Tell Me Something (Contemporary Romance)

by Adele Parks

  Ana-Maria and Roberto have, of course, visited Venice on hundreds of occasions (many times together, I soon come to realize). Neither of them can remember the wonder and surprise of discovering the city's awesome delights for the first time. I'm alone in that. They both see Venice as a rather charming backdrop in front of which they can showcase their knowledge of culture and history.

  Ana-Maria approaches sightseeing with Mary Poppins precision and she has a strategy of discovery that I'm simply too feeble to brook. I am raced through the baroque backstreets and not permitted to stand outside churches as I'm dashed across umpteen pretty bridges until we reach the Piazza San Marco. This is where she wants us to start our day. I'd rather expected that this would be where we'd finish, and only then after a fair amount of ambling, sauntering, mooching and wandering. I accept that the Loggia offers a splendid vantage point from which to view the piazza, I just hadn't expected that I'd be timed as I climbed up the stairs from the atrium to the gallery. I point out the lines of washing flapping in the breeze that look like bunting hanging in the shabby streets, but Ana-Maria does not understand that I find these sights charming, instead she's mildly offended as she thinks I'm saying Venice is dilapidated and unkempt. She primly tells me how much energy British households waste on running driers. I forget exactly how much it is but it's a lot. I tell her I agree and that preserving the environment is of paramount importance but she's moved on.

  'The Sant' Alipio doorway is one of five leading to the atrium but it's the only door with the original thirteenth-century mosaic,' she informs me.

  The thousands of square feet of mosaics, illustrating Bible stories, glitter in the darkness. They're illuminated by slanting shafts of sunlight and they're breathtaking but we've been in Venice for two hours now and no one has suggested buying an ice-cream, let alone a mooch around the shops.

  We stare at four bronze horses with reverence. I take a series of photos but feel a bit foolish when Ana-Maria points out that the ones I've been admiring with gusto are in fact replicas; the originals are inside the museum in the basilica. What sort of joke is that? What's the point of having two sets of famous bronze horses? I doubt I have the energy to reiterate my comments on the beauty of the powerfully evocative statues and I finally insist that I stay outside to catch some rays. I leave Ana-Maria and Roberto to light candles and marvel at the opulent gold and silver altarpiece below which the remains of St Mark lie.

  As I lick my ice-cream (one scoop of caramel crunch and another of strawberry – I couldn't decide) I face the fact that no doubt I appear to be an ignorant heathen next to Ana-Maria and I must be a disappointment to Roberto. But I just could not muster one more zestful 'Splendid' at another much-revered twelfth-century Byzantine icon or a final Wow' at some fabulous facade. It's like being on holiday with my parents.

  When Ana-Maria and Roberto emerge from the basilica they are laughing with one another. Their laughs are vigorous and infectious. I watch tourists swivel their heads in order to look at the joyful pair and I can sense the approval they generate. They look beautiful together. Their darkness and neatness match. I bet people watching them are thinking what a great couple they make. Realizing as much makes it hard to swallow my last bite of cornet; I toss it into a nearby bin. I feel distinctly sick. Is it the large ice-cream or them being a perfect twin set that's making me feel off? I slither in between (not easy, as they seem to be stood unnecessarily close to one another) and slip my arm around Roberto. He looks at me in a way that suggests he doesn't recognize me; a nanosecond later I see guilt in his eyes.

  'Let's get an ice-cream,' he suggests. 'Elizabeth does appreciate Italian ice-cream.'

  While I'm sure he wants to be kind to me, I feel that the comment suggests I'm too silly to appreciate anything else Italian, not true! Or that I'm a heifer. I concede that this might soon become the case because I don't bother to tell him that I've just finished an enormous cone or that I'm fighting nausea, instead I direct him towards a different vendor and I have another double scoop; one of chocolate and another of kiwi. Ana-Maria has a modest one scoop of vanilla; even so, she fails to finish it.

  We amble along the waters of St Mark's Basin. I dawdle and make jokes about overly confident pigeons. Ana-Maria makes observations such as, 'The basin is like a natural mirror, as though God wanted to reflect the majesty and splendour of the Basilica of San Giorgio Maggiore, don't you think?'

