All Tomorrow's Parties

by Nicole Fitton

  Outwardly she was hugging him back; inwardly she was numb.

  She knew more heartache would follow if she didn’t keep up appearances. Just keep it together for the short term, she told herself.

  Danny, obviously excited to see her, gave her a day by day breakdown of his trip as they sat and ate their takeaway. She didn’t have to say anything, Danny was fit to bursting. He had so much he wanted to share that he did not pick up how distant she was. He had not asked her what she had been doing, so it was a relief to Laine that she had not had to lie to him.

  He’ll want sex though, she thought, horrified…she had not thought this through. She couldn’t, she just couldn’t; it was never gonna happen ever again. Her decision was already made. She made her excuses, an early period that had caught her unaware, which of course he accepted - why would he doubt her? It may have been there was a hint of curiosity, but Danny let it go. He knew she had been working hard: after all he had tried to call her till well past midnight last night with no response.

  The week that followed was as if living in Dante’s second circle of hell for Laine. She had managed to keep it together with Danny, she had managed to put Tony on the back burner, she had even managed to get drunk with Ella and still keep it together despite being chatted up at the Embassy club by a rather good-looking boy. To all who knew her it was the same old, same old. Her will to get to the end of the week without cracking had held strong. An internal fire had raged but none had seen. At last she could be free from all ties. Her holiday beckoned with promises of hope and clear thinking. She said goodbye to Danny and walked away with a sense of relief.

  7

  Ella rented a basement flat at Princes Court, Notting Hill Gate .She had made it Ella O’Mara beautiful, all art student and retro. Flecks of 1980s London morphed seamlessly with 1920s deco. She had collected various pieces of Claris Cliff and Poole Pottery from the many antique shops on Portobello. Simple Minds posters set in Deco frames on the walls next to a cover of Harpers Bazaar and an advert for Lucky Strike cigarettes. There were books about Leyendecker and Man Ray set as though they were just about to be read. Coffee table culture at its finest.

  Laine loved Ella’s flat. One day she too would have a flat like hers. Staying at Ella’s the night before the flight had been the right thing to do; she could slowly unwind and finally breathe.

  Ella had made all of the arrangements. Laine was just happy to go. Italy the destination, more precisely a place called Lido De Jeselo. Beach and culture rolled into one - they would not be too far away from Venice so could definitely do a bit of sightseeing.

  The flight from Gatwick was uneventful apart from having to ply Ella with vast quantities of alcohol prior to the flight as she hated flying. They arrived at Marco Polo airport just before mid-day. Laine peeled Ella off the plane. She had had more than her fill of white wine at 35,000 feet.

  As they stepped off the plane and descended the steps the surge of warm air interacted with Ella’s intoxication - it was all Laine could do to steady her friend. Never having been to many overseas destinations, Laine was struck that all of the police at the airport were wearing guns. She had not noticed this in Amsterdam, but was sure they also must have been wearing firearms. The Italian police, she thought, displayed their guns almost as a badge of honour, a declaration that they had the means to take you down and were proud of it. She was impressed by how handsome they all looked, their classic Italian features: dark hair, straight noses, Mediterranean appearance proudly on display.

  Steady, girl - she thought - no more complications, especially not ones that carry guns!

  With their names checked off they boarded the Thomson holidays coach. Ella absolutely stank of alcohol and managed to garner some rather impressive expressions of disgust from the other tourists. Most appeared too old to remember what it was like to be young! The girls were the youngest people on the coach.

  Laine suddenly had a horrible feeling that Ella had booked them onto a Saga holiday by mistake. Please God don’t let this be a sign of things to come, she thought.

  Her friend had fallen into a drunken stupor on the seat next to her, snoring loudly. Laine looked out of the window and tried to take in as much of the landscape as possible. She had not really travelled much and was determined to take in all that Italy had to offer.

  The coach trundled out of the airport complex, bringing with it a change in landscape. Gone was the familiarity of the hustle and bustle of international travel. For a moment she wondered if she had stepped back in time.

