Aye aye, he thought. Someone’s in love.
But wasn’t everybody by the end of the Fifties? Even you, Cress?
The last six years had been the happiest of his life. His ritual courtship of Signora Mimmi had taken an intimate turn when she told him her name was Paola. They dined once a week together, either at his or at hers, and cooked out of Artusi’s Science in the Kitchen and the Art of Eating Well. Paola had given him a copy the Christmas before, and every stain and every oil splash on a page was the equivalent of footprints along a shore. Sometimes they jumped on the Moto Guzzi and drove out into the hills and had lunch on a terrace of a modest albergo. Cress told Paola that she looked like a film star in her sunglasses and silk scarf, and Massimo took a photograph of her and it ended up in Michele’s bar and people thought it was Anna Magnani. Sometimes Paola talked about her husband, but Cressy didn’t mind. After all, a lifetime had been lived before she’d knocked him off his axis. I wonder if there’s space in your heart for me, too? he said.
Alone at night, Cress couldn’t believe someone so beautiful would want to spend time with him. Cress had started to let go of his mum. Or had his mum started to let go of him? Maybe it was because he was finally in good hands.
Alys shouted out, This next song was written by our friend Pete! and she pointed to Pete and people turned to look at him. For Pete that was like being back at the Haughty Hen in ’56. He’d been a minor celebrity that summer, even had a groupie follow him back from the tube station. The years leading up to the new decade, however, had been as unpredictable and multifarious as ever. He’d got the part of a scream in a West End thriller which Col said was made for him, and in many ways that was true. Equity contract too, so the money was OK. All Pete had to do was to scream from the wings after every murder when the stage went to blackout. It all went well for the first month till Pete lost concentration and panicked. He suddenly screamed for no apparent reason and the leading lady fainted and ended up with a broken arm in the front stalls. Pete was sacked immediately. Col found him busking in Piccadilly Circus. Pretend you don’t know me, said Pete. I always do, said Col. Col told Ulysses that Pete was unemployable these days. His reputation not only preceded him, but came with a T-shirt that said ‘Fucknut’ across the front.
The song’s called ‘Freedom of the Open Road’， said Alys.
There you go, the sky is low
The future’s dim, but it’s staying true.
’Cause …
Now you know the way it blows
The rise and fall of Empire scores,
It’s just playing thin.
You never talked about it.
I asked but you said it’s myth.
You never talked about it.
Said only the rich have bliss.
But I saw it there.
How I saw it there.
On the open road.
See – I know the way!
Oh, I know the way!
Don’t you doubt my load.
Freedom of the road.
Fuck you, so wrong about time
An unwarranted sense of yours not mine,
How could you?
（I never said ‘Fuck you’， whispered Pete.
Ulysses grinned. I know you didn’t, Pete.）
How the mighty fell was used to quell
A beating heart,
A world apart, in virtue.
Don’t try and you won’t fail
The despot’s Holy fucking Grail
Keep the people at his call
Safe against a crumbling wall
So he can shoot you.
’Cause I saw it there!
How I saw it there!
Everyone joined in the chorus. A hundred – two hundred? – voices, high on Pete’s words, strung out on a new decade of peace and revolution and make love not war, man. Massimo turned to Pete and above the din he shouted, The power of your words, Pete!
You’re a talent, said Ulysses. Don’t ever let anyone say otherwise. Not Col, not anyone. You hear me?
I hear you, Temps, and Pete placed his hand on his chest and said, Namaste. And with that bow to the divine, the three men turned away from the ecclesiastical stage and left Alys to the evocations of youth and optimism.
Ulysses would have liked to have stayed longer, but the deal was two songs and no more. She’d become self-conscious and shy around him and he didn’t know when that had crept in, but the sense of losing her was sharp. She told him less and less about her life, so whenever she sang and played guitar with other young people in the square, he took his chance. Sometimes he’d rush to the window and throw open the shutters just to learn about her – what interested her, what moved her, what made her angry. Recently there’d been a lot about love. There was so much to keep up with. He just wanted her to finish school.