Snack, anyone?
Couldn’t eat another thing, said Pete.
How is she? said Peg.
Fast asleep, said Ulysses. You wanna see?
Ted said, Of course Florence isn’t Rome.
Isn’t it? said Col.
Even Peg had to smile at that one.
She followed Ulysses into the kitchen. He placed a couple of coffee pots onto the stove.
This way, he said.
Through the kitchen and along the hallway. The murmur from the terrace growing faint.
They watched the kid sleep. A pillow case full of presents at the end of her bed. Ulysses pulled her blanket high.
Let’s go to your room, said Peg.
He quietly latched the door behind him. Peg pulled up her skirt; it was a no knickers kind of night. They fucked against the wall and it was done and dusted by the time the coffee pot was bubbling.
Peg held his face.
What? he said.
Coffee! shouted Cress.
You go in first, he said, breathing hard. But he didn’t come out again that night. Left them on the terrace with the bells and booze and the bluster of Col and Ted. He got under the covers and closed his eyes. He heard Peg and Ted leave. That edge to Ted’s voice, Peg’s silence with men a new thing. When everyone was asleep, he went to the bathroom and washed. He knew he’d have the kid bounding in on him early.
Christmas Day found Cress drinking coffee on the terrace.
And here you are! said Massimo, appearing in the doorway.
You escaped your mother, Mass? said Cress.
She thinks I’m still in the bathroom. Buon Natale, my friend.
Happy Christmas, Mass!
Here, said Massimo and he handed over a small parcel.
What’s this? said Cress.
More uncharted territory for a facts man.
Cress unwrapped it. Well, I never, he said.
Poetry, said Massimo. About a love affair in this city.
Down the spine Cress read the title Everything. Constance Everly, he said. He flipped through the pages and stopped. He read: They found a good enough place of solitude.
Clambered onto the foreshore in the shadow of a bridge,
Hands touched cheeks and fingers lips,
And there they kissed
Because the eyes of the city were not on them.
Bells were faint, pronouncing the hour.
But what hour? Time had ceased.
Somewhere in the air the quiet cast of a lure
Whipped the water and sent ripples to their feet.
Pete, soulful and hungover, moved slowly from sofa to piano. He adjusted the stool and took a sip of grappa. He’d woken with the muse and cradled her respectfully. He leant in close to the keys, and with his left hand crafted the soft melody, a series of repetitive chords that played themselves after a while. The right hand a gentle improvisation, wherever it took him. A song of beauty that uncovered the soul was what Pete offered that day. Named it ‘Cressy’s Song’ after it stopped the old fella in his well-worn tracks.
The music led Cress to his mum. Six kids, no money and only a view from the sink. Christmas just another day. The time he learnt that she too had dreams. Hard to reconcile that pain. Has taken a lifetime and still not there yet.
Peg on the terrace with her kid, drinking in her Eddie looks. Nine years ago, thought Peg. And she’s the proof those months were real.
Kid looking at Peg. So much to fathom out. I like it when you sing, she said. Peg smiled. Kid would always be looking for that smile in women.
And Pete played on.
Col at the window overlooking the square. Ginny would have loved it, but Ginny was with Mrs Kaur and her nephew. Col knew everything now. （His stomach tightened.） But if I let her go, then where does that leave me?
Massimo unwrapping the world in twelve segments. Ulysses leaning over to show his mum’s name hidden in Russia. It’s beautiful, Massimo said. He never wanted to lose this friend and yet there were things still to be said. They could wait another day. Another year, even.
And Pete played on.
Ulysses moving through the hallway. He sees Col in the living room at the window. Cress in the doorway watching Pete. Ted passing him on the way to the bathroom. He opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of spumante. He fills a glass. He goes onto the terrace. Peg and the kid, Claude flying free. He hands Peg a glass. Says quietly to her, I’ll help you find Eddie. Massimo found me, and I’m sure we— It wasn’t his name, Temps. Not his real one. I tried, she said.
And Pete stopped playing.
Dusk dimmed the room and the constellations on the ceiling, all but invisible in daylight hours, were brought to life by the fading light. Pete got up and switched on the lamps.
Hey, it’s snowing, he said.
They gathered at the window.