All the Fun of the Fair

by Jamie Sinclair

  ‘You!’ Loriana screamed at Chiara. ‘Bitch, how dare you?’

  ‘Loriana, whatever is the matter?’

  Chiara hurried to the side of her distraught sibling.

  ‘Rimuova le vostre mani. Don’t you dare touch me.’

  Loriana lashed out and forced her sister back.

  ‘Loriana, love, what’s up, has something happened?’

  Alfie was scared because this wasn’t the woman he knew, usually so together, so in control.

  ‘You weak little man, just like the rest. How could you, with her, after all I told you.’ Then, literally spitting with rage, Loriana turned on her sister. ‘Twenty years you cost us, your behaviour cost us nearly twenty years and now, after one day in my house, you are out with him!’ She jabbed a finger at Alfie.

  ‘What? No darling, you are mistaken…’

  ‘Sbagliato? Like I was mistaken when I found your earring in my bed. Deny that you have been out together, where have you been?’ She demanded hysterically.

  ‘We went to the Narracott, just for a chat like.’ Alfie explained.

  ‘You took her to our bar, the bar where we go?’

  ‘Should I not have…erm, look Loriana…’

  ‘Don’t speak now.’ Loriana warned. ‘You, Chiara, are no longer my sister. I should never have allowed you into my home. You are an irresponsible, selfish woman and you always have been. Never one for work, always gallivanting while others earned the money. Well, no more…’

  ‘Loriana, please, people are watching; let’s go inside and calm down.’

  ‘Yes, you go inside, take Alfie with you. Sleep in my bed, just like you did with my fiancée all those years ago. You are so desperate to have my life, it is yours. You can have my home, the money, the businesses, I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Come on, you don’t mean this, you’re making such a terrible mistake.’

  ‘Abbastanza. I have nothing else to say.’

  With that, Loriana turned and marched into the house, slamming the front door behind her, leaving a shell-shocked Chiara and dumbfounded Alfie on the lawn. Less than five minutes later, while Chiara rattled the door handle and pleaded for her sister to see sense, a taxi pulled up behind them and then the front door did open. Loriana, ignoring both Alfie and Chiara, marched by carrying a designer hold-all, climbed into the taxi and was driven away.

  ‘Where’s she going?’ Alfie cried desperately. ‘When will she be back?’

  Mauro appeared at the door, perturbed and unsettled.

  ‘Madre, Zia left these.’

  A set of keys dangled from his finger.

  ‘Did she say where she was going?’

  ‘No, but she has taken her passport.’ Mauro replied.

  Alfie sank to his knees on the lawn, the effort of standing simply too great. How had this happened to him again? He found it so difficult to become close to people, really close and now, the first person, the first woman, he’d ever honestly loved, had gone.

  ‘You’ve done this.’ Alfie looked up, resentment, passion, burning in his eyes.

  ‘Pardon me, Alfie.’ Chiara looked distraught.

  ‘We were fine. Okay, we’d fallen out, but she’d have come round, at least she was still here.’ Alfie rose to his feet, trembling, his voice low and threatening. ‘Within one day of you coming, Loriana’s reduced to shouting on the front lawn and now she’s left, gone off to God knows where. Why do you do it her? Why?’

  ‘Calm down Alfie, you’re as bad as my sister.’

  ‘Not as bad, I’m like your sister. We know how it feels when someone close lets you down, hurts you, we’ve both felt that loss. Now you’ve done it again, to both of us. You’re quite something Chiara, quite a lady.’

  ‘Alfie please, I didn’t mean…’

  But Alfie was on the move, striding, almost running, from the scene. Tears of anger and love poured down his face, childhood memories filled his head, mixing with images of Loriana shouting at him. He went directly to his flat, literally threw his clothes in a bag, grabbed the photo album and placed that on top, before dragging the zipper across to seal the bag. Then he dug out the accommodation information he’d got from the housing department and made a few calls to letting agents from the payphone in the hall.