  I think God's part was done long before the architects of the basilica became involved but I hold my tongue. I try to concentrate on the sweetness of the ice-cream but it's offering little comfort. I just feel cold.

  32

  'What's she like then?' asks Alison.

  'Perfect. I have no idea why he didn't marry her,' I admit with a sigh.

  'I thought you said she was a bit strident.'

  'She was focused and interested in things. He likes that. He Once said that I wasn't interested in anything other than having a baby.'

  Alison's silence suggests she agrees with my husband but she's too loyal to say so. She knows I've been through enough today. All I need now is someone to listen to me.

  'She's beautiful, gracious, fun, educated. She loves and is loved by his entire family and her family adore Roberto too.'

  'How do you know that?'

  'Well, besides the fact that on pick up and drop off I was left in the car for an aeon while he chatted to her mamma and papa –'

  'How rude.'

  'I know. Besides that, it turns out that Ana-Maria has a cousin who owns a restaurant in Venice; we ate there today. Her cousins treated Roberto as though he was some conquering Caesar, returning with ships full of gold and concubines and a couple of new countries stuffed in his back pocket.'

  Alison giggles. I'm glad I can make her laugh about the situation; maybe she won't suspect just how humiliating and miserable my afternoon was. I have to admit, at first I was pleased to hear that Ana-Maria knew of a decent restaurant. We didn't even discuss lunch until two thirty, and by the time I swallowed my first bite it was almost four; I'd have eaten anywhere. She dragged us down a labyrinth maze of narrow streets and I did feel a tiny bit smug as we hastened past the pizzerias jammed with tourists paying over the odds for below-par pizza. Momentarily I felt like an insider, exactly what I've been longing to be since I arrived here.

  Their family-run restaurant looked over a tiny canal; the balconies were decked with flowers and the tablecloths were crisp and white. It was gorgeous. Ana-Maria's cousins accepted my vegetarianism with little more than a curt nod. They brought me vegetarian dishes that were cooked with style and imagination. They married pumpkin, courgette and fennel with a huge array of cheeses. It was delicious. But, other than repeatedly enquiring whether my food was 'Bene?' (said with a presumptive nod), I was ignored.

  I can't blame them. Why should I expect them to speak English? But it was hard watching them pull out old photo albums rammed full of pictures of Ana-Maria and Roberto, as babies, kids, teenagers, lovers.

  'It clearly wasn't a tempestuous break-up,' I comment to Alison, 'as everyone still gets on with one another very well indeed.' I know that Alison doesn't approve of tempestuous break-ups. She doesn't like drama or incivility, but I'd prefer it if they couldn't stand to share the same town, let alone the same plate of pasta.

  'That shows there's no romantic feeling left between them,' says Alison. 'You've nothing to worry about, they are just friends.'

  'But she's so gorgeous,' I wail.

  'Oh, but all that perfection can become tedious.' I grin because I can't resist my best friend's attempts to cheer me up. 'It's unlikely to come without a price. I bet she's the kind of girl who spends hours and hours grooming, plucking and pruning.'

  'Roberto likes that.'

  It's true that Roberto does appreciate a 'woman who makes an effort'. I am not one of those women. For years I over-relied on my youth, which pretty much passes as beauty even if you are only just OK-ish. In the last year or so I have noticed that my flesh
has a sort of saggy or spongy quality to it, which is not so great. Hangovers are worn for longer and mostly in big bags around the eyes. My laughter-lines are looking a little less characterful and a little more awful as every day passes. In my day-to-day living I fail miserably at making an effort. I'm chaotic, my face is nude of make-up, I only shave my legs three times a year and I try to leave my hair-cut for as long as humanly possible because I don't like having to make a decision about exactly what style I want. My clothes are generally fashionable, as I love the Mecca that is Zara, but I'm not so hot about sewing on loose buttons, ironing or even removing price tags, so the impression I create is not what anyone could call polished.

  I suppose trying for a baby has taken its toll even on everyday grooming. You have to feel good to want to look good and if you look good, you usually feel good; sadly, that's a virtuous circle that I haven't gotten on board yet. Shall we say there's room for improvement?

