Almost two hours after they had entered the shop, Emilio thanked them profusely and guided them out into the lane. Fergal was bursting with a mixture of pride and the inexplicable guilt that dogged him whenever anything good happened to him.
‘Alfredo, thank you. They’re so - so beautiful. I’m nearly afraid to wear them.’
Alfredo smiled. ‘Think about how long you spend on your feet. Don’t they deserve the best? It’s my pleasure! Happy eighteenth birthday, my friend. When you’re older, like me, I want you to think back on this day, the day you became a man and finally walked in a man’s pair of shoes. Now, are you hungry? I think we might go back to Arianna for lunch?’
Fergal realised, suddenly, that he was ravenous.
8
Arianna appeared at the door of the restaurant, smoothing her skirt, to welcome them. She put her arm around Fergal’s waist. ‘Now, young man, close your eyes please.’
Fergal knew better than to argue. He did as she asked and was led blindly by the arm amongst the tables and stacked chairs, through the kitchen, to the back garden. He nearly fainted when a roar went up: ‘Happy birthday, Fergal!’
He opened his eyes. Most of the staff were standing around the long tables that were packed with food and drinks. Alfredo and Arianna both said, ‘Surprise!’ at the same time, as if they had rehearsed it, and everybody laughed.
Fergal was overwhelmed that they had gone to so much effort. In the centre of the table was a massive dark chocolate cake that looked like the tyre off a cartoon tractor. The candles were lit, eighteen flames. ‘Blow them out,’ Arianna said, and as the whole gathering sang ‘Happy Birthday’, Fergal took a big gulp of air and extinguished every one.
There was a big cheer and Arianna weeded out the wax and began to cut up the cake and hand it out on paper plates. ‘How does it feel to be eighteen?’ Alfredo asked, hugging Fergal.
Fergal laughed and shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. It doesn’t feel any different, really.’
‘What were you doing on your seventeenth birthday? Could you have imagined, then, where you would be only a year later?’
Fergal remembered exactly where he had been a year before. The Sligo monastery, the recordings that had led to Alfredo’s interest and, of course, that night in Father Mac’s arms under the blanket of sky and stars - waves and sand dunes and kisses, so many delicious kisses...
He looked around. Arianna had pulled a magnum of champagne from its nest of ice underneath the table. In only a year, he had come so far. He was under a new sky, surrounded by new friends and kind strangers. He missed Father Mac. He badly wanted to phone him, but he was too shy to ask. The Morettis had been so good to him already that he didn’t want them to think he was taking them for granted. But the past was another place, out of reach now.
Arianna popped the champagne and filled the sparkling glasses to the brim, and Fergal blushed to burning point as she called for a toast.
‘To Fergal Flynn!’ Alfredo cried. ‘We wish him many more years of happiness and music, and all the love and success the world can offer. He has an important exam in a few days, and we must all pray for him. To his success!’
The glasses were clinked to near breaking point. ‘Speech!’ someone called.
Fergal was mortified, but he knew he couldn’t stay silent. His voice shook a little as he managed to thank Arianna, Alfredo, all the staff of Moretti’s and his language coach, Signora Truvello, who raised her glass to him silently at the back of the throng.
Then someone shouted for a song, and Alfredo nodded approval as everyone clapped. So they quieted the children with bigger slices of cake, and Alfredo and Fergal put their heads together for a second and decided that Fergal would sing an old Italian song they had been working on.
The Italian words swam from his lips. He sang of a young farm girl who rebelled against her parents’ choice of husband and left her family to be with the one she loved. Twenty years passed, and one day her family heard that she was living not far away, with her own brood of children; her husband had died two winters previously. Her father found her house and called on her, disguised as a beggar, and although she was poor, she took him in and shared what little she had. The ‘beggar’ asked about her family, and she grew sad and told him that she hadn’t seen them in a very long time, but she had been in love, she said, and had followed her heart. Even if her parents were still alive, she said, she was sure they had forgotten her. With tears in his eyes, the beggar told her he was sure they thought of her and prayed for her every day. Then he started to sing a song she had loved as a tiny girl. Startled, she asked him how he knew the song. He took off his coat and hat to reveal his true identity, embraced his daughter and asked her to come home with him. As Fergal ended the song, there were a few tears among the older women - the song had been popular when they were girls, and their own fathers had sung it to them.
