I shake my head. ‘Don’t be.’
‘Taggie, I know you think I walk around with my head in the clouds most of the time, but there aren’t many clouds in Como.’
She’s not wrong there.
‘I know you’ve been sneaking off to cry in the toilets,’ she continues. ‘And I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t want to push you. But after last night …’ She lifts her shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. ‘I can’t pretend not to notice any more. I wouldn’t be a proper friend unless I asked you what was the matter.’
‘I need to go and have a shower,’ I reply, putting the tea down on the bar. I’m still wearing last night’s little black dress, with Marco’s borrowed clothes over the top, and I feel like I smell.
‘Taggie,’ she argues, but I shake my head.
‘It’s a long story, but I will tell you.’
‘When, then?’
I’ve reached the door before I reply.
‘Later, I promise.’
It’s not that I don’t trust Shelley, I think guiltily, jogging up the stairs just as the guests start making their way down for breakfast. It’s simply that there’s such a lot to tell – and I’m too worn out to face it. Marco’s sofa turned out to be surprisingly comfortable, but when the sunlight streamed in through the curtainless window just after six a.m. I found it impossible to fall back to sleep. Pinching a dark-red jumper that he’d left over the back of a chair, I’d scribbled a thank-you note and let myself out, heading straight through town and back along the western shore of the lake.
Thankfully there are no tours set up for today, so once I’ve caught up on emails in the office and checked that my group is occupied, I’m free to do whatever I want. Rather than feel deflated by the events of the previous evening, I feel oddly energised. Perhaps it’s the fact that a new year has begun, or maybe it’s simply that Marco’s kiss healed some of the hurt and chased away the very real fear I had that there was no going forwards for me – but whatever the reason, I’m determined to make the most of it. For the past few months, I’ve been unable to see my situation clearly, but now that I can, I know it’s time to make some changes. I’ve spent enough time hiding myself away and licking my wounds. Bottling everything up hasn’t helped me at all, it left me screaming in the mud, and I don’t want to feel like this any more. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get better, no matter how hard it might be.
I had a relationship, I lost it. I had a baby, and I lost that, too. But what I have never lost is myself. One thing I can be sure of is who I am, because I’ve always been her. Agatha Ruby Torres: strong-willed, stubborn, bossy and controlling, but also loyal, loving, protective and brave. I know what my flaws are, and I embrace them, but I appreciate how they can be infuriating to others. Pete could not move past the fact that I was entirely self-sufficient, that I didn’t need him to look after me all the time in the same way that he needed me, and I know now without even a smidgeon of doubt that the two of us were wrong for each other. I loved him because he loved me, but also because he was so much like me, with his stubbornness and his need to protect. In order to stay true to who we are as people, one of us would have had to change, and that is never the right path for a person to take. Nobody can pretend all the time – it would drive you mad.
This morning, for the very first time since that horrible day when Pete confessed that he didn’t love me any more, I feel grateful to him. He was brave enough to recognise just how broken we were, when I refused to see it, and I’ve given him so much grief about it ever since. The fact that he met Lucy at the hospital still feels like the very cruellest twist of fate, but then that’s life sometimes, isn’t it? Last night I couldn’t even bear to look at him – at either of them – but the feeling has dimmed since the initial shock wore off. I always have been the type to react before I act, and that’s exactly what I did. What is really telling is who I ran to in that moment, the person I wanted to be near after I fled, but dissecting that right now is a step too far for my frazzled brain.
I call my mum and dad once I’m clean and re-dressed in jeans and a jumper, wishing them both a happy new year before filling them in on what’s been going on. They’re both understandably concerned, and downright appalled when they learn that Pete turned up with a new girlfriend in tow, but that soon changes to pride when I assure them that I’m OK, and that I think I may even finally be on the road to recovery. When I add that I’m planning a trip home very soon, my mum starts to cry, and I’m hit with a fresh punch of guilt at the turmoil I must have put them both through. It must be unbearable to watch your child in so much pain, yet be unable to take it away.
