The Apartment in Rome

by Penny Feeny

  She nodded agreement. ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  It was that moment of gloom before sudden nightfall, when the swifts spun in black arcs against a copper sky; she hadn’t yet switched on the lights. Mitch cleared his throat and said in the same neutral tone: ‘Well, that’s a relief, I suppose, if we’ve both come to the same conclusion. And not surprising really, after last time. We always said we’d be absolutely straight with each other, didn’t we? So yes, I agree with you, we should call it a day.’

  She stared at him. His face was partly in shadow. ‘What did you say?’ She half rose. ‘Oh for goodness sake, Mitch! Stop winding me up.’

  ‘But I’m not… I thought that’s what you meant.’

  She thudded back down onto her dressing stool, alarmed. Once, in Milan, she’d arrived home to find the television missing. Nothing else was disturbed so she thought her eyes must be deceiving her. She had taken a few moments to register it had been stolen, and then she’d felt like the most naive idiot in the world. Which was exactly how she felt now. She didn’t understand how it could have happened. How, one minute they couldn’t get enough of each other and the next he was this unrecognisable stranger.

  ‘Is this because of last time? Because if it is –’

  ‘Let’s just say it didn’t help.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  Clamour from the street filled the room: a flamboyant exchange of greetings, the buzz of a Lambretta drowned by a wailing siren. Mitch took his hands from his pockets, closed the window and said: ‘Christ, Gina! I’m trying to do the right thing here.’

  ‘All the while we’ve been seeing each other,’ she said, ‘I thought we had something special, that other people didn’t have, that…’

  ‘We did! You know the way I felt. You were the one who refused to commit, who didn’t want to be tied down.’

  Neither of them had professed love – from a combination of pride and a mutual competitive streak – but the emotion had been there, even if the words were lacking. This was all wrong, it shouldn’t be happening. It was like tasting a disgusting obscure malt instead of a lovely mellow Armagnac all over again. ‘But that was what you liked about me,’ she protested. ‘Admit it.’

  ‘Gina, we live in different countries. Be practical. It couldn’t go on for ever.’

  ‘It wasn’t a problem before.’

  ‘Well, logistically, it was a bit easier when you were in Milan…’

  ‘So it’s my fault, is it? I’m too inconvenient for you?’

  ‘It’s not a question of convenience. Look, you’re never going to give up your kind of life…’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Would you move back to England, to the north-west?’

  ‘Would you move here?’

  ‘No, not any more.’

  ‘What d’you mean, “not any more”? Were you thinking about it? Has something made you change your mind?’

  Did he flinch or did she imagine it?

  ‘Be honest,’ he said. ‘We’ve not really been getting along. But because we have this artificial sort of set-up, when we’re not seeing each other, in the gaps in between, we tend to forget…’

  ‘But last month in Cortina…’

  ‘You were completely over the top. It was embarrassing.’

  ‘You’re just jealous because you couldn’t out-ski me. Because I won nearly every race.’

  He ignored this. ‘And the other night was a total disaster.’

  ‘Is this all over a stupid alarm clock? I’ve said sorry a hundred times, haven’t I? And I wasn’t messing, I was just trying to get some sleep. Talk about overreaction!’

  ‘Gina, it’s nothing to do with the alarm clock – though it’s typical of you not to think of the consequences. They might have been bloody serious for me. I could have been disciplined for being late – but it kind of brought things into focus.’

  She crossed one leg over the other and her shoe swung loosely from the end of her foot like a person clinging to a window ledge several floors above the ground. When her knee juddered and the shoe fell off, she imagined she heard an almighty crash and wondered who would pick up the pieces. ‘Oh my God, you’re seeing someone, aren’t you?’

  He had the grace to look sheepish. ‘It’s actually not that simple…’

  She plucked a cigarette from one of her cartons of duty-free Marlboros and gripped the filter between her teeth. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘You don’t know her.’

  The lighter flame soared to her eyebrows. ‘Of course I don’t know her! In our “artificial set-up” we don’t meet each other’s friends, do we? We’re self-sufficient.’ She took several jerky puffs and with her left hand restored her shoe to her foot.

