touched her mouth. This was new. Firm texture, almost chewy, with leafy, fishy, salty and herby flavours. At first she wasn’t sure, but as she chewed the combinations seemed to blend with each other to create one overall perfect taste.
She opened her eyes surprised.
‘Describe it for me. Without too much thought. First things that come to mind.’
‘Green. Fishiness. Almost sweet.’
‘Excellent.’
Lisa beamed. ‘Do I get a gold star?’
‘Not yet.’ He looked down at the platter, his forehead scrunched, as if deciding what next.
‘What was it?’
‘Acciughe in salsa verde.’
‘And what’s that when it’s at home? Doesn’t mean anything to me.’
‘Anchovy fillets in green sauce.’
Lisa pulled a face, framing her mouth into a bleurgh shape. ‘I hate anchovies!’
He laughed again. ‘You mean you’ve tried them.’
Lisa giggled. ‘By accident.’
‘But did you like it?’
‘Yes,’ she nodded, surprised. ‘They didn’t taste like the ones I’ve had before. Those were dry, salty and hairy, and sort of caught in your throat.’
‘These were fresh anchovy. Quite different. Salty but almost fruity. What about olives?’
‘Not wild about them. I have tried them.’
‘You might not have tried these ones, Castleveltrano.’
He held a large vibrant-green olive out towards her. Hastily she took it from him before he popped it right into her mouth.