I hang up feeling tearful and quickly fire up my laptop. Como is quite a small place, but if there are any English-speaking counsellors living in the area, then I’m determined to find them. It was foolish of me to think I could get over losing my baby alone, without help from anyone, and I wonder now if it would have been any easier if Pete and I had been together and in a good place when it happened. It was unfair of me to blame him – I’ve always known deep down that it was – but I needed to lash out at someone, and in the midst of my turmoil, it did feel as if he had wished our baby away somehow. What was it Elsie said to me the day I told her? That I should do whatever it takes to feel better. That must be what Pete was doing when he started seeing Lucy. I had chosen Como as my sanctuary, while he had stretched himself out in the warm hammock of her adoration. It makes perfect sense.
There’s a knock at the door.
‘Who is it?’ I call, just as Shelley walks in.
‘I could have been naked,’ I point out, and she grins.
‘That would have made your visitor pretty happy.’
‘My visitor?’ I ask, my hands going clammy as I immediately think of Pete.
‘I’ll give you three clues,’ she replies, her eyes gleaming. ‘He’s tall, dark, gorgeous, Italian and really good at ice-skating.’
‘That’s five,’ I inform her, but I can’t stop smiling.
50
Lucy
The park on the eastern shore of the lake is even prettier than its larger neighbour in the west, with neat, well-tended flower beds bursting with colour and immaculately trim patches of lawn. A vast and proud Scots pine tree overlooks the water by the pathway, and fine gravel crunches pleasantly underfoot. There’s barely even a breeze today, and the sky is a dense, concentrated blue. The lake is covered with a thin layer of ripples, its surface broken only by the occasional inquisitive bird, and the air is cool and odourless.
Having exhausted Como, Pete and I are attempting to follow the curve of the lake round to Torno, a small commune about five kilometres away, which boasts several grand waterside villas and a small, attractive town centre. I’ve never been there before, so I’m relying on the guidebook, but the map inside is rudimentary at best.
We haven’t seen many people so far but, as I keep having to remind myself, it’s New Year’s Day. If I was in England right now, I’d either be on a shift or in bed, recovering from the previous night’s excesses. Pete hasn’t mentioned Taggie for hours now, and as far as I know, he hasn’t heard back from her since sending his message. Instead, he keeps talking about all the places he wants to take me when we get home, and how he’s determined to introduce me to his parents and friends. I’m making all the right noises, but I think he can tell something’s up.
‘What were you like as a child?’ he says, putting his arm around my shoulders as we stop to admire the view for about the twentieth time.
‘Shy,’ I confess. ‘But inquisitive. What about you?’
‘A bloody nightmare,’ he admits, running his free hand through his ginger hair. ‘I’m amazed my parents didn’t drive me to a densely wooded area and leave me there.’
‘Pete, that’s horrible!’ I admonish. ‘I bet you weren’t as bad as you think you were.’
He shakes his head. ‘I was a belligerent little shit when I was a teenager, too. It makes me feel so b
ad when I think back to it now.’
‘The worst thing I ever did was pinch Julia’s clothes,’ I tell him, smiling at the memory of my sister’s angry face appearing in my bedroom doorway. ‘The stupid thing was, she would have said yes if only I’d asked her permission. She always was better at sharing than I was, but for some reason I chose to sneak in behind her back.’
‘That’s because she’s a control freak,’ Pete says. ‘Trust me, I lived with one for over four years. When I met Julia, I knew straight away.’
‘She did used to be very protective,’ I allow. ‘Well, she still is. I remember once when we were here on holiday and I snuck off to the beach by myself. She was so mad that I’d left her out, but I just wanted some time by myself.’
‘By yourself?’ Pete repeats, clearly surprised. ‘How old were you?’
‘Oh, about nine or ten,’ I reply, moving away from the wall and continuing to walk through the park. ‘I found this little place in Bellagio that was completely deserted, and I pretended that I was the only one who knew about it.’