  ‘This isn’t getting us anywhere.’

  ‘No,’ she snapped. ‘So where do you want to go?’

  He jumped at the chance to take her literally. ‘Probably back to the hotel.’

  Who was this stranger? She itched to throw something at him. If she could smash his shell she might rediscover his core, lay her head on his chest to listen to the thud of his heart. ‘Well, don’t let me keep you.’ She could hear the snarl in her own voice but she couldn’t control it. ‘It’s perfectly clear where your priorities are.’

  ‘Look, it seems we’ve been at cross purposes. I didn’t expect it to come as such a shock but I should have timed it better…’ She didn’t say anything. He went on, ‘Do you want to meet tomorrow for a coffee? It might be easier to have a discussion when you’ve calmed down. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.’

  ‘What would be the point?’

  ‘I didn’t want to end on a sour note. I didn’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘Hurt! Like I pricked my finger or something.’

  ‘Gina, you have to believe me…’

  ‘Why should I?’ Why listen to him defend himself over a cappuccino? What did it achieve or change, if he’d already fallen for someone else? She was appalled that they could have misled and misread each other so. And then she thought: the bastard, what right has he got to know anything now? I can solve my own problem. It’s none of his business.

  He sighed and looked as though he might approach her for a farewell embrace. She held out her palms to ward him off, so instead he moved in his solid unhurried way to the door. Grasping the handle he said, ‘Look after yourself, won’t you?’

  Gina watched him go and counted to twenty. Then she let her feelings fly. She flung whatever was in convenient reach at the door’s blank expanse: books, shoes, heavy brass table lamp and, ultimately, the stool she’d been sitting on. The door withstood the assault, but for weeks afterwards she continued to discover new chips and nicks in its paintwork.

  Mitchell, retreating down the stairs, heard the thumps. Part of him wanted to go back but he had to confront the truth that he and Gina were going nowhere. Her fecklessness could be charming but she had less sense of responsibility than a kitten. Once, her ability to recompose herself had been part of her attraction: her hair constantly changing colour from creamy blonde to foxy red; her eyes green or gold or bronze depending on the light. Often his colleagues didn’t even realise he was meeting the same person. But now he found this chameleon aspect exasperating; it was like grappling with water. You never knew what you were dealing with. Tonight, for example, she’d behaved like a petulant, needy kid.

  Meeting Corinne, who was attentive and serene and all that Gina was not, had alerted him. He hadn’t set out to find a new partner. Corinne had entered his life at a particular moment – just as he was beginning to look for stability, to appreciate the appeal of coming back to a well-kept house, a warm bed, a loving woman. Maybe even a child. He had considered the contrast between the two women, as he considered everything, and come to his decision. He didn’t doubt it was the right one, that it would bring him the future he wanted.

  PART THREE

  APRIL 2011

  18

  It was afternoon by the time Mitchell left the airport
. He drove through country lanes where tight whorls of green were beading the hawthorn hedges and daffodils clustered on the banks as if to welcome him home. He turned through the open gate and crunched to a standstill on the gravel behind Corinne’s Toyota. She was in, then.

  He pulled his case from the car boot and stood leaning for a moment against the warm metal. He often experienced a slight sense of dislocation after being away, especially on a long-haul trip. Sometimes he insulated himself by keeping within the confines of his bland international hotel with its fitness centre, restaurant and casino: places where the air was continually recycled. At others he was more than ready for the full-on assault course of colour, sound and smell that was Hong Kong or Mumbai or Nairobi. Immersing himself in exotic culture was as good a distraction as any.

  Coming home had generally provided an interlude of calm – apart from the dog, who’d been prone to over-excitement. They hadn’t replaced him, so there was no barking at the sound of his car, no frantic scraping at the door. Nor had he yet got used to the gap in the garden left by the pear tree, which had fallen in a winter storm. Although it rarely fruited, the blossom had been joyous. The new, open aspect gave him clear sight of his wall, finally finished. He’d laid the last stone shortly before the snow came. It was too low to keep anyone out, but when the snow melted he lost interest in making adjustments. There was a limit to tinkering.