  'When are you coming to visit me? Have you booked your tickets?' I ask Alison. I feel in need of moral support.

  'Fiona and I thought we might come at the end of July. It depends if she can get holiday.'

  My heart plummets. I'm pleased that Alison and Fiona are sure enough of one another that they are making plans for months ahead. I know Alison is dying to show off her new girlfriend, but I can see that my best friend and her lesbian lover coming to visit will cause problems. What will Raffaella think? Besides, I was rather keen to have Alison to myself for a spell. I swallow my wail of indignation and say, 'Well, don't leave it too late. The seats on the flights will get booked up.'

  'OK, I'm on it. Any other news?'

  'I met an American teacher.'

  'A crusty old academic, just what you need in a friend,' says Alison lightly. I have no idea what made her jump to the conclusion that Chuck was crusty or old. And I have no idea why I don't point out that he is actually a cute young hotty.

  'He gave me the number of an Italian tutor.'

  'And?'

  'I called him. My first lesson's on Thursday morning, before the bar opens.'

  'Good for you! Well done,' says Alison, as though she is encouraging a highly strung, inbred puppy.

  I'm not sure why I called Signor Castoro in the end. Maybe it was because I found it exhausting when Ana-Maria and Roberto drifted back into Italian as we drove home from Venice. Bushed from the day's sightseeing, I had no energy to struggle to keep up with the conversation. I have no idea what was so hilarious that they both laughed until they gripped their sides. Nor do I know what was said that made Ana-Maria tearful; she had to look away to stop Roberto noticing her brimming eyes. I think it would be in my best interests to keep up with Roberto and Ana-Maria's conversations, and while I can't expect Signor Castoro to teach me more than greetings and introductions on Thursday, everyone has to start somewhere.

  There's another thing. Maybe learning Italian has less to do with Roberto and Ana-Maria, maybe I just didn't want to have to face Chuck and admit that I'd done nothing about learning the language of the country I'm living in. He's fluent and I seem idle by comparison. That is, if I do ever see Chuck again. And while there's no reason why I should see him again, or even why I should want to see him again, if I do it will be nice to tell him I'm taking lessons.

  That's all.

  33

  13 March

  As I walk back to Bruno's after my first ever Italian lesson, I breathe in the surprisingly warm March air that cradles the town right now and smile to myself. I feel certain this month that I'm pregnant.

  I put my hand on my stomach; it's never what anyone would call flat but is it actually rounded? I think about my boobs – more or less sensitive than usual? I can't honestly detect a difference but within a day or two I'll know. The possibility makes me grin helplessly for my entire walk back to Bruno's. One of my most finely tuned day-dreams is the one where I announce my pregnancy to Roberto. Oh my God, that will be the most special day imaginable.

  By the time I arrive at the bar I have worked myself up to such a state of excitement that I have to bite my tongue to stop me flinging back the doors and screaming, Who's the Daddy?

  'Wow, that's some big smile,' says Laurana the moment she claps eyes on me. I giggle and scrabble around for a feasible excuse. I can't admit that something in the air tells me I'm pregnant.

  'I've just had my first lesson with Signor Castoro,' I offer.

  'Clearly, you enjoy. You are full with excitement.'

  Actually I did enjoy my lesson. I surprised myself. It turns out that I know much more than I thought. Signor Castoro explained that of course I must have absorbed a little of the language while being married to Roberto for so long, it's only natural. Although obviously I still have quite some way to go before I'll impress Raffaella or be totally confident with the customers.

  'I can't wait to tell Roberto how it went.' I pull out of my bag a textbook that Signor Castoro has lent me and shyly show it to her. She offers up a huge smile which rests like a pat on my back. 'Where is he?'

  'Roberto got called away. We are running the bar together again today.'

  I reckon we must have done a pretty good job the other Friday because in the past six days Laurana and I have been left to our own devices three times. I must fail to hide my disappointment that Roberto isn't here, because Laurana comments, 'Hey, Roberto must be at something vital or he'd be in the bar, right? The bar is his life.'