Antonio and Rocco congratulated Fergal on his growing command of Italian. ‘We’ll have to be more careful what we say about you now!’ Rocco laughed.
‘We’re going to the club later,’ Antonio said, ‘and this time you have to come.’
‘I’m not sure...’
‘We’ll all go!’ Alfredo cried, a little merry from the champagne. Rocco and Antonio thought this was a great idea, and coaxed Arianna to say she’d come too.
As the afternoon wore on and the guests began to take their children home, Fergal suddenly felt exhausted. He tried to stifle his yawns for fear of offending Arianna after all the work she’d gone to, but Alfredo, as ever, missed nothing. He suggested that Fergal, like many a fine tenor, should learn the benefits of a nap in the afternoon. He could sleep for a few hours, then get ready to go out and meet all the others at the club.
Fergal closed his bedroom door, glad of the half-light made by the filter of the curtains, and practically melted into the sheets. He dreamed that his Granny Noreen came to him with a glass of water. He was about to take it from her and drink it when she moved his hand away and knelt beside him. She dipped her fingers in the water and splashed the drops on his face, making the sign of the cross. All the time she was whispering a prayer to keep him strong and safe from the devil.
Fergal woke up with his face damp with sweat from the enclosed heat of the room. Noreen’s remembrance card peeped out at him from where he’d tucked it behind the crucifix on the white wall. He wondered if she had really been in the room with him while he was asleep, whether she could see him, here in this better place, whether the dream had been her way of letting him know she was okay.
He undressed down to his underwear, wrapped himself in a huge towel and headed for the bathroom to take a shower. The door was locked. When he tried it a voice called, ‘I’ll be out in a minute!’
‘It’s okay,’ Fergal shouted. ‘I’ll come back later.’
Suddenly the lock slid back and the same voice called, ‘Come in if you want.’
Riccardo was naked and towelling himself dry. He smiled. ‘I’ve left the water running.’
‘Thanks,’ Fergal said. He hung up his towel and stood there in his underpants. Riccardo continued to dry himself with broad, slow strokes of the towel. He was very fit, with the hairiest chest Fergal had ever seen, and Fergal dropped his gaze before he could stop himself. He was aroused in an instant and turned his back to try and hide it, but he heard Riccardo exhale a laugh. When he looked around, Riccardo was staring at him, with the towel pulled around his neck to allow him a full view. Fergal’s heart felt like it was beating behind his front teeth.
Riccardo smiled and said quietly, ‘It’s okay.’
Fergal couldn’t answer. Riccardo motioned for him to make sure the door was locked. When Fergal did as he was asked and turned around again, Riccardo was right beside him. He reached out and began stroking Fergal’s chest, pushing his thickening penis towards him. They were both breathing harder now.
Fergal closed his eyes and attempted to kiss him, but Riccardo turned his head away, almost in disgust. Instead he
grabbed Fergal’s hand and pushed it between his strong legs. Fergal took hold of him, freeing himself from his underwear with his other hand. Riccardo watched him, then closed his eyes and ordered, as quietly as the running water would allow, ‘Faster - faster .. .yes.. .now take it.’
Fergal wasn’t sure what to do. Riccardo repeated, ‘Take it!’ and nodded down to his crotch. Then his big, hairy hand clamped the back of Fergal’s neck and steered his head downwards. Fergal sank awkwardly to his knees. Before he had a chance to take a proper breath, Riccardo had plunged himself into Fergal’s mouth. He cupped the back of Fergal’s head with both hands, thrusting deeper and deeper into his throat. Fergal panicked for a second, almost gagging, then managed to catch a breath through his nose. Riccardo groaned in ecstasy. Suddenly his whole body stiffened, and he released his grip just in time to pull out and empty himself all down Fergal’s chest.
