Euro Tripped

by Sally Bryan

  We both straightened at this and I felt Arwen’s foot tapping mine beneath the table.

  “We already saw that.” She said with a flat tone and if I felt it necessary to intervene, nothing came to mind. Not that it mattered anyway because I didn’t think Dayna had heard because the timer on the oven was loud and she was jumping up, in her state, and rushing to open the oven door and it all smelled so good.

  “Be nice to her,” I whispered to my friend and she responded by reaching for a piece of bread and tearing it apart with vigour.

  “Bread’s stale.”

  “That’s because it’s probably meant to be,” I whispered whilst Dayna clattered about from not too far away, “and she was dipping it in olive oil.” I took the liberty of pouring a small quantity onto Arwen’s dish, rather a strange custom but when in Rome…

  I used the opportunity to inspect the abode and yes, the whole thing was quite strange, for starters, that we were even here, and I had many questions even if Arwen didn’t. For whatever reason, Dayna had taken a liking to us. Sure, we’d been pleasant to a certain extent and had happened to be around when Arwen brought on an attack of claustrophobia but we’d only been repaid that kindness by being emotionally blackmailed into toiling in the fields yet now, here we were, getting the royal treatment, but why? And why was this pretty pregnant lady here all alone but for some crazy woman locked in a room upstairs? Where were the men? Or other women, for that matter? Valid questions, the house was large and Dayna was the only apparent occupant.

  I was about to inquire when an upstairs door slammed and Dayna, who was approaching the table with a large ceramic pot, stopped to glance upwards at the ceiling. There was the patter of feet and the rattling of pipes that could only come from bad water pressure and Dayna’s eyes softened as she placed down the pot.

  “It’s Garganelli alla Bolognese, which means it’s veal and pork mixed together with parmesan.” She came back with another dish filled with those pasta tubes and I was about to go overboard with the ladle when she warned, “this is the first course.”

  Wow, we truly did have her all wrong, I think, although Arwen was giving me a knowing sidewards glance as she scooped a large dose of the meat sauce over her pasta.

  I was so hungry but hadn’t yet touched anything because I was polite and had been brought up correctly and, I assumed, we were about to be joined by the crazy but no, Dayna was already eating and there was no fourth table setting so I scooped up my first mouthful and hummed long and appreciatively. It was over the top amazing. “Oh, Dayna, I think this is the best thing I’ve tasted since arriving on the continent.”

  Arwen nodded grudgingly.

  “You’re too kind,” Dayna dipped some bread into her sauce, “it’s merely an every day Tuscan dinner. Well, I suppose I’m used to it.”

  “You live very well.” I was absolutely inhaling the bounty.

  Dayna reached for the wine then passed it to me because it required the use of a corkscrew. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now but…” she trailed off, slightly alarming me but then one glance at her set revealed she was drinking only water.

  “Oh, I really shouldn’t, we have to drive back to San Gim … San something.”

  “San Gimignano, a beautiful place.”

  “Right, well somewhere there’s a lay-by with our name on it.”

  “But one glass won’t hurt, will it? Oh, go on, I insist, just one glass, it’s one of ours … our premium blend, to say thanks for everything you’ve done. You’ll still get to your lay-bi. You must.” She prodded the glass towards me and what could I do? Say no to the dear pregnant lady who’d gone to so much trouble? And there was more than a slight insinuation in her tone that great offence would be taken if I didn’t imbibe in quantity, it was Vino di Giordano, after all. She waved a hand, “ignore me, it’s up to you, of course. I’m just trying and failing at being an Italian host.”

  I reassured her by patting her on the forearm and croaked, “no, no, you’re a wonderful host,” which wasn’t a complete lie, “well, I guess one glass won’t hurt.” I poured the fluid into my glass and Dayna was already looking on at Arwen in expectation.

  “Go on, I’ll have some too.” Arwen gave me another sideward glance though I expected the wine would make her more agreeable.