  The motorway was as it should be but the small villages appeared lost in time. Sometime perhaps in the 1950s. Old men sat outside tiny houses, cigarette in one hand and newspaper in the other. They watched the world go by, wary of anything unfamiliar, outsiders looking into a world that was changing faster than they were able to comprehend.

  A small Fiat, engine racing, exhaust smoking, struggled to overtake the coach. Hot on its heels a series of Vespas swung left and right, driving at breakneck speed trying to avoid the copious amount of potholes. The driving was the craziest she had ever seen; she was convinced that there couldn’t be any Italian driving regulations.

  The heat of the day was making itself known and the coach was getting a little stuffy to say the least. At a fair pace the coach continued. It made its way slowly along the road leading east towards Lido De Jeselo. A young man on a moped had pulled over to the side of the road and was gesticulating wildly at a small white van driver who in turn was shouting something incomprehensible back whilst opening up the back of his van. A gaggle of chickens flooded out across the road, flapping and creating merry hell as cars swerved wildly trying to avoid the free flying hens. The young man grabbed at a chicken, placed it firmly on the front of his moped and drove off! What on earth have I let myself in for? wondered Laine. The whole scene was comical if slightly disturbing - Welcome to Italy, she thought. No one else on the coach seemed to take the slightest bit of notice; they were way too interested in a free glass of fizzy stuff and day trips to Yugoslavia being offered by the rep to take in the real world.

  They arrived at their apartment block just after 2pm. It had been the fourth stop the now stiflingly hot coach had made. It had arrived just in the nick of time; nausea had not been far off as the doors opened to reveal a gentle warm breeze.

  Their apartment was on the top floor of a small twelve-unit block fairly close to the beach. Both girls were excited to be on holiday. Ella seemed to have slept off her alcoholic stupor and after dumping their suitcases they set about exploring. The main street of the town seemed to extend parallel to the beach and contained mainly beach-type shops, restaurants and ice cream parlours.

  Different to most Italian towns which had grown up organically over time, Jeselo had been specifically designed along the yellow dolomite sand to attract the tourists. And attract them it did. As Laine and Ella explored they heard a multitude of languages - German, Dutch, Scandinavian and even American. It seemed as if Jeselo was popular the world over. It didn’t take the girls long to realise that Italian men from the outset were very forthright in approaching women. Shouts of “Bellisima!” and “Bella, Bella Madonna!” seemed to echo as they walked by.

  Laine with her beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes and Ella with her rich auburn hair and porcelain features were attracting attention all the way along the main strip.

  “Anyone would think these men had never seen a woman before”, barked Ella.

  “Senora, we ‘ave, but none quite as beautiful as you bellisima!” said a heavily accented rusty voice.

  Both girls jumped. Spinning around they discovered a very tall, athletic looking man dressed in white linen, wearing a rather large gold chain.

  “Ah just the man!” exclaimed Ella, jumping straight in in her best terribly posh English accent.

  “I’m looking for my fiancée’s family. Their name is Manchelli and they own a farmhouse up towards Venice, do you know them? Their family are originally from Sicily?” W
ell she has certainly convinced me, thought Laine with a dry smile.

  “’Scusi, scusi senorina I I I don’t know the family but I ‘ave ‘eard of them…maybe if you ask in the bar they will know them. I must go now, ciao”, and with that the man in his finest white linen was making a quick exit down Main Street.

  “How did you do that? Very impressive!’ laughed Laine.

  “Well I had read that Italian men are a very macho bunch but two things they value are honour and respect. Obviously the book was right, if an Italian man thought you were already spoken for, and to one of his own countrymen no less, well I’d say the book was right.”

  “But what about all that stuff about farmhouses and who on earth are the Manchellis?” said Laine looking a little puzzled.

  “Oh that was just a calculated guess. I figured Manchelli is a good common Italian name. I read that in a book as well. There must be some farms around here somewhere, adding the bit about originally coming from Sicily, well that was a moment of genius - everyone knows that Sicilians are rough and tough and some are even mafia-related so I figured it couldn’t hurt to let him think that my fake fiancée’s family were rough around the edges.” Both girls looked at each other and burst into fits of laughter.