It was over in less than three messy, loveless minutes. Riccardo turned away and washed his rapidly shrinking self in the sink. Fergal stood up, not knowing what to say. Riccardo didn’t even look at him as he pulled on his clothes and unlocked the bathroom door. Before he opened it he put his ear to the wooden panels, listening for any sign of life, then, silently, he nodded to Fergal and left.
Fergal locked the door again and stepped under the shelter of the hot water. He stayed there for a long time, soaping his sticky chest over and over, until the evidence was washed away. Had that really happened, or had he just had some sort of daydream? Fergal had been attracted to Riccardo for months, but he had never thought they would end up doing what they had just done - and in the bathroom of Moretti’s...He gargled mouthfuls of warm water until he couldn’t taste Riccardo any more. He had imagined that sex with him would be brilliant, but it hadn’t been. Fergal had to admit that he’d enjoyed the excitement of it, but at the same time it had seemed so one-sided and a bit violent. He hated the fact that Riccardo had refused to kiss him, and he felt used. Riccardo had had no interest in doing anything to him in return. It had been so different with Dermot...
Then, of course, the guilt reappeared, thundering over Fergal like Niagara Falls. He felt as if he had cheated on Father Mac. He knew Father Mac’s letter had told him to spread his wings, but he couldn’t help feeling that somehow he had let him down.
By the time Fergal ventured back to his room, it was growing dark. When he snapped on the light, the first thing he saw was a package on the chair by the window, a meticulously wrapped present tied with a huge red ribbon.
He began to panic - maybe someone had come up while he’d been in the shower room with Riccardo, maybe they had been heard. Then he realised that the present must have been there all along; he hadn’t noticed it earlier because he’d been so tired. He dried himself and pulled on a clean T-shirt and pants, eyeing the package a bit warily. There was something about surprises he didn’t trust. Then, putting the experience with Riccardo out of his mind, he undid the ribbon slowly and gingerly, as if he were defusing a bomb.
He freed the last knot and the package fell open. For a moment Fergal couldn’t move. Then he carefully unfolded a beautiful chocolate brown linen suit, complete with a pale cream shirt, a dark brown tie and the softest pair of socks he’d ever felt.
His eyes filled up so quickly that he could hardly read the card. ‘To our dearest Fergal - something to help you look more like the man you are now! Love from Arianna, Alfredo and everyone at Moretti’s.’
Fergal dressed quickly, dying to see what the new clothes looked like on his freshly clean body. The linen felt incredible on his skin. He hadn’t worn a tie since leaving school, but his fingers remembered how to tie it. He stood in front of the mirror to make sure the knot was straight. Someone he hardly recognised looked back at him. His hand stretched out to touch his reflection to prove that he wasn’t dreaming. He hadn’t realised what a difference a good suit could make.
He turned around as he heard someone coming up the stairs. Alfredo was in the doorway. Fergal hugged him fast, hoping his teacher didn’t see his tears.
‘Thank you, Alfredo, thank you - and Arianna too. Youse didn’t have to, after the shoes and everything. It’s too much. I don’t know what to say. I’m not...I’m not...’ Fergal turned his back.
‘Fergal? You’re not what?’ Alfredo put a hand on his shoulder.
‘I’m not.. .worth it.’
‘What? What on earth are you saying, Fergal? Where did you get such a ridiculous notion? Not worth it? You’re worth a thousand suits - and don’t ever let anyone tell you anything else!’
Alfredo was purple in the face. ‘Fergal, has someone upset you? Tell me who it is. Is it someone who works here? Or have those parents of yours been on the phone? This should be one of the happiest days of your life.’
Fergal was mortified. He wanted to tell Alfredo everything -about his family, about what had happened with Riccardo - but he was terrified that it would make Alfredo think less of him. ‘No, no - no one’s upset me. It’s just all so much - the party and the cake and all those kind people...I’ve never had so much given to me in my whole life, never mind in one day. I’ll be okay, I promise. Thank you so much, Alfredo. I’m just not used to, well, people being so good to me. It makes me feel...’
‘What?’ Alfredo gently prodded.
‘It makes me feel bad about myself. I know it sounds stupid, but...oh, I can’t explain it.’
