“He had a suggestion to make – a way for you to be more than just Giovanni’s assistant in the gardens. I’d have preferred for him to go through it with you himself only as I say, I couldn’t locate you.” In other words, Michael wasn’t about to come calling to my room when he knew I was in there with Maria. “But I think I agree with him anyway.”
“What does he have in mind?”
“That you get in touch with your old publishers.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“To see if they’re interested in the book you’re going to write.”
“Which book is that?”
“It’s what you do, isn’t it?”
“It’s what I did – a long time ago.”
“He seems to think it would be good for you to do so again – and good for him too.”
“Good for him in what way?”
“I suppose he thinks the more people know about what’s going on, the better the chances are that things might change.”
There are shades of Juliette in this and her determination to always fight the good fight.
“Like people give a damn,” I say, “and like I give of a damn. Even if I were to write such a book, I can’t imagine it would ever get published.”
“The Padre –” Michael checks himself and smiles. “Paul believes otherwise.”
“He would though, wouldn’t he?”
“Actually, he knows otherwise. He contacted your publisher and they expressed an interest in seeing what you have written.”
“He’s already been in touch with them?”
“With your editor – she’s with a different publisher now, but she said she’d certainly take a look.”
I see Maria making her way across from the kitchen. She comes up behind Michael and places a hand on his shoulder.
“Did you tell him?” she asks.
“Just now.”
“You knew about this?”
“Isn’t it perfect?” she says.
“Except that I have no intention of ever writing such a book.”
“But we agreed it would help if you wrote everything down.”
“I remember you saying that but I don’t remember agreeing.” I see the disappointment in Maria’s face. “The Padre shouldn’t have done that,” I say to Michael.
“The Padre will do whatever he thinks is right,” Michael says. “The issue here is what you intend to do. I’m telling you now that Paul’s credit with the Villa has run out and that the only reason you’re still here is down to Giovanni.”
“Giovanni?”
“He insists now that he’s getting old and needs you as an assistant, but the Villa won’t pay for both yourself and Giovanni.”
“I don’t get paid – you know that.”
“No, but you’re staying at the Villa. You’re an anomaly and the longer you’re here the more questions are asked. Plus, you might become politically awkward – particularly if you decide to write a book.”
“I’m not going to write a book.”
At this, Maria goes off on one, talking so loud and fast that I can’t understand a word she says.
“You’re an idiot,” she says finally and simply – and this bit I do understand. She walks out the Refectory, knocking over a chair on the way.
“Whatever you decide to do,” Michael says after watching Maria leave, “the current set-up is unsustainable. You either take over from Giovanni as the Villa gardener – which is unlikely and also has implications for Giovanni and Ines living down at their cottage – or you move on at the end of the summer.”
“Move on to where?”
“That’s your decision but the first thing you have to do is find a way of supporting yourself – hence the Padre’s suggestion. He’s thinking ahead, even if you aren’t.”
What is it with my having once been a writer? I remember how important it was to Juliette that I write down everything that had happened to me, and I also remember what that eventually led to. Now I have the Padre and Michael on at me, and Maria too; everybody want me to let things go, but only after having lived through them all over again.
“Writing doesn’t pay that well,” I say.
“It must pay better than what you’re on here.”
“Don’t bet on it.” I think for a moment about what Michael has been telling me. “More than anything, I need to find somewhere to live.”
“Now you’re getting it.”
“Have you any suggestions?”
“She’s just walked out the door.”
“Maria? You mean for me to live in Pisa with Maria?”
“Of course I do,” he says. “Are you really that slow?”
I leave Michael in the Refectory and go looking for Maria – I’m not that cold a fish – but I can’t find where she’s stormed off to. Living at the Villa doesn’t help much when it comes to having a row. It’s all so public for one thing; we have our lovey-dovey get together in the afternoons but the rest of the time we’re on show to the guests and the staff. I try Maria’s room first, even though the female quarters are officially out of bounds to male members of staff. As a courtesy I like to stick to the rules, only this kind of restriction has become quite tiresome. I knock at Maria’s door and get no reply. A girl I’ve not seen before passes me by on the corridor and I ask if she’s seen Maria. She shrugs and suggests I try the bar. This is unlikely – staff members aren’t supposed to use the guests’ bar until after closing – but I try anyway. I see Javier, the Spanish bell-boy, who’s doing an extra shift behind the bar, and he tells me he hasn’t seen Maria. I think about walking down to the cottage but Ines and Giovanni will be sitting down to dinner. There’s a chance Maria might be with them but I need to see her alone. I walk around the grounds for a while, thinking maybe Maria’s doing the same and hoping we might meet. I see plenty of guests but no Maria, so I take a rest on one of the garden benches. The evening is still warm and it’s pleasant just to sit.