  He realised it was too late to go anywhere tonight. This was Morecambe not London. The railway station would be closed and the only buses operating now would be to the town centre and back to the depot. He punched the wall of the living room in sheer frustration and paced the flat into the small hours. Finally he drifted into a fitful sleep in the chair with the threadbare arms opposite the television.

  At first light Alfie awoke and was just as determined; he had to get away and he had to go now. He scooped up Kenny, ignoring the hiss of protest, dropped the writhing animal into its carry cage, picked up his bag and slammed the door of the flat behind him. Ten minutes later, breathing heavily from peddling hard, Alfie was at the park. He cycled in, no longer concerned with rules prohibiting such things, ignored his shed and wheeled straight across to the café then posted the gate keys through the letter box.

  ‘Hey Alfie, mate.’

  He whirled round, his concentration and focus momentarily shifted.

  ‘Tania, hello. Bit early for you isn’t it?’

  Tania hesitated, considering whether to lie or not, opted for the truth.

  ‘I’m on my way to the cemetery.’

  ‘Really?’ Alfie asked doubtfully.

  ‘My granddad’s in there, he died last year. I like to go sometimes, just so he knows I’m thinking about him’.

  Tania shrugged, embarrassed and not for the first time Alfie was reminded how different people could be from their perception.

  ‘You off somewhere?’

  Tania reached out towards the pet carrier strapped to the back of Alfie’s bicycle but quickly retracted her hand when a large orange paw flashed at the bars of the cage.

  ‘Yeah, I’m leaving Morecambe, had more than enough of this town, it’s time to try somewhere else.’

  ‘Shit, Alfie, that’s a bit drastic.’

  ‘I don’t suppose anyone will much notice that I’ve even gone.’

  ‘I’ll notice.’

  ‘Oh well, that’s good of you to say love, but you needn’t give me a second thought.’

  ‘I always remember people who are nice to me and you were nice to me when nobody else was being. You didn’t judge me and it meant a lot. Still, I don’t want to keep you.’

  ‘How’s the new job working out?’ Alfie asked.

  ‘Pretty good actually.’

  ‘And Etchman, you’re not involved with him again?’

  ‘That bastard, no way; I’ve had quite enough of people thinking I’m just some bimbo.’

  Alfie smiled. ‘I’m glad for you Tania, I suspected you were better than all that. Find yourself a young man your own age, someone who’ll treat you properly.’

  ‘Funny you should say that ‘cos I’ve been thinking the exact same thing myself.’

  What Tania had actually been thinking about was her relationship with Kuldeep, her former boyfriend whom she’d treated terribly when all he was guilty of was treating her with respect and love.

  ‘Tell you what Tania love,’ Alfie said, foraging in his pocket. ‘This is where I’m probably going to be staying. If you ever need to talk, about anything at all, and I mean anything, you get in touch.’

  ‘Really?’ Tania sounded doubtful, but took the address anyway.

  ‘Really. People are too quick to judge and life’s too short to be miserable. Anytime at all Tania, anytime at all.’

  ‘Cheers Alfie, I knew you were a good ‘un.’

  ‘Right I’m off. Oh, and Tania, your hair looks good red; I never did think you suited the blonde.’

  A thought struck Tania as Alfie cycled away and she called after him.

  ‘Hey Alfie, how did you know I had a new job?’

  He waved over his shoulder and vanished through the park gate
.

  Tania smiled and continued through the park towards the cemetery. She liked coming here, and she always came when she knew it would be quiet, either very early like now, or very late. Nobody knew she came, nobody in her family expected her to care because she was hard and cold, disinterested and disrespectful. But Tania’s grandfather, like Alfie, had seen through the teenage bravado and known better, and Tania missed him terribly.

  She thought about her grandfather’s death following a short illness. She had not gone with her family to visit him, could not face it. Instead she’d caught the bus and gone to the hospital alone, at night or before school and sat with him, holding his hand and reminding him of the things they’d got up to, the jokes they’d shared. His death had devastated Tania and had seen her go off the rails, leave school and begin her affair with Etchman.

  Finally, more than a year later she began to see sense. She befriended Alfie and found herself a job away from Lee Etchman. Now she just needed to try and salvage her relationship with Kuldeep and her life could get back on track. She arrived at her grandfather’s headstone and knelt on the grass, smiling despite her surroundings.