  There was a great difference between the wine I usually bought and the nectar we were drinking now. I’m no expert with the fancy descriptive words but this so-called premium blend was dry and easy on the palate, which had the effect of making me believe I wasn’t really drinking anything and before I knew it my glass was half empty.

  For several minutes the table slumped into silence save for the clatter of expensive cutlery and the creature causing another ruckus with the pipes. At one point, her feet bounded across the floor, which shook the boards and preceded a door slamming and at least two of us had to feign deafness and ignorance, all whilst Dayna set down her fork and began rubbing her arm. It was the elephant in the room, for sure, and I had to give Arwen credit for not mentioning it. Perhaps like me, she was beginning to believe this sweet, if rather odd, pregnant lady might be housing a character from every child’s favourite nightmare about a monster hiding in the attic and the less said about that the better.

  Dayna brought the second course out from the oven. “It’s Tuscan porterhouse steak in red wine with parmesan roasted potatoes.”

  Arwen and I craned our necks as she brought it over and when she set it down the steak was hanging off the bone, the red wine still bubbled and the potatoes glowed and I was so happy I still had room in my belly because a decent home cooked meal was something I’d missed. She truly had gone to much effort and I wondered why we were so special and didn’t the meat just melt in my mouth.

  Noticing our wine had somehow been vanquished, Dayna took it upon herself to refill both glasses as she talked casually about how, six years before, she’d arrived at the vineyard for work experience and never left.

  “And why would I? Giordano looks exactly like all those vineyards you see on the Tuscan postcards, the place is magical.” She sipped her water and studied our expressions, neutral as I suppose they probably were. “I don’t reckon the two of you would like a summer job or are travelling with anyone who’d like one, if only for a few weeks? Days even?”

  It was another Dayna left field speciality and my head jerked without a prompt from my brain. Luckily I had a mouthful of steak, which gifted me valuable seconds to formulate a tactful refusal. Unfortunately, Arwen, who’d been less than subtle since our arrival, beat me to it.

  “We don’t.” And that put a stop to Dayna’s hopes at once.

  I scratched my neck, hastily swallowed, and felt it necessary to add, “but thanks, Dayna, really. It’s very kind of you but we have other places we need to get to and only so much time to see them.”

  Dayna leaned back and cleared her throat, just enough for us to notice.

  “Rome beckons for us,” I added with urgency, “we hear her distant call.” What the fuck was that?

  Arwen tapped my foot again and was struggling to contain herself after that one and then, at last, Dayna spoke.

  “Of course, everyone should see Rome at least once in their lives. It’s a bit overrated, extremely heavy traffic and the people aren’t as friendly as you’d get in some of the other Italian regions … say, Tuscany, for example. But yes, you should probably see it if you’re travelling. Have some more wine.” She emptied the remnants of the bottle into our glasses and I had literally no idea where the rest had gone.

  How long had dinner lasted? Checking my phone was not the polite thing to do so I resisted the temptation. It was still light outside, so I reasoned we’d been eating around an hour or perhaps a bit longer. I thought again about finding a quiet spot on one of Chianti’s hills or valleys, snuggling in the sleeping bag with the girl I was in love with and watching Psycho but that hopefully we wouldn’t be watching the film at all.

  We finished and Dayna began to c
ollect the plates.

  “Would you let us do the washing?” I asked and Dayna shook her head.

  “Don’t be silly, you’re my guests. Besides, we have a dishwasher.” She engaged in that task and a minute later returned to the table. “But it’s getting late and…” that was my cue to check the time on my phone, eight in the evening, “…the baby needs sleep as much as I do.” She caressed her tummy with an expression of total love and warmth.

  But I needed no more hints and pushed myself up, or rather, I tried but the effects of the alcohol unexpectedly surged to my head. Arwen had made it to her feet but was holding an arm out for the nearby wall.