Maria’s strops are becoming as irritating as abiding by the Villa’s house rules. Going off on one is her default reaction when things don’t go as she likes. It’s obvious I haven’t thought this through properly – despite the hours spent alone in my room. I should have been looking beyond the chances of getting laid. Something so nice is never for free but it’s kind of hard not to take first and ask questions later. I haven’t made any promises Maria can hold me to and, if I’m honest, I was expecting her leaving for Pisa to be an end to it – and end to us. The sex is good but the costings are high and in so many ways Maria is the last thing I need. I can’t look after myself, never mind start caring for somebody else. And, like the Padre, Maria’s always pushing pushing pushing me back into the past as if that’s where the key to any future might lie. She’s clever enough not to mention Ciara but she asks about Danny and my life before I met Siobhan, about the life I was making for myself as a writer – like I could go back there somehow and everything be okay. I know she’s only trying to help, but she doesn’t. There’s no going back anywhere for me. Now it looks as though I’ve to be moving on again – leaving yet another institution – and, despite the Padre’s best efforts, I’m not equipped to do so. One thing I do know: things will be safer for Maria if I try to make it on my own.
It would have been better for everybody if the Padre had just let me be. Where am I to go now? What am I to do and how am I to live? England is out – obviously – so is it back to Ireland? I’m in the same position as I ever was; only now I have no money to support myself. Maybe I could get myself arrested again? This is what the Padre didn’t understand: that I preferred the routine, the safe knowledge that every day was the same, with no decisions to make, no personal contact to distract me from the one true path of getting to the end of this life having suffered or inflicted no more pain, of simply waiting to die. It’s not that I want to die; I just don’t want anything else to happen before I do. So getting arrested is out, because I can’t be sure what regime I’d find myself under. Part of m
e yearns for the Padre to help me out – oh brother, where art thou – but I don’t share his faith in my ability to pull through.
I need to find another place to be.
I try Maria’s room again but she’s not there. I go back to my own cell and lie on the bed. I’m half expecting Maria to come and find me here, only I suspect she might also be starting to realise there’s no future in whatever we have together – brief and enjoyable though it might have been. I’m not the man for her. I’m not the man for anyone in their right mind.
It’s still quite early – about nine – but I close my door to and tell myself it’s lockdown for the night. I lie on top of the bed covers, still in my clothes, too full of food to exercise, wanting a smoke but not having any, thinking of drinking, thinking of the music I’d like to be listening to, thinking of Maria and last hopes, last chances, thinking of Maria instead of Ciara it has to be said, and then thinking of Ciara and how she’s no longer the baby I left behind, thinking how I wouldn’t recognise her even if I were to see her and how that’s maybe a good thing. Thinking how I hope she never learns about me, how this is for the best, the only way it can be, and how I’m no longer sad and angry, just sad and sorry, or just sad, really.
A few hours later there’s a knock at my door and when I answer I’m surprised to see Ines and not Maria. She looks agitated.
“You need to come,” she says, and I guess we have another Maria situation on our hands. There’s a pattern here: Maria gets hyper over one thing or another and is sick again – though this is perhaps a little unfair as she’s so sick in the first place. The only difference these days is that it’s mostly me that sets her off instead of her papa. I follow Ines along the corridor and out into the night air. It’s late and the Villa grounds are deserted. I hear Ines say something like ‘Maria’s fuming’, but she doesn’t hang around to make sure I’ve understood. I sense for the first time that Ines’s patience has a limit. Instead of heading to the female quarters, she turns into the main guest entrance of the Villa and we have to wait for the Night Porter to let us in. From there we make our way to the bar where many of the younger staff tend to stay on after-hours for a few late drinks. I rarely join them, mainly because I don’t have the money but also because of the age thing. I recognise a few faces and then I see Maria sat at the bar with her back to the doorway. She’s still wearing her overalls from her shift in the kitchen and I wonder if she’s been drinking since she stormed out the Refectory earlier in the evening. The room is thick with smoke and as soon as I see this I understand that Ines was trying to tell me Maria’s been smoking. Her friends should know better, even if they don’t fully understand what’s wrong with Maria, but I can imagine the mouthful of abuse she’d give to anyone who tried stopping her. Actually, I don’t need to imagine it because I know it’s about to come my way – as does everybody else in the bar if the sudden silence is anything to go by.
“Maria.”
She doesn’t turn around but looks at me in the mirror above the bar. She takes a drag on the cigarette she’s holding and blows the smoke into the air to obscure the reflection.
“Maria,” Ines says.
“For fuck’s sake!” Maria shouts, and turns on the stool to face Ines. “Can you not just leave me alone for one night?” She’s had a lot to drink and she waves the cigarette about in the air, pointing it at Ines and almost catching it in the hair of the girl sitting on the barstool next to her.
“Please, Maria,” Ines says.
Maria closes her eyes and then opens them to look up at the ceiling.
“Please, Maria,” she mimics.
This is too much for Ines and she leaves the bar. Maria watches her go and then turns to stare at me. “And what the fuck do you want?”
It doesn’t really matter what this latest scene is about. So what if I don’t want to write again? If it wasn’t this, it’d be something else. Ines leaving has at least made an impression on Maria, but she’s still raging. A couple of the staff start up a conversation in an attempt to diffuse the tension, while a few others finish off their drinks and call it a night.