‘Did you ever take Julia there?’ he wants to know.
‘I had no choice,’ I tell him with a chuckle. ‘She threatened to drown my Rainbow Bright doll if I didn’t.’
‘Harsh,’ he comments.
‘It was a bit,’ I agree. ‘But in the end, it was a good thing I did, because we had so much fun playing down there. My mum and dad never knew about it – they thought we were hanging out with some local kids we’d met, but in reality, we were at this beach the whole time.’
‘Why didn’t we go there?’ he asks, and I feel the heat rush into my cheeks.
‘I couldn’t remember the way.’
It’s a lie, of course, but it feels like so long ago now. So much has changed since our day out in Bellagio.
‘Maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t find it,’ Pete says, and I turn to look at him.
‘How so?’
‘Well, often when you go back to a place you loved as a kid, it’s not the same. The magic has gone, you know? I used to build dens and all sorts in Epping Forest when I was about ten. I felt like I had my own private kingdom, but going back as an adult, it all seemed to have shrunk somehow.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ I agree. ‘The beach is probably not even there any more, or it could be on private property.’
‘Exactly,’ he says, squeezing my shoulder. ‘It’s in the past. But I tell you what, the next holiday we go on, we’ll find our own secret beach, yeah?’
I smile as encouragingly as I can, but I can’t quite bring myself to agree.
The two of us continue walking until we reach the entrance to a closed lido, its faded blue shutters pulled forlornly down for the winter, and Pete puts a hand up to the front window and peers through the glass.
‘It’s massive,’ he remarks, turning to me. ‘I bet it’s full every day in the summer.’
‘There’s one in Bellagio, too,’ I tell him, remembering. ‘Me and Julia used to go. She always thought that she could think herself tanned, and refused point blank to use the sun cream my mum gave us. Of course, she ended up getting horrible sunburn one year, and my mum was so cross that she grounded her.’
‘On holiday?’ Pete is understandably aghast.
‘I know. Not much logic went into that decision,’ I reply. ‘As if the poor crispy duck wasn’t suffering enough. It was the pain and the peeling that taught her never to use a factor-four oil again, not my mum’s silly ranting.’
‘What did you do without her to keep you company?’ he wants to know.
‘I stayed in with her most of the time,’ I say. ‘We watched loads of Italian soap operas in the hotel games room – it’s where I picked up most of the language I know.’
I don’t remember that holiday in a bad way at all, in fact. Julia and I created our own little world within the four walls of that Bellagio hotel – one that our parents were unable to penetrate. The world of make-believe is far more fun than reality, or it certainly was for us.
‘There’s no way through here,’ Pete says then, coming to a halt in the deserted lido car park. The pavement disappears under the bolted-shut metal gates in front of us, and there doesn’t appear to be an alternative route.
‘We’ll have to go up,’ I tell him, pointing towards the wooded base of the hill on our right. There’s the beginnings of what looks to be a path snaking up through the trees.
‘Great,’ he deadpans. ‘You know how good I am with hills.’
‘This isn’t the same as Brunate,’ I tease. ‘It probably just rejoins the road a few metres up.’
Shaking his head, Pete follows me across the tarmac, and before long we’re gazing back down at the lido from way up the hill. The pathway is nowhere near as steep as the one we tried and failed to scale on our first day here, but it does zig-zag high enough to offer some incredible views.
With the sun beaming relentlessly through the branches of the trees and fallen leaves crackling underfoot, it feels like we’re strolling through the glorious autumn landscape of a painting. No wonder so many artists and writers have been inspired by this area of Italy.
Just as Brunate proved impossible to reach on foot, so Torno remains stubbornly elusive. After clambering all the way up to where the path does, indeed, rejoin the road, Pete and I discover that there are no pavements to walk along, leaving us no choice but to risk death or go back the way we came. We wisely choose the latter, eventually coming out on a residential road not far from the funicular.
‘We’ve come around in a massive circle,’ states Pete, clearly amused.
