One Summer in Rome

by Samantha Tonge

  A small glow lit up inside her. At least they had some sort of friendship now. It had gone from nought to zero and was now settling in a better place than before that kiss. So, really, she thought, the situation between them wasn’t all bad – right?

  Alfonso bustled past, having just got back from the meat market with Natale who was wearing one of her cheerful floral dresses. He and his daughter exchanged glances before he spoke.

  ‘You two leave extra early,’ he said. ‘Say, at three. Have a caffè together. We can manage. And don’t hurry back. We can manage until eight when the piazza really starts to liven up.’

  ‘But it’s Friday!’ Mary exclaimed and heat pooled into her cheeks. He and Natale must have noticed a slight atmosphere between her and Dante.

  ‘Enzo can manage, in between the lunch and dinnertime rush,’ he said and ran a hand over his bald head.

  ‘Can I, indeed?’ called the indignant chef from the back of the kitchen.

  ‘You do as you’re told,’ shouted Alfonso, in Italian, and winked at Mary.

  Enzo’s reply remained best untranslated and everyone laughed.

  ‘Guess we could,’ Mary said and glanced at Dante, still feeling hurt and not wanting to. Yet wanting to oh so much. What a mess.

  ‘I’m glad you agreed,’ he said, that afternoon, as they sat in a bar, not far from the dance class, Oro resting by his feet. ‘We need to clear the sky.’

  ‘Air, you mean.’

  ‘Whatever. I feel things have been weird between us. After that … boring, really unenjoyable kiss.’

  Mary looked up from her frothy cappuccino. ‘Honestly. It’s already forgotten. Totalmente unmemorable, it was. An insane reaction simply brought on by the trauma of being mugged.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Talking of which,’ she said, determined to change the subject, to protect her sense of pride, ‘I meant to ask – did you get Silvestro into rehab or had he left, by the time you got to the refuge?’

  ‘No. He was still there. Now he is in treatment. Let’s hope he gets better. There are all sorts of treatments available now. Some even holistic. Talking of which …’

  He held out his hand and without thinking, Mary slipped hers into his.

  ‘Um, thank you, Mary, but that is not what I wanted. Lucia told me about your stones. She says you always carry one about. Can I feel it?’

  His face – now endearing to her – broke into another smile. Mary longed to be at the mercy of those tender hands as they read her, like a book he’d be sorry to finish.

  She reached into the back pocket of her shorts and took out a five-centimetre, narrow rod of crystal. Mary slipped it into his hand and tried hard not to touch his fingers. Perspective. That’s what she needed. One kiss didn’t amount to much – certainly not a long-term relationship. She took a large gulp of her cappuccino. Dante examined the stone. ‘A crystal needle? It feels very light. What colour is it?’

  ‘As white as you can imagine. It’s called selenite. It gives you energy – thought I might need that for the waltz,’ she added with a nervous laugh, and waited for his reaction.

  Dante sat quietly for a moment and then handed it back.

  ‘When she got in from school club, just before we left, Lucia said that you had a pink one this morning. You told her it helped hearts and that yours was sick.’

  How to get out of this? Mary wished that the waiter would distract them or that Dante’s phone would ring.

  ‘Mary? Sorry. Am I being too personal? It’s just … Wednesday night …’

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself!’ she said, glad he couldn’t see her blushes. ‘I … broke up with my boyfriend, before I came here. That’s all. He went to Dubai. It’s … it’s taking me a while to recover.’

  ‘You still care for him?’

  ‘No! I mean … well, you know, it just takes a while to get over the break-up of a relationship,’ she said, hoping he wouldn’t realise her dejection had nothing to do with Jake and everything to do with him.

  Lines appeared between his eyebrows. ‘Si. These things take time. Lots of time,’ he murmured. ‘And why do you believe in crystals?’

  Mary stared into her empty cup and wished the spell could be broken – the spell that made her long to show every fibre of his being just how much she cared.

  ‘Everyone needs something to believe in, right?’

  Dante shrugged. ‘Not me. I make my own way in life.’