  “You are a piece of work Miss O’Mara, I think I’m gonna learn a lot from you”, said Laine, and with that she gave a courtsey to her friend, who returned the gesture with a bow.

  “I think this calls for a gelato”, said Ella, opening the door to Raimondo’s ice cream parlour.

  The lemon sorbet was out of this world. Laine had never tasted anything quite like it.

  The lemon was so sour that it made her ears hurt, yet at the same time its smooth texture made the inside of her mouth feel as soft as velvet. She was not a big fan of ice cream but now she understood why so many people loved it.

  “As good as sex, wouldn’t you say?” said Ella, who had opted for “fragola” (strawberry) ice cream.

  “Oh way better, I never knew ice cream could be soooo good”, said Laine.

  “It beats Mr Whippy and his 99s any day”, the girls giggled as they continued to walk up the strip savouring their ice cream, occasionally coming up with a lewd comment about Mr Whippy and his 99s.

  Gelatos in hand they turned left towards the beach. Most of the tourists had started to pack up for the day and head back to their apartments and hotels. They all looked different shades of pink, some even a tad sunburnt. The smell of coconut oil hung heavy in the air, with an occasional whiff of coffee and cigarettes thrown in for good measure. The girls found a couple of spare sun loungers and sat looking out over the Adriatic. The sand was pleasantly warm from the day’s sun

  “This is perfect, thank you so much Ella for sorting all of this out, it’s just what I needed”, said Laine.

  “You’re welcome sweet pea, I realise how much I needed it too.”

  Sitting eating gelato and watching the sun slowly set over the sea, Laine felt completely free. She was not someone’s daughter who was always in the wrong or someone’s girlfriend who was an appendage of her other half. She was Laine Marshall, 19 years old, and she was sitting eating gelato and watching the sun go down over the Adriatic. She had been in Italy less than 24 hours but she knew that whatever happened she could not go back to her life how it was.

  She didn’t need to sit and analyse it, she just knew. Maybe, just maybe, this was what growing up was, she thought. Perhaps the realisation that change was coming and embracing it was what it was all about. She knew change was coming, just as the birds know when the seasons change, so she knew her halcyon days of innocence were becoming a distant memory.

  As she watched the sun setting she felt she had reached a turning point, the path not yet clear for the journey ahead but definitely most definitely change was here. She would embrace whatever life was to throw at her, just as she always had. If she had been at all religious she would have known that in those circles it was called faith – knowing at the root of your being that you are on a path, the end out of sight but trusting that the path is good and everything will always work together for good. The lapping hum of the waves gently brought her thoughts back to the here and now. Whatever was to come would be good, she told herself.

  Back at the apartment, the girls sat on the balcony and enjoyed some pasta and a few bottles of Frascati that they had picked up at the local store. They worked through their guide book methodically, deciding how to spend the next ten days. With the wine flowing Laine laid bare her thoughts about her life with Danny and how Tony had somehow managed to sweep her off her feet.

  “Ella, I’m confused. I know Danny and me, well we’re over, I know that, but he doesn’t, and I really don’t want to hurt him. At the same time Tony is waiting in the wings ready to make me his princess or something, I’m not sure I want that either.”

  A sense of desperation had crept into her voice.

  “My dear friend, it sounds to me that what you need is some time on your own to figure things out, this is exactly what this holiday is about – no men to go messing things up eh?” said Ella, who was starting to sound a little bit sloshed…again.

  “You’re a good, good friend Ella O’Mara, everyone needs a friend like you”, said Laine, now sounding equally sloshed.

  The girls finished off their third bottle of Frascati ( they had brought four bottles in total with the plan of perhaps one per night!), and danced around the living room singing a variety of Human League and Simple Minds songs before crashing at about 3.30am. Happily drunk, they had enjoyed the first day of their Italian holiday. The wine had flowed, the conversation had been heart felt and the dancing, well, the dancing had been extraordinary!