  It had been a hard winter in more ways than one; the atmosphere in the house as chilly as the temperature outside. Only Sasha, bless her, to provide a leavening. She was the cog that kept their family life ticking over, but not, he knew, for much longer. Within eighteen months she’d be off to university and he and Corinne would be left with, possibly, nothing to say to each other. The bright sun on the daffodils was misleading, he thought, as he wheeled his case to the door. There was no warmth in it.

  Had they heard him come in? Music drifted from the radio in the kitchen, along with the fragrance of vanilla and melted chocolate and the interplay of their voices – Sasha’s sentences had the choppy rhythm affected by her generation; Corinne’s were low-pitched and melodious. He observed them from the doorway, their chairs drawn close together at the table, their heads almost touching as they focused on the screen of Corinne’s laptop. Sasha noticed him first. Sensing his presence, she peered over her shoulder and jumped up. ‘Dad, you’re home!’

  ‘You were expecting me?’ This addressed wryly to Corinne.

  Corinne shut the laptop with a snap. She was wearing a blue-grey angora sweater that matched the colour of her irises. She looked as soft and strokable as a rabbit, but they’d hardly touched each other in months. She rose, allowed him to kiss her cheek and went to fill the kettle. A mixing bowl and baking tin lay soaking in suds in the sink.

  ‘Are you jet-lagged?’ said Sasha. ‘Only if you are…’

  ‘No, I’m fine.’ Why could they never remember his itinerary, even though each month’s was pinned up on the corkboard along with postcards, invitations, appointments and other messages? ‘Cape Town’s in the same time zone.’

  ‘Oh good, then you’ll want to try my brownies with your tea. They’re really squidgy.’ She handed him one on a plate.

  ‘Mmm, excellent.’ As he took a second bite of the warm moist brownie, he became aware of a tension in the two of them. Sasha, in particular, was prowling around him like a hungry cat. Lately she had sprung from the cocoon of adolescence into fully formed womanhood. She used to shroud herself in baggy sweatshirts, but now there were at least two inches of bare flesh between the hem of her clinging top and the belt of her skin-tight jeans. No wonder he was always being asked to turn the heating up. Her feet, however, were well encased in thick sheepskin boots.

  ‘Is there something you’re trying to tell me?’ he said, half curious, half amused.

  ‘Go on, Mum. Ask him.’

  ‘Ask me what?’

  Corinne poured three mugs of tea. ‘Sash is planning an Easter break.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Me and Ruby,’ she said, and stopped.

  ‘You and Ruby, what?’

  She danced up to him as well as she could manage in her furry boots and put her arms around his waist. Her face was close to his and pleading. ‘We want to go to Rome.’

  ‘What?’ he bellowed.

  ‘Dad, don’t shout.’ She put her hands over her ears. ‘I’m not at the other end of the house.’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘What d’you mean, no?’

  ‘What do you think I mean?’

  ‘How about if you came as well? You could take us to places. That’d be cool.’

  He glanced over at Corinne. As if she were no longer involved, she started to deal with the washing-up. He had to move away from the draining board to give her space. Five minutes I’ve been home, he thought. And now this.

  ‘It will be good for us,’ Sasha insisted. ‘Because Ruby couldn’t make it before and we both need to get conversation practice. This will be our only chance before the exams.’

  ‘I think you burned your boats after last time,’ said Mitchell.

  ‘That is so unfair! I only got back a few days late.’

  ‘With a black eye.’

  ‘So? It could happen to anyone! I told you at the time, those Italian beaches get so crowded and there was this volley ball game going on as well. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. It was an accident. And anyway, we won’t be going to the beach at Easter. I’ll be showing Ruby around the ruins and churches and such. It’s supposed to be really amazing when everyone gathers in front of St Peter’s to see the Pope. It was tough on her missing out last summer, so this will, like, be a good chance for us both.’