  ‘But what about when you were younger?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Guess I had a mamma and papà who believed in me – I think that creates all the self-worth any child needs. It gave me faith in my abilities and … ah. So … your upbringing … without parents … does that explain it?’

  Her vision blurred. In one sentence Dante had exactly pinpointed why teenage Mary had turned to healing crystals.

  ‘Crystals were always reliable,’ she mumbled. ‘They listened. Provided an answer. Gave me hope. They endured. Not much else was constant when I was younger.’ She shrugged. ‘But that’s life. We each have our story. It’s part of my past now.

  ‘Come on,’ she said and drained her cup. ‘It’s time to go. We need all the help we can get to win this competition.’ She stood up. ‘Pull yourself together, for goodness’ sake, Mary,’ she mumbled to herself and headed for the door. But every move, every touch during the dance class just made his sexual distance more unbearable. What got her through was the smiles shot at her from Rocco. And Paola who made her laugh, with her comical eye rolls when her brother made a mistake – usually followed by her giving him the sweetest of hugs.

  By the end of the hour of sentimental music – of trying to deal with the close proximity to Dante and the envy she felt at Rocco’s sibling relationship, it was all too much. Wishing she’d brought out the rose quartz instead of selenite, Mary made her excuses. Said she needed to rush off to the underground station right by the Coliseum, as she’d researched online and there was a new crystal shop, not far from it.

  ‘Let me keep you company,’ said Dante.

  ‘That would be great, but I’ve really got to hurry and—’ Her voice sounded thick.

  Dante put up a hand. ‘No worries. You’re right. Practically speaking, with the rush-hour crowds, I wouldn’t be able to match your speed.’

  In any case, Cheyenne came over and wanted his advice as something had gone wrong with her burglar alarm. By the time Mary reached the stairs, tears gushed over her cheeks. She stumbled down to the ground floor and outside, past the disused launderette. Gratefully she lifted her face to the sky as the occasional welcome raindrop fell. Mary gathered herself. Quickly she wiped her face as footsteps sounded behind her and she stepped forwards to leave. But an arm gently grabbed hers and she turned around, heart beating – surely not another mugger?

  ‘Everything okay? Your face … when you left …’ Rocco raised one eyebrow before looking at the greying sky.

  Mary gulped. ‘I must look a right mess. What must you think? It’s … this rain.’

  ‘Life can get messy sometimes, no? We can feel alone. As if no one understands.’

  Mary shook her head. ‘I don’t get it … how quickly you’ve changed towards me.’

  Perhaps plain speaking had worked. Maybe Brenda could have done with hearing Mary’s thoughts more often.

  Rocco’s thin face flushed. ‘I have my faults, Maria, but admitting when I’m wrong isn’t one of them. I’m having a difficult time personally, at the moment, and I realise that over the last few months that has made me view everything negatively. You are good for the family and …’ He pulled a face. ‘Our customers love the biscuits and mini pizzas.’

  Mary gave a small smile. ‘Was that so difficult to say?’

  He smiled back. Not a grin. But then Rocco never belly-laughed or seemed really relaxed.

  ‘Thanks, Rocco. I’m okay. Just one of those days.’ He turned to go but Mary couldn’t fight a sudden urge to hug him. She leant forward and briefly squeezed him tight. He groaned. Mary ju
mped back.

  ‘Gosh. Sorry, I must be stronger than I thought.’

  ‘No. Not your fault. I’ve hurt my shoulder.’ He shrugged. ‘Comes with the job, carrying too many trays.’ And with that he left her standing alone. Mary thought of her rose quartz crystal, the stone of love and friendship. Things with Rocco were looking up. Now she just needed to get over her attraction to Dante.

  After a swig of bottled water, she headed into the underground. Just before she’d gone down the steps her phone had rung and Dante sent several texts. But she didn’t answer or open the messages. Right at that moment she just wanted to get away.

