I’ll keep you posted, said Ulysses. And we’ll think up something too, said Peg. Tell him he’s my rock. Tell him, you know— I will. Words as gold dust, Peg?
You got it.
She said that? said Cress.
She did.
Cress drank his coffee that morning. Even had a pastry, too. Peg’s words, you see – the old fella simply loved her. It would be wrong to say Cress wouldn’t be the same again because he would, but he needed time. So, Ulysses took over the running of the pensione. Coffee dripping into espresso cups by the 8 a.m. bells. Pastries on the plates and a tray outside every door. A little knock, a walk away, the door opened, the sound of delight. Ulysses did the changeovers too, drove the heavy linens over to Manfredi’s. Alys even wrote a telegram to see if Ulysses wanted her home. Stay put, my sweet, and thrive. He’d never written anything so poetic in his life. She’d keep that telegram all her life.
Cress stayed on the terrace with his citrus tree, surrounded by scent and blossom. Tree said few words and together they watched the pungent flare of dawn, the glare of the midday trope, the drift of dusk. Cress slept a lot. Cress kept dreaming of butterflies.
The scene: late August. An eerie, soporific trance of a day. Heat settling across the city like a fucking furnace – Col’s words. Shutters bolted firmly against the scorching haze and the square lifeless ‘cept for a couple of malnourished pigeons and the odd tourist at Michele’s forking strands of spaghetti into parched mouths, wishing they’d ordered a salad instead. When all of a sudden: An ambulance siren, wailing and screaming, banshee-like. A sound Ulysses hadn’t heard in ten years.
What the—？ he said, waking up from a nap. He got off the sofa and threw open the shutters. Well, I bloody never, he said to Claude. Claude flew to the window and had a run on droppings.
Ulysses slung on a shirt and raced down the stairs. The elderly contessa was waiting for him at the bottom.
You need new friends, she said.
Sì sì, I know I know, contessa, he said.
Out of the door now and into the sunshine, tucking in his shirt and protecting his eyes from the glare. He watched the green ambulance appear at the side of the basilica. Col shouting and swearing and hammering the dash and Pete barely holding on to the remaining back door as it jolted across the uneven stones. Shutters on all sides of the square were flung open to witness the commotion. Suddenly, the van came to a halt, and Pete was thrown out head first. The wailing stopped and the thick silence was broken only by the sound of two hubcaps rolling menacingly into the gutter.
Pete crawled towards Ulysses and said, Never again.
What happened, Pete?
We lost one of the back doors the other side of Parma. Caused a pile-up on a major road. Col took off and only Peg’s quick thinking stopped me from ending up under an Alfa Romeo.
Peg?
Yeah, said Pete. She held on to my legs till Col could pull over and help drag me back in.
Peg’s here?
Yeah. Hey, Peg!
Not quite the introduction she’d hoped for, but there you have it. Peg slunk out, bare legs and heels first, followed by a belted midi short-sleeved dress in emerald green. Sunglasses hid the ten years older and the sun highlighted the ten years blonder. Oh my God, said Ulysses.
Clack clack clack across the stones she went. Hips swaying, arms swinging. Peg’s tune, right? And there it was again, that little churn in Ulysses’ guts.
Peg? What the—？
Worst fucking days of my life, Temps. Don’t ask. Don’t ever, ever ask.
Ulysses opened his arms and held her. I’ve missed you, he whispered.
Oi! No one ever interested in me? said Col. What am I? Chopped fucking liver?
Pete began to retch.
Keep your mouth shut, Col, said Peg.
Oh, that’s nice.
Mouth, and Peg pointed to it.
Col blew into his hands and recoiled. Anyone got a mint? he said. Come here, said Ulysses, pulling him into a tight clasp. That’s more like it, said Col.
The sound of a door-latch made them turn. It was Cressy. A bit sleepy and dazed. He looked from one to the other and said, Peg. Col. Pete.
Hasn’t lost his memory then, said Col.
Shuttup Col, said Peg.
What you all doing here? said Cress.
We’re here for you, Cress, said Pete. Make sure you’re OK.
Course I’m OK. （Cress choked now. Oh, those watery eyes.） Course I am.
Come here, said Peg.
Cress did as he was told because Peg’s arms were a good place to be. Cress had shrunk. It’s OK, said Peg. It’s OK.
They clattered up the stairs, carried on with the same old yacking and joshing from where they’d left off. They passed the entrance to the pensione, which had been taken over by an art history group from Leamington Spa and Cress said they were a fractious lot due to differing views on Leonardo and Raphael. By the time Cress put his key in the door and led them into the hallway, rooms had been divvied up and it was decided that Peg would be in Alys’s room, Pete in with Ulysses and no one wanted to room with Col. Oh, that’s really nice, that is, said Col.