  ‘It wasn’t just the business of your black eye,’ he said, ‘though God knows why that family you were staying with didn’t take better care of you.’ He wasn’t likely to forget the shock of seeing his daughter stumbling through customs with her listing suitcase, battered and dishevelled beneath an absurd baseball cap. He’d thought at first she’d been in a fight. ‘It was the casual way you treated us to information. You took advantage and it’s made us feel we can’t trust you. I wouldn’t be happy about you going again.’

  ‘Look, I could go anyway. Without you. I’ve got my passport and the money I’ve been earning from the waitressing. I mean, this is a study-related trip, you know.’

  Corinne was drying knives and spoons and filing them in the cutlery drawer. She didn’t look up, but she coughed reprovingly and Mitchell latched on to this hint of reservation.

  ‘Don’t push your luck, Sash.’

  He had to clarify it in his own mind. Were his misgivings connected to the suspicion that she’d lied last summer? Or the fact that while she was in Rome, she’d apparently met Gina Stanhope? He’d no idea whether she’d kept in touch or whether they would meet again, but the prospect made him uneasy.

  ‘We really want you to take us, Dad,’ said Sasha, holding his gaze with her round innocent eyes. ‘We’ll be, like, eternally grateful.’

  ‘No,’ he said again.

  Her bottom lip pushed forward and trembled, exactly the way it used to when she was small. It didn’t belong on the nubile body with its exposed navel. See, he thought inwardly, she’s not grown-up at all. She was a child still, bewailing the death of a pet or a horse gone lame. She needed taking care of, she wasn’t yet ready to make her own decisions.

  ‘You are so mean!’ she said in a fierce whisper, presenting him with an eloquent back and stomping out of the room.

  ‘Christ,’ he said to Corinne. ‘Why’d she have to be so impatient? I’d hardly got through the door…’

  ‘It’s her age, isn’t it? Teenagers don’t understand deferred gratification. She was trying to make an effort. She was really anxious to get you on side.’ She waved at the forlorn plate of brownies and he began to feel churlish. Then she added, ‘Mind you, I don’t know why you bother.’

  ‘Bother with what?’

  ‘Pretending to make a stand,
when you know she’ll win you round eventually.’

  ‘It might be more effective if you backed me up,’ he said mildly.

  ‘Yes, but I’m not going to.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I don’t see the harm.’

  ‘Corinne! After last time?’

  ‘I don’t see why there should be any problems if you go along with them.’

  ‘Okay, she needs a chaperone, but why does it all hinge on me? Why are you staying out of this? Won’t you come too?’ They hadn’t holidayed together for over a year, she’d been so swamped with case studies and data collection, but now the research was concluded; she had her doctorate. He allowed himself a mild dig at her Quality of Life questionnaires: ‘Where, on a scale of 1-10 do you see yourself on the Ladder of Life? Are you very satisfied? Quite satisfied? A bit satisfied? Not satisfied at all?’ She didn’t even smile. ‘Don’t you feel the need for a break?’

  ‘Yes, actually. I have been thinking about it.’

  ‘We could all go together then. Rent an apartment. You’ve never been to Rome, have you? I could show you around.’

  She didn’t pause to consider the offer. ‘As it happens, I have other plans.’

  ‘Other plans? What the fuck does that mean?’

  She cocked her head as if listening to the vibrations on the floor above. Sasha would be playing music, talking on the phone, messaging on the computer, or possibly all three at once. Until recently she’d been going out with a boy called Liam and was now absorbed in deconstructing every stage of the relationship with her girlfriends. Although Mitchell had welcomed its end, for some reason he couldn’t help feeling sorry for the boy.

  Corinne said, ‘I’d rather not have a showdown while Sasha’s in the house.’

  ‘Why does there have to be a showdown?’

  ‘Because you won’t like what I’m going to say.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘All right. Don’t pace up and down though. Come and sit at the table.’

  He pulled out the chair opposite her. The afternoon light fell in shafts between them. In her natural element, Corinne could spread calm like butter. It was one of the reasons she was so good with disturbed patients. Mitchell, too, considered himself tolerant. The two of them didn’t argue, they didn’t even have rows, but they’d been going their separate ways for longer than he cared to calculate.