  Five stops later, she reached Colosseo. The train doors opened. It was towards the end of the rush hour and bodies bustled together. Mary glanced at her watch. It was seven o’clock. What a foolish idea this had been. She’d have to hurry to reach the restaurant by eight. She followed the herd but as she stepped on the platform was struck by the silence as everyone listened to the intercom.

  Mary strained her ears to understand. Passengers were being told to stay where they were, due to a security alert.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mary looked at her phone. Could Dante have possibly known? She read the messages from him.

  Don’t go to Colosseo.

  Mary?

  If you are there hide and be quiet.

  Turn your phone to silent.

  You’ll be okay.

  Mary’s heart raced as she met the confused faces of other commuters. A middle-aged man in a business suit tentatively knocked on the train doors as it left, but it was building up speed. Mary looked at her phone once more. How had Dante known something was amiss? How frustrating that down here, she couldn’t text back. Mary looked around. Those texts sounded urgent yet no one here seemed overly concerned.

  She saw a sign for the exit and wasn’t sure what to do. Crowds headed that way whilst other people shrugged and stood still. Even if she’d felt in danger, there was nowhere to hide. The walls just ran along the side of walkways or escalators. So did she stay down in the belly of the train station and head to another tube line or take the escalators to an upstairs exit and try to get outside?

  An Italian man gabbled to her and surrounding commuters. Mary just picked out a few words. He was pointing to the dark train tunnel and started walking that way. But what about the electrified tracks? And wasn’t this all a bit over the top? There was no evidence yet that they were under attack. Other travellers told him as much. One even yawned. Said since the Paris, London, and Manchester attacks, police were being super cautious. Mary agreed and everyone patiently waited.

  Apart from one passenger – a smart, middle-aged woman. She started to hyperventilate. Wildly, she looked around. Mary recognised the signs. The little twins’ mum, back in England, suffered from panic attacks. Quickly Mary asked a man to vacate his seat and she guided the woman to the bench, at the side of the platform.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ said Mary, in Italian. ‘Breathe in slowly, through your nose, and out through your mouth. Everything will be all right. We would have heard a commotion by now, if there was really a problem.’

  But the woman’s breathing became raspier and she flapped her hands. She pointed to her shoes. Mary could only just make out the panicked Italian as she shared her anxiety that she’d never be able to run away in high heels, if an armed attacker arrived.

  Mary studied the woman’s feet. They looked the same size as hers. So, she took off her trainers and after a mutual nod of agreement they swapped shoes. Eventually the executive’s breathing slowed and she sat, eyes closed, with her head in her hands. Mary looked around. Train guards and police had arrived and were telling people not to worry. It was a false alarm. Could everyone exit the station in an orderly manner?

  Ignoring that request, impatient crowds of people surged forwards. Mary tried to push backwards, to help the woman having a panic attack, but it was as fruitless as swimming against a riptide. Someone jostled her. At this rate she’d get trampled. Mary forced herself to the side and waited, pressed against the platform wall. A dad did the same, with his tired little boy who was crying and said he just wanted to go home.

  Without having to glance down, Mary felt around in her handbag. Finally she landed on a chocolate bar. She’d been curious to see how Italian candy compared to Cadbury’s. Mary showed the treat to the dad who gratefully nodded. The boy instantly stopped crying when Mary passed it to him.

  She hadn’t really believed her life was under threat tonight. Yet this security scare, like the mugging, made her analyse her life. It sent her mind racing over the past. Sent it examining her weeks in Rome. She realised what was important. Trust. Kindness. Dante had both those qualities in abundance. And their kissing had been magical.

  Rainbows and Northern Lights … she tried to think of other magical moments from her past, like … birthday gifts from regulars at the pub; a Food Tech teacher who’d stay behind after class, to give keen Mary extra lessons; the sister of one foster mum who always took the time to play and read Mary stories.

  Her relationship with Dante – even if it just remained platonic – was too special to throw away, just because her pride had been hurt. So she decided, right then and there, that she had to ditch her sense of rejection. Dante could be a true friend. She didn’t have enough of them in her life.