Alfredo found a handkerchief and gave it to Fergal. ‘Fergal, my childhood was wonderful, so I can’t imagine what yours must have been like. But I do know that you can’t move on in life unless you accept who you are and let the past, however painful, go. Do you understand?’
Fergal nodded, wiping his eyes.
‘Good,’ Alfredo said. He was glad that the storm had passed for now, but was well aware that Fergal hadn’t even begun telling him the whole story. ‘Now stand up straight so I can see you.’
Fergal started to thank him again, but Alfredo cut him off. ‘Fergal, a hundred thank youse are enough. You are worth every stitch. Look how handsome you are! Let’s get down those stairs and out into the city, to continue the celebrations as planned. Do you still feel up to it?’
‘I do, Alfredo. I certainly do.’ Fergal was glad of the change of subject, but somewhere in his heart he knew that Alfredo was right about facing up to his past.
When Fergal reached the bottom stair, the little gathering of staff clapped wildly, and Arianna attempted a whistle and hugged him tightly. She had helped her brother pick the suit after sneaking a look at Fergal’s waist size when the laundry was being done. They had decided to go up a size, as he seemed to be outgrowing what little he had at an alarming rate. Fergal thanked them over and over again until they could take no more.
‘Now,’ Alfredo announced, ‘we’ll take a taxi to the club - now that you’re old enough to do everything legally, Fergal!’
The room went mad again with whistles and applause. ‘Who’s going to be the lucky girl?’ someone shouted. Out of the corner of his eye, Fergal noticed Riccardo sloping off to the kitchen.
9
Sofia Scapelli worked in a clothes shop near the city centre and dreamed of being an international model. She would never be tall enough for the catwalk, but she had no idea how beautiful she really was. Her heart-shaped face was framed with almond-coloured hair and she had huge, brown, traffic-stopping eyes.
She had first heard about Fergal Flynn when the famous Alfredo Moretti and his sister had come into the shop, looking for a suit for Fergal and perhaps an outfit for Arianna. They had described the young Irishman in detail - not just his waist and chest measurements, but his voice and their certainty that he was going to be a star. They had finally decided on a classic linen suit, which Sofia had assured them could be exchanged or altered if needed. By the time they left, satisfied, Sofia was mad with curiosity and determined to meet Fergal Flynn.
She had never been outside Rome in all of her twenty-one years. Most of her friends were married and on their se
cond or third child, and her mother’s desire for grandchildren was mounting with each baptism. Sofia had been single for over three years. She had always expected to marry her childhood sweetheart, but he’d had a tragic and fatal collision on his Vespa not long after his seventeenth birthday. Sofia had never really got over it.
After the Morettis’ visit, Sofia had taken to phoning them on the excuse of alerting Arianna to newly arrived clothes that would be snapped up all too quickly. Arianna was delighted. She wasn’t as keen a shopper as her brother, and Sofia’s calls made it easier to purchase top-quality clothes without having to leave the business for any longer than necessary. She started to wonder, though, when Sofia’s questions about Fergal multiplied beyond routine inquiries about whether the suit had been a success.
That night, a private table was reserved for the Moretti party at the exclusive Club Hollywood. Heads turned as Fergal, Alfredo and Arianna joined Antonio and Rocco and ordered a bottle of expensive champagne.
Sofia was sitting at the bar with her two friends, Dina and Luisa. She recognised Arianna immediately, and then her gaze turned to the new owner of the linen suit. ‘That’s him!’ she hissed. ‘The one I was telling you about!’
Fergal couldn’t help noticing how different everyone looked now that they’d gone to the trouble of dressing up and given their uniform whites the night off. Arianna had decided on a pale pink silk two-piece suit with matching heels and everyone agreed that she looked stunning, but she was convinced she’d spill something on it. Inevitably, her prophecy came true. When she pushed her chair back to go to the toilet, she collided with a speeding waitress, upsetting a tray of beer and red wine that drenched her soft pink creation. The ensuing fuss was astronomical. The manager arranged for a taxi, on the club’s account, to take Arianna home to change and promised that the champagne would be taken off their bill. She played her annoyance down for Fergal’s sake, and it was agreed that Alfredo would accompany her home and then return in the waiting taxi.
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