  Giggling voices was the first thing Ella heard when she awoke. A bit disorientated, not recognising the white lime-washed ceiling of the apartment, it took her a few minutes to figure out where she was. She knew it must be quite late, the apartment felt like an oven. The searing light escaping through the blinds was fierce. It had already heated up a half empty glass of water that sat in its path on the coffee table. Voices were coming from the apartment below. Ella made her way over to the balcony and looked down. A table had been laid for lunch – two girls and two boys were enjoying a glass of wine. One of the boys, a beautiful dark Italian-looking man with raven hair, glanced up at Ella and winked. Shocked and feeling a bit like a voyeur, Ella rushed back into the apartment at such a speed that she fell over the coffee table and went crashing to the floor. The cold marble was a welcome relief for Ella who was now very hot and very bothered. Laine appeared from her room.

  ”What are you doing down there Ella, you still drunk?” laughed Laine.

  “No, very funny”, said Ella, picking herself up off the floor. “I just didn’t see the table”, she mumbled.

  Laine stepped out onto the open balcony. I really am on holiday, she thought as she started to stretch.

  “Buongiorno”, said a voice from below. Laine peered over the balcony to see the same sight that Ella had seen, only this time it was just the startlingly good-looking chap who had winked at Ella.

  “Oh hello”, said Laine, conscious of the fact that she was in her rather short nightie.

  “Is your friend alright? Only I think I gave her quite a start?” The voice was as smooth as silk, with a beautifully crafted Scottish accent.

  “Yes she’s fine thanks. I was convinced you were Italian but you’re English”, giggled Laine

  “No I’m Scottish”, said Italian/Scottish man who was now talking to her. “We’re all heading down to the beach if you and your friend would like to join us - we’ll be down by CJ’s bar if you fancy it? My name’s Andrew by the way”, said Italian/Scottish man whose name was Andrew.

  “My name’s Laine and my friend is Ella, and yes we’d love to join you at the beach”, said Laine with a new found forthrightness.

  “Great, we’ll see you there”, said Andrew, winking once more. Was he aware he did that? Laine wondered.

  Ba
ck in the apartment Laine realised Ella had been listening behind the balcony doors.

  “Oh my god Laine, he’s Scottish and gorgeous. I reckon he’s taken though, as there were four of them on that balcony earlier and, well, they looked couples-ish”, said Ella forlornly.

  “Well that explains why you fell over the coffee table”, said Laine.

  ‘Yes yes it certainly does, now where the hell is CJ’s bar? Come on girl, we’ve got to get ourselves together”, said Ella shutting the balcony doors.

  “You know Ella, even if they are couples we can still have some fun as friends can’t we?” said Laine.

  “Yes we bloody well can, we’re on holiday for crying out loud, it would be fun to spend time with new people.” Ella grabbed Laine’s hands and they both danced excitedly around the coffee table for the second time in less than 24 hours.

  Ella and Laine had no trouble finding CJ’s. They walked straight to the end of their road onto the beach and turned left. CJ’s was about 500 yards up on the left. David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance” was blaring out from behind the bar and they could hear a variety of chatter and laughter. Ella and Laine looked at each other; they knew this was their kind of place.

  Andrew and his friends were sat amongst the sun loungers just in front of the bar. “He is most certainly the best looking bloke here”, thought Ella as she did a quick sweep across the beach bar. Andrew looked up and waved.

  “Hi”, he said, “glad you could make it neighbours! Let me introduce you, this is Rod, Tessa and Mary.”

  “I’m Laine and this is Ella”, said Laine.

  “Here, come and join us”, said Rod, who was slightly shorter than Andrew with brown wavy hair and had an unkempt look about him. The girls sat next to Rod. Mary, Tessa and Andrew sat opposite them on loungers.

  Andrew explained they were four friends from Edinburgh who had just finished studying law together. Ella was ecstatic to discover not only were there no couples amongst the group, but also that Andrew was single and definitely had his eye on her.