  The crowds eventually cleared and, when the bench came into view, the executive had gone. Mary glanced at the dad and the little boy. The three of them followed the tail end of the commuters. Her phone bleeped. Two texts from Dante. One from Natale. Even Alfonso who disliked mobile phones.

  Her eyes tingled as she recalled the time she’d broken her arm, aged fourteen, and had to stay in hospital for two nights due to complications. Mary had been in between foster families and just got one call – from her social worker. Her only company had been the girl in the bed next to hers, who made the usual, unintentionally hurtful comments.

  What did you do wrong to be in foster care?

  You must hate your real mum and dad.

  How does it feel to grow up with strangers?

  Are your foster parents doing it for the money?

  Mary looked at the new messages on her phone again and a cosy sensation glowed in her chest.

  ‘You’re so lucky, Mary Smith,’ she muttered to herself, as she reached the top of the escalator. ‘You have a life really worth living, at last. Don’t mess it up.’

  As she walked through the barriers, the Coliseum stood directly ahead. Strong. Enduring. Beautiful. Tranquil in the evening light. She went out into the humid evening air. Perspiration ran down her back. The underground had been cloying, musty, and she couldn’t wait to enjoy a refreshing cool shower. Deeply, she breathed in and serenity washed over her until an angry voice caught her attention.

  ‘Scusami, scusami,’ she said and pushed through the crowds. The voices got louder and she finally reached a roped-off area. Oro? Dante? He stood arguing with a policeman. He looked furious and devastated all at once.

  ‘It’s all right, I’m here,’ she called.

  ‘Maria? Is that you?’ His face cleared.

  The policeman caught her eye and lifted up the rope for her to come through. She took Dante’s hand that held the dog lead and he squeezed hers tight.

  ‘You are okay?’ he said.

  His voice trembled slightly. Mary understood. Terrorist attacks – just the idea of them – shook people; made them question everything they thought they knew about where they lived. Yet, his reaction did seem a little overstated. No one else’s friends or relatives were waiting and commuters simply jumped on buses or hailed taxis, to continue their journey.

  Mary linked her arm through his and led him twenty metres down the pavement, to a spot where there was room to breathe.

  ‘I … we … everyone was so worried,’ he continued. ‘Cheyenne has news alerts on her phone. Not long after you left I heard there was a security issue. I rang and texted you and got here in a taxi.
If only I’d come with you. The police wouldn’t let me through the barriers. With my training, perhaps I could have helped if …’ He grimaced. ‘Listen to me. I’m blind. Useless.’

  ‘Dante. Stop it. There would have been nothing you or anyone could have done.’ Where had his sudden lack of confidence come from?

  His voice rose. ‘Already I prove what I said to you, after we … it would never work, me with you – me with anyone. No one should feel safe in my company – I’m not good at protecting people from the worst.’

  ‘What a ridiculous thing to say! Attacks are random, and anyway – this was just a scare.’

  Dante was attracting attention now, with people looking, including a photographer. He pursed his lips.

  ‘Or are you going to throw a pity party?’ she said, in a teasing voice. Goodness. She’d come over all Jill.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Feeling sorry for yourself – when really this is about me!’

  ‘You’re right. It’s just … if anything had happened … it got me thinking …’ He gripped the cane so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

  ‘Thoughts can be dangerous things,’ said Mary and she draped her arms around his neck, watched by a confused Oro. She pulled him close for a hug. Eventually … reluctantly … she backed away.

  ‘You seem so … calm,’ he said, sounding half embarrassed, half relieved.

  ‘What happened … It’s just made me appreciate the things and people in my life.’

  ‘Me too. Look, Mary … the other night …’

  ‘Shhh. Don’t, Dante. No need to say it all again.’

  ‘You don’t understand, I—’

  ‘You were right.’ The hardest words she’d ever said, but Mary didn’t need the cherry on the cake.

  ‘I was?’ he said, eventually.

  ‘Yes. We work together. Things could get messy. I’m just so grateful to know you. Your friendship means a lot. We never should have jeopardised that.’

  Mary looked at his throat and tried oh so hard to ignore an urge to trail kisses along his neck.

  ‘Right … so …’