  I nod and smile, because I know she's trying to comfort me, although hearing that the bar is generally considered his life doesn't actually do that.

  'It's not his fault. He didn't know I had anything special to tell him. I haven't mentioned the lessons.'

  'Ah, you want to surprise him,' shrieks Laurana with excitement.

  'Sort of.'

  Truth is, ever since our day off to visit Venice Roberto has worked unimaginably long hours. I don't understand, it's not like he's in an office and needs to catch up because he took holiday. The customers he missed that day have been served now. We are becoming a little like ships passing in the night and I haven't got round to telling him about the lessons. I'm sure he's going to be pleased and proud of me but he's bound to ask who gave me the contact, and while I have no reason not to talk about Chuck, I find I haven't mentioned him.

  Laurana puts down my textbooks. 'Bravo! Now you must be a good student and practise as much as possible. I speak only to you Italian.'

  'Don't do that, we were getting on so well,' I joke.

  'I no hear you. In only Italian,' she says, throwing her arms in the air. In Italian she tells me she's going to start preparing the salads for lunch. I stay in the bar and try to memorize the verbs 'to be', 'to do' and 'to have'.

  'Wow, I'm impressed,' Chuck appears out of nowhere, and before I get a chance to so much as yank my hair behind my ears, he's right by my side. My insides slither about uncontrollably. 'What you studying?'

  'Verbs.'

  'Signor Castoro said you were at his place bright and early this morning.'

  'Are you checking up on me?' I ask with a grin and a blush. Would it be so bad if he was?

  'I've just bumped into him in the piazza. We took an espresso together. You know what this place is like; nothing stays a secret for more than five minutes.' I really must tell Roberto about the lessons tonight. 'Signor Castoro says you are a gran piacere as a pupil.'

  'A great like?' I check, hesitantly.

  'Yup, a great like. A delight, actually.'

  'Oh, yes, it would be that.' I'm a bit embarrassed with my inadequate translation.

  'It will come to you in no time. Signor Castoro says you made a promising start.'

  'That's because he hasn't had to decode my handwriting yet. I bet he's not so keen on me after that,' I joke.

  'Did you enjoy your lesson?'

  'Yes, surprisingly I did. Very much. Signor Castoro is very patient. Thanks for the recommendation.'

  'My pleasure.'

  I force myself to look at Chuck now. So fa
r, throughout the conversation I've managed to remain ridiculously interested in the bar top. Stupidly, I feel girlish and shy. His toned bulk is intimidating. I wonder what he feels like to touch. In an effort to deny that I've even had this thought I force myself to meet his eyes. I mean he's not that attractive, is he? He can't be. Bang. His sincere gaze hits me in the throat, gut and knickers simultaneously. Oh hell. He is that attractive. Quickly I pick up a duster and start to polish the already gleaming bar. Damn my hormones. I concentrate on the fact that he says things like 'We need to share' and 'Have a nice day' – not that I've ever heard him say either of these things but Americans do say those things, don't they? And they don't mean them necessarily. They are a nation of really glib people, aren't they? And therefore I mustn't take anything he says too seriously.

  But.

  Well, he does look sincere. And he's always been sincere. In truth, I haven't noticed anything at all that's glib about him.

  'So what have you been getting up to since I was last in here?' he asks. Mercifully, he looks around the bar and stops staring at me. I guess my rabbit-in-the-headlights act was embarrassing him too.

  I search my mind for interesting things I've done with my time.

  'We went to Venice.'

  'Wow, great, man. Did you love it?'

  'Yes, I love Venice,' I reply truthfully and carefully.

  'I wish I'd been with you.'

  I know his comment is nothing more than a reflection for his enthusiasm for Venice but I can't help wishing he'd come with us too, if only to even up the numbers. Hey, that's a thought – maybe I can introduce him to Ana-Maria.

  'Do you know Ana-Maria Provero?' I ask.

  'Yes, I know the whole family.'

  'She's very pretty, don't you think?'

  'A little too polished for my liking,' says Chuck with a shrug. 'Between you and me, I have her down as seriously high maintenance. Hey, but it's good that you are thinking of me,' he says with a playful wink.