  A dainty hand found its way to Dayna’s mouth. “Oh, what was I thinking feeding you both so much wine when you needed to drive back,” Dayna slapped her wrist, “silly me. Oh, I really am sorry. What can we ever do?” She looked from me, to Arwen and back and I had a feeling I already knew where this was going. “Say…” and she touched a finger to her lip as though the idea had just come to her, “you should both stay over … no, no, I insist. It’s all my doing, oh, silly me, I truly apologise but you really shouldn’t drive anywhere in this state.”

  “I…” but all I could do was exhale and wonder how I hadn’t anticipated this from the offset.

  Arwen risked unsteadying herself by standing arms akimbo. “We have to go, Dayna,” she said sternly, “Rome ain’t gonna come to us.”

  I was beginning to think we’d never see Rome nor anywhere else ever again, “right,” I added, lamely and tried again to stand, failed and reached up for Arwen’s hand but she was too far away to risk the trip.

  Dayna shook her head, “no, no, you’re over the legal limit, I can’t let you leave like this, I’d never forgive myself if anything happened, but don’t worry, we have spare bedrooms … It’s not a problem. No, don’t be silly, I insist.”

  What could we bloody do? And we both recognised that attempting to resist this master manipulator would prove fruitless. I consoled myself with the thought that if we ever did manage to leave this vineyard, then it would be something we could both laugh about, probably.

  “Follow me,” Dayna commanded with a strange satisfied grin and we did, taking great care with the bannister for support, up two floors of creaky steps.

  “You are such a bloody lightweight.” Arwen swivelled her head to chastise me from in front and I had to avert my eyes from her rear end to reply.

  “Says you, my dear.”

  The stairway possessed numerous portraits of families sat posing for the artist in traditional red and white Tuscan garb, which made everyone look like page boys from a fairytale and then I noticed the inscriptions which confirmed the images were actually the Giordanos from past generations. The further up the stairs we ascended so the portrait was of the generation after until the paintbrush changed to photography, first black and white and then colour. The final spot revealed no portrait of the present family, but an empty hook.

  There were two opened doors on the right of the landing and we stopped at the first. I almost expected to find my name on a plate screwed into the wood but there wasn’t.

  Dayna gestured within, “Freya, this will be your room.”

  I stood awkwardly for a while, as did Arwen before she seized my hand, as well as an opportunity to get kicked out, and interlaced our fingers.

  “You got a problem with this?” She was looking cold and deliberately at Dayna.

  “Oh,” Dayna sighed after a moment, she was tired, and smiled after the admission we were together because apparently, the two of us weren’t giving off those kinds of vibes and that made me sad, “no, of course, I don’t have a problem with this.”

  I realised that was the first time we’d ever told anyone we were in a relationship, for lack of a better word, and I wasn’t sure what to think of how it went.

  Dayna showed us both into the first room and gestured out with her arms. “It’s the room I had when I first arrived. Better than a lay-bi, no?”

  It was and Arwen nodded with a grunt as she plodded to the window and looked out over the vines in the twilight. Dayna wished us a goodnight and closed the door on us.

  Arwen whipped around, “what the heck happened today?”

  I shrugged and gazed hopelessly at the bed, a fourposter, which beat a sleeping bag. “I really don’t know.”

  “I really don’t know,” she mimicked me, “we come here for a wine tour and end up picking grapes and staying the bloody night?”

  I couldn’t help but grin. “You said you wanted a wine tour, you got one.”

  “The nerve of the bloody woman,” she continued, ignoring my humour, “how does she know we don’t have opera tickets?”

  “Yeah but we don’t.” I found myself being drawn towards her.

  “Yeah but still, she doesn’t know that.” Her bottom lip was sticking out and I just wanted to bite it.

  I moved to put my arms around her but she twisted away and stomped to the other side of the room. I exhaled and gestured to the surroundings, “it’s a beautiful room.”

  And it was, like everything else in the house. There was an antique mirror on cast iron feet that looked incredibly heavy. It was one of those things that tilted in its frame and was presently reflecting Arwen’s back, arse and everything else as she inspected the cabinet. This too was probably older than both of us combined and then some and had beautiful ornate floral carvings. Apart from the bathroom, which was en-suite, that was pretty much everything, minimalistic yet adequate.