“What’s wrong?” Maria asks me in English. “Cat got your tongue?” I know she wants to have a go at me, to do me down, but she’s too drunk to make it count. “Fucking English,” she resorts to instead.
“Come on, Maria – let’s go.”
“With you – why would I go anywhere with you?” She turns back to face the bar, and stubs out the cigarette in an ashtray. “Fucking loser,” she says.
Thankfully, Javier helps me out by closing the bar. Everybody gets the hint and, anyway, Maria’s treatment of Ines has killed off any atmosphere there was about the place. The other staff might not be too sure about me but everybody loves Ines and Maria lost the room by turning on her. Nothing I say is going to help, so I just stand and wait for Maria. I see her watching me in the mirror. Her face gives nothing away because her thoughts are all over the place – one second she’s looking for a fight, the next attempting some witty put-down but thinking the better of it. Eventually her head drops down and she covers her face in her hands. Javier is playing a blinder, cleaning up behind the bar and keeping busy, but it’s time I got Maria out of here and back to her room. I don’t want to provoke her but I’ve a feeling she’s about to cry and it’ll be better if she doesn’t do so here. I step up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Come on,” I say, “I’ll walk you back to your room.”
I’m expecting a mouthful, but it doesn’t come. She slips off the bar stool and stands unsteadily against me.
“My bag,” she says.
I pick up her purse from the bar, and leave the almost full packet of cigarettes for Javier to tidy away or to keep for himself.
“Is this what you meant by finding a way to hurt me?” asks Maria. She pushes against my chest in an effort to stand on her own.
“No, this is you hurting yourself.”
Actually, this is the closest thing to a suicide attempt I’ve ever seen, and I’ve come across quite a few desperate people over the past few years. I hold out my hand but Maria pushes it away.
“I’m not some fucking French chick you can just turn on and off, you know.” She says this in English and there’s something about her phrasing that’s funny, but it’s not really a laughing matter. She switches back to Italian, mumbling something I can’t quite hear. I hold out my hand again and this time she takes it. She links my arm and leans in against me and we make our way to the door. I nod my thanks to Javier and he tips the empty glass he’s polishing in acknowledgement.
I have to ring the bell for the Night Porter to come and let us out. We could go through the Villa, but I’m hoping the night air might have some effect on sobering up Maria. She’s over the tearful stage and inching towards morose. I just want to get her to her room before the sleepiness kicks in.
“Ines must hate me,” she says.
“Ines loves you.”
“But she must hate me.”
This is going nowhere, so I concentrate on keeping up a steady pace across the grounds. Even as a drunk there’s little weight in Maria for me to support. When we get to the female quarters it takes an age to find Maria’s key in her purse, and I dread having to wake someone up to be let in. Maria then insists on using the key and I have to stand to one side, waiting until she manages to unlock the door.
“Sorry,” she says, as if only just aware that she might be trying my patience.
“Will you be okay now?” I ask.
“Aren’t you coming in?”
“I’m not allowed. You know I’m not allowed.”
“Please.”
I half expect Ines to be in Maria’s room and when she isn’t I notice this isn’t lost on Maria. I recognise the oh-so-familiar sensation of alienating those closest to you and I feel for her. Of course, Ines is at home with Giovanni; there’s only so much a person can be expected to take.
“Do you need the bathroom before you go to sleep
?”
The sooner Maria gets to bed the better.
“No.”
She sits down on the edge of her bed.
“Are you going to be sick?”
“No – at least, I don’t think so.”
I look around for a bowl, just in case, but there’s nothing of much use in the room and I’m not about to go along the corridor to look in the bathroom.
“Have you some tablets you should be taking?”
“No – I took them after dinner.”
I almost ask if she’s sure but I let it go.
“Is there anything else you need?” I’m trying to think like Ines and to do as Ines might do in this situation.
“My nebulizer – I’m going to need my nebulizer.” Maria looks up at me when she says this, acknowledging how stupid she was to have been smoking. I can’t find the nebulizer, but then Maria remembers that this too is in her bag. I reach down to where she dropped her bag on the floor and pass the nebulizer to Maria.
“Will you stay with me?” she asks.
“I can’t.”
“Please – for a while.”
“We’ll get into trouble.” This sounds feeble, even to me.
“You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?” We both know she’s not talking about leaving her here in this room. “At least help me get undressed,” she says when I don’t reply.
I know what she’s doing but I fall for it anyway. I take off her overalls but leave on her underwear. I tell her to lie back on the bed, and that she needs to get some sleep.
“Take off my bra,” she says and flips on to her belly. I unclip the bra and take it off around her shoulders. “Thank you.”
I pull the duvet out from beneath her and tuck her in.
“Please stay,” she says.
I kiss her forehead and she smiles but her smile turns within seconds to tears and then to sobs and maybe it’s the drink but all of a sudden this is just a baby girl who doesn’t want to be left alone. I try to shush her and she calms a little. I pass her a tissue and another tissue and I know I’m going to stay the night, one way or another.
“You can make love to me if you like.”
Dancing to the End of Love Page 28