‘Oh, look at that,’ I exclaim, pointing down towards his feet. The ground is covered with multi-coloured confetti – another remnant from last night’s festivities.
‘Pretty,’ he agrees, bending down and scooping up a handful.
‘Here comes the bride!’ he cries, showering me with it.
‘Big, fat and wide,’ I sing back, just as I used to as a chubby kid in the playground.
‘Lucy!’ Pete scolds. ‘Those aren’t the words.’
‘Well, I am, aren’t I?’ I reply, my tone challenging.
He looks confused.
‘No, of course you’re not.’
‘I’m not exactly skinny,’ I point out, and he pulls a face.
‘Neither am I.’
‘So, you admit it?’
I’m only triumphant for a split second, though, because I can see in his eyes that he really does agree with me. I am big, fat and wide.
‘What’s brought all this on?’ he asks, reaching for me.
‘Nothing.’ I step backwards so he grabs air.
‘Lulu, what’s the matter?’ he pushes, and stupid tears well up in my eyes.
‘Just be honest with me, Pete,’ I mutter. ‘I know what I look like. I know what Taggie looks like – there’s quite a big difference.’
He sighs deeply.
‘I knew it,’ he says sadly. ‘I knew you were still thinking about her.’
‘Not in the way you think,’ I tell him honestly, kicking up a pile of confetti. ‘It’s just what girls do. We compare ourselves to each other – and we especially compare ourselves to ex-girlfriends.’
‘But why?’ Pete looks genuinely mystified.
‘We just do!’ I mutter, which I’m aware makes me sound like a petulant child.
‘Lulu, look at me,’ he says, gently taking my rigid hands in his. ‘This is going to sound like a line, but it’s not. I think you’re perfect, just the way you are.’
‘I’m not Bridget Jones,’ I reply sulkily.
‘No, I know that. You’re far sexier,’ he says with a grin.
I know he fancies me. I know it, so why can’t I feel it? Why do I keep being so hard on myself?
‘Yes, OK, Taggie is tiny,’ he goes on. ‘But that’s not why I was with her. There’s more to a person than the way they look, you know.’
‘I know that,’ I say, my voice small.
‘And the thi
ng is, which I’ve only really worked out since being here with you, is that I was with Taggie in spite of who she is,’ he says, dropping my hands so he can use his own to gesture in the air.
‘I overlooked the things that made us incompatible, because I thought I should, but deep down I knew it was wrong. Taggie deserves someone to love her because of all the things she is – not in spite of. That’s the way I feel about you, Lulu. I love you because of who you are.’
‘But that’s just it,’ I interrupt, taking a deep breath and looking at the ground. ‘You don’t know the real me – not really.’
Pete abruptly starts laughing, and I glance up at him in surprise.
‘Oh Lucy,’ he exclaims, beaming at me. ‘Do you really think you’re that good an actress? I do know you – I see you. You might think you’re hiding yourself, but I see how kind you are, how tolerant, how warm and how caring. I see the way you rushed to Taggie’s aid when she was hurt, and how you let me cry on your shoulder when by rights you should have been punching me in the chops. I see how much you love your family, and your friends, and I see when you use your one tea break at work to go out and buy coffee for the homeless men who beg on the corner of the street. I see all of it – I see you. And I see the way you beat yourself up. That’s the only thing I would change about you, Lulu, and I want to help you overcome whatever demons you’re holding on to. I want you to love yourself as much as I do.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ I mumble, my face burning with a mixture of love and humiliation. This is too much to take in, and my words are a jumbled mess in my head.
‘Trust me, Lulu, if this was real wedding confetti,’ he adds, picking up another handful from the ground, ‘I’d drag you to the nearest church and make you marry me, right here in Como. I would, Lulu, I mean it. I want to be with you more than anyone I’ve ever known.’
I look up at his bright blue eyes, at the marmalade freckles across the tip of his nose, at the fullness of his lips, which are stretched into a beseeching half-smile, and I know in that moment exactly what it is I must do.
The Place We Met Page 29