  I perched on the bed and felt myself sinking. “Arwen?” I waited for her to grunt before continuing. “Is there anything that strikes you as weird about this place?”

  She turned around and leaned against the cabinet. “About Dayna? Sure.”

  “Did you notice the photo frames, how they’re all facing away?” There were a few other things that had given me reasons to be concerned but it was the frames that would provide the easiest answers.

  She folded her arms, considered her answer for a second and nodded. “My belief is that her husband knocked her up and ran. In a fit, she’s unable to face the memories but doesn’t want to lose all hope, so rather than destroy the images she turns them away, along with everyone else she meets and therefore has to resort to measures like this to get people to like her.” She was jesting, of course, and I loved it when she was in this semi-belligerent mood, it totally brought out all her cute little expressions. “Can’t say I blame him really and we’ve known her less than a day, imagine how it must be having to live with a woman like that.”

  My legs crossed the room without needing instruction and then I was pulling her in and inhaling the peaches that were infused oh so faintly and deliciously with the grape toiling sweat, all natural Arwen. “Say some more angry.”

  “I’m not angry.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, I’m not.” She squeezed me so hard that a burst of air was forced from my lungs.

  “Scrunch your face up like you do.”

  “I will not.”

  “For me?”

  “I won’t”

  And then my hand was finding its way beneath her skirt and working its way slowly up to graze her pussy.

  She trembled, closed her eyes and all I could hear was her breathing muffled against my neck and, encouraged by finding her already moist, I began making slow circles with my middle finger but painfully soon, she pulled away so that the air against my finger, up to the distal interphalangeal joint, felt suddenly cold from her residue and the breeze left by her movement. My heart sank.

  “Let’s go down and see what she’s hiding.” She was filled with a sudden excitement that came from nowhere.

  “Um, what?”

  “The photo frames and anything else.”

  We decided to wait long enough to be sure Dayna would be asleep, whilst we used the interim to shower, separately.

  And when the time came it was dark so we had to feel our way, slowly, down the stairs. My
hand was on Arwen’s shoulder as she led the way, step by step, every deafening creak causing a shudder. Even our breathing was like sirens as we passed the middle floor, the wooden steps cold beneath our bare feet and then we reached the landing and I could feel the warm woollen strands of a rug. The curtains were all closed and I regretted not thinking to bring my phone so that I could use the torch facility.

  “Where’s the light switch?” I hissed and Arwen stepped towards the wall from where we began sweeping our hands up and down the plaster in search of that familiar white box.

  By now we were far beyond the landing and even the kitchen as we came to the living area and we had to navigate around a table that I remembered being positioned in front of the window.

  And then I found a switch and applied pressure with my thumb.

  The lights flicked on.

  The girl on the couch was watching us and I fell into Arwen who had the presence of mind not to tumble to the floor with me atop of her.

  “Holy fuck!” We both whimpered and staggered back.

  She was brunette, an Italian, with hollowed cheeks, dark sunken eyes and nothing much behind them, eerily expressionless, and was sitting up straight with both hands resting on her knees.

  Arwen and I had frozen, everywhere my skin pricking and then the woman simply stood and the loose white shift she wore flowed down to cover her legs and without a word, she stepped past the two of us to creak a slow journey upstairs.

  Arwen’s nails had been digging hard into my arm and I hadn’t even noticed. “You were right,” she hissed, “something’s definitely weird.”

  * * *

  Dayna was already at the table when we came down for breakfast, another fancy spread. “Sleep well?” She looked surprisingly perky like she’d been up a while but then, I guessed, she had.

  “Um, yeah, thanks.” It was seven in the morning and the Tuscan brightness flooding in through the windows hurt my drowsy eyes, that now caught Arwen’s, as we cautiously pulled out the chairs and sat and I knew what she was thinking. How much does she know?