Sorry, Mass! Sorry, Cress! Ulysses running across the square.
Giulia came out of the café carrying a tray of coffee. She was wrapped up in a green cardigan, hair piled high and a navy scarf about her neck. She stood in front of Ulysses and placed the coffees on the table. She moved a stray curl of hair away from her forehead. She said, Six months you’ve been here, Signor Temper.
Already? （He still found it hard to look at her.）
It’s true, said Massimo. Almost to the day.
Six months, Cress. What d’you say? Shall we do six months more?
I’m not going anywhere, son. Bury me here.
When Giulia moved out of earshot, Ulysses leant in and said, What do you know about angina, Massimo?
Not much. My uncle had it.
He still alive?
No. A wild boar killed him.
A wild boar? said Cress.
It’s more common than you think.
Nothing to do with angina, then?
It might have made him slower. You have angina, Ulisse?
No, no. I just—
It’s OK. I’m teasing. I know you’re talking about Michele.
How d’you know about Michele? said Ulysses.
Alys told me.
She told me, too.
No one tells me anything, said Cress.
The postman cycled past and flicked a postcard onto the table, face up. A picture of Big Ben.
London calling, said Massimo.
Ulysses turned it over.
Blimey! he said. It’s Pete. Rosemary Clooney only went and bloody cancelled. He’s coming.
A frenzy of activity followed Pete’s announcement. Cress went with the kid to buy a tree in the market and bought two on account of the pensione. They found a box of Arturo’s decorations in the cellar and even though the effect was sparse, there was an elegance to the simple strands of silver and gold beading that draped across both floors. Downstairs, the tree had a star on top and the one upstairs a large blue Amazonian parrot who occasionally came a cropper. Cress and the kid added a touch of the natural – sprays of holly and eucalypts – and the smell was heavenly, said Cress.
Heavenly. The word startled Ulysses. He’d never heard Cress use it before, the word having lived solely in the realm of Darnley. Ulysses couldn’t shake off memories of the man all afternoon. You OK, boy? Cress kept saying. Cress knew he’d gone in on himself, as if he’d taken up residence in the far end of a telescope. I’m OK, said Ulysses, but the kid said, He wouldn’t tell us even if he wasn’t.
When night fell and he was alone, he went out onto the terrace. The pale unfinished fa?ade of the church glowed like a giant monolith and he wondered what Darnley would’ve made of it all.
Hey, Temps, he could hear him say. It was never meant to be like this.
I know.
（Darnley pulls on his cigarette.）
This square, I mean. Not according to Brunelleschi. It should have been built on the other side, where it would have extended down to the river. You’d have arrived at church by boat. How heavenly would that have been? Like Venice.
Never been, sir.
Never been? Then we’ll go. That’ll be a plan. Oh, and Temps – you’ll call me Alex, then.
Three days before Christmas and still no news from Pete. The weather had turned bitter and Ulysses was dozing on the sofa after a day freezing in his workshop with only a couple of small earthenware braziers to keep him warm. Claude was singing to himself on top of the tree and the medley of Christmas carols and sea shanties wasn’t an unpleasant sound. Soon though, another sound encroached, one that Ulysses thought, indeed hoped he’d never hear again in his lifetime, or any other come to that.
What the—？
He jumped up and went to the window just as the green 1930s English ambulance shuddered into the square, wailing like a slaughterhouse. Claude flew over and landed on his shoulder. He began to moult.
Take it easy, big fella. We don’t know it’s definitely him yet.
But by the time Ulysses had made it down the stairs, Col’s crapwagon had already attracted the attention of his neighbours. The elderly contessa turned to him and shouted, Anything to do with you?
Maybe, said Ulysses.
Tipico, she scoffed and turned away.
Pete stumbled out from the passenger side. His face looked paler than usual. He staggered into Ulysses’ arms and said, He tied me to a chair, Temps. Wouldn’t let me go till I agreed he could come. I spent a week with him in that small space.
Jesus, Pete, that’s a bit bubbly.
The sound of Col shouting and thumping the dash.
Why’s he here?
Ginny won’t leave Mrs Kaur. Peg’s off with Ted. He’s fallen out with his sister. And I was coming here.