  ‘Morning granddad,’ she said, brushing away dead leaves from the base of the headstone. ‘Sorry it’s been awhile but there’s been lots happening.’

  TO LOVE IS TO SUFFER

  Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.

  James Baldwin

  23 Loriana pines for Alfie and meets an old love

  Loriana meandered along a narrow alley, its attenuation and the abrupt buildings on either side providing shade from the intense midday sun. She walked slowly, without hurry, without a fixed destination, until she emerged into the brilliance of the afternoon.

  Palermo. It had been years, too many, since she’d been here last, a place the Cipriani’s had called home for generations. Following her sister’s estrangement and her father’s death Loriana had become withdrawn, thrown herself into work, running the various family businesses. She had left herself no time for travel, no time for family, no time for Italy.

  This city had been settled and conquered perhaps more than any other throughout history. Founded by the Phoenicians and settled as a port, Palermo grew into a centre of commerce before forming part of the Roman Empire and later fell to the invading Arabs and later still was conquered by the Normans.

  This ancient and medieval history, reflected in the city’s varied and impressive architecture, was one of many aspects of Palermo which Loriana adored. Now, walking the Corso Calatafimi, passing the Carthaginian cemetery, the Royal Palace and Baroque churches, Loriana realised she missed this place dreadfully.

  Later, at the Piazza Olivetti, Loriana found a small café and ordered a coffee. Hidden from the eyes of the casual tourist who walked the main streets, the piazza had once been one of Loriana’s favourite spots to dine and here, around the square near the archaeological museum and San Filippo Neri church, there were more than two dozen restaurants and bars. Loriana was delighted and surprised to find the piazza had altered very little since her last visit many years earlier.

  From her table she watched a brass band playing. The music reminded her of Alfie, her Alfredo, the evening they danced at the Narracott and she could not help but smile as gracious applause broke out for the musicians’ efforts.

  She watched a young couple at a nearby table, talking in hushed voices, leaning in to be heard, their fingers touching, feet brushing together, building their memories with eyes only for each other; so familiar to herself and Pietro many years ago. Loriana was younger then, but still driven, ambitious. Younger, more trusting and utterly given over to the notion of spending the rest of her life with one man, Pietro, her fiancé. They had courted, shared intimate dinners, snatched private moments even in the busiest gatherings, exchanged lingering glances across a room filled with people.

  She had been younger then, and her heart had been crushed, her relationship shattered, her family torn apart from within. Two successful Italian families, devastated by greed and lust, sides taken, words and blows exchanged. How appropriate, Loriana thought, that I should return here, to Palermo, scene of so much conflict and bloodshed, to find peace.

  The couple at the nearby table stood up and left, ambling comfortably across the piazza, their fingers entwined, before disappearing into the crowd as the band played on with a languid assurance that bordered on arrogance.

  ‘I must see him,’ Loriana thought and in that moment she knew why she was here. She fled Morecambe and could have gone anywhere, but she came to Palermo. Why? Because it was the place of her father’s birth? Her family home? Because she had relatives here she had not seen for nearly two decades? Perhaps, but not the truth. Loriana had come here to see Pietro, to see the man who had hurt her so deeply that she’d never dared love again.

  She lowered her sunglasses and caught the waiter’s eye. As he collected her empty cup she ordered a large glass of red wine. Never one to over think a decision once it was made – characteristics inherited from her late father – Loriana plucked her mobile from her bag and dialled the home number of her sister, Chiara. Of course, she was in Morecambe with her son but the phone was answered by a cleaner.

  ‘Ciao, residenza di Lippi.’

  ‘Buon pomeriggio, il mio nome è Loriana Cipriani.’

  There was a gasp on the line and the cleaner spoke again.

  ‘You are Mrs Lippi’s sister?’

  Loriana confirmed this was the case.

  ‘I am aware of everything which has happened and I realise it is unlikely. But I would like to speak with Pietro and wondered if you might have a forwarding address for him, even a phone number where I might…’

  ‘Sig.na Cipriani, è qui.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Mr Lippi is here now, collecting things. His wife, your sister, told him she was taking Mauro to see you, so he has come now.’

  Then the cleaner was gone and Loriana heard muffled voices. She used the moment to swallow two mouthfuls of wine.

  ‘Loriana? Loriana Cipriani?’

  She felt weak and could not get her breath. She clutched the phone to her ear and saw nothing. In an instant, with the sound of Pietro’s voice so immediately familiar, she was transported back to a former life. Back to a time when her father was alive, her sister was her best friend and she was in love.

  ‘Hello, Loriana are you there?’

  Loriana took a deep breath, drank more of the wine and spoke to Pietro for the first time in over fifteen years.

  ‘Yes, I’m here. Ciao Pietro.’

  Pietro laughed; the loud, sudden exhalation of noise Loriana had heard so frequently throughout their romance.

  ‘Lori,’ he said gently. ‘I cannot believe it is really you.’

  She was discomfited by the shortening of her name. Something only her father and Pietro had ever done.

  ‘It is me,’ she confirmed. ‘I didn’t expect to find you.’

  ‘I grabbed the opportunity to collect some things while Chiara was away. I imagine she’s told you everything?’

  ‘Oh yes, everything.’

  Loriana’s harder tone conveyed her disgust at Pietro’s adultery.

  ‘Why did you call?’ He asked eventually, just as Loriana was contemplating breaking the connection.

  ‘I need to see you, speak to you,’ she replied.

  ‘Why on earth? How on earth?’ He asked, bewildered.

  ‘I am in Palermo. Piazza Olivetti to be precise.’

  ‘Good God!’

  That laugh again, once so infectious, now unnerving as it brought back so many memories of good times shared with this man.

  ‘I need to see you,’ Loriana repeated. ‘To talk.’

  ‘Of course, of course. When? Now? I don’t know how long you’re here for, I…’

  ‘This evening, if you’re free.’

  She did not know how long her courage would last and did not want to allow herself time
to doubt her actions but felt also she needed a little time to prepare.

  ‘I’ll come to the piazza, which restaurant?’

  ‘No, I have somewhere else in mind.’

  Later, Loriana stood in the pronaos of the Teatro Massimo, gazing out between the hexastyle columns and beyond the gates to try and catch a glimpse of Pietro as he arrived.

  Built by Giovanni Basile in a neoclassical style the Teatro Massimo is a stunning construction, the largest theatre in Italy and also home to Palermo’s Gallery of Modern Art. Despite many trips to Italy in her life Loriana had been inside the theatre only once as a child. Her parents had taken her to see a performance of Verdi’s Falstaff and she’d been enchanted. However, in 1974, the theatre closed for restoration and did not reopen its doors until 1999. Now it boasted an impressive season of events and visitors flocked to concerts.

  Not a vain woman by nature, Loriana was blessed with stunning looks which had made her the envy of many women, including her sister, and the object of the affections of many potential suitors. Some had turned her head but only one had held her heart. Because of this, Loriana had taken time to change, make-up her face and style her long, still black hair. She admonished herself as she did so but could not help it. Pietro’s image of her was old and a part of her still wanted Pietro to desire her.

  Now she waited, attracting admiring glances from women and men in her red, lightweight woven silk dress with a draping halter neck and a sash at the waist. The theatre was busy but, owing to a fortuitous last minute return, she had still managed to purchase two excellent seats in the second tier of boxes for tonight’s performance of Don Pasquale.

  She watched people milling about outside, talking, smoking, waiting and then she saw him. He was walking across the road towards the theatre. She locked her knees to avoid falling to the floor and made herself smile, to pose with her arms loosely crossed – forced casualness.

  ‘Loriana,’ Pietro said with awe in his voice.

  She studied his face, watched his eyes and saw it all. Years of regret, yearning, yes even love, in his eyes. The realisation that Pietro knew he had been with the wrong Cipriani sister all these years, that he hated himself for hurting her and that not a day passed when he didn’t wish he could take back that night of infidelity.