Me and Poppy were like that for a while. I wanted a Bentley and she wanted a Jag.
What happened?
Compromised. Got one each. We need any cheese for tonight?
And before Ulysses could answer, Des disappeared into the pizzicagnolo, greeting the owner as if she was a long-lost friend.
Des left and April arrived. Brought with it sun and flowering wisteria and Cressy’s shorts. Officially the first day of spring when those shapely legs appeared to the world. The stone bench signore whistled whenever he passed. He pretended to be shy, but he liked it really. Felt a bit of a catch, something he didn’t expect to be at the age of seventy-six. And just to see that admiring sidelong glance from Paola as he strutted across the stones to fill his canvas bag with lemons and artichokes. Was that a little dance move there, Cressy? It sure was!
Cress settled on the terrace next to his citrus aurantium. Clusters of dense white blossom fragranced the air with neroli, and Easter fireworks from the Duomo carried faint across the river.
What you reading? said the tree.
Cress held up his book. Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Aurora Leigh, he said.
Any good?
All the associations are a bit off my radar but it’s quite magnificent in parts. Not as accessible for me as the Constance Everly— But she’s your go-to, isn’t she?
She is. But listen to this – and Cress scanned the pages – here, he said. ‘I felt a mother-want about the world, And still went seeking, like a bleating lamb …’ A mother-want, he repeated. Now there’s an image.
Is that how you feel, old fella?
No, not me, said Cress. Though I worry it might be Alys.
One afternoon, the air warm and polleny, Alys and Romy were in Romy’s bedroom, listening to music. They were down to their underwear, arms draped about one another’s necks, moving slowly in time to the beat. The shutters were open, and the view was of the river on which a fisherman was struggling to land a catfish the size of a small boar. The door was locked from the inside and the music was loud but not so loud as to make Romy’s father complain about the shallow headway he was making on his book. He lit a cigarette and gazed out of the window at the green river. The location was what had persuaded him to hand over a hefty deposit all those months ago. He’d intended to come alone but had somehow been saddled with wife and daughter. He pulled the sheet of paper out of the typewriter and screamed silently. He began again. Tap tap tap. I hate my wife. He stared at the words. He’d meant to write life.
His wife Patty was drinking on the terrace. She could hear the faint sound of music, but she didn’t care; she thought the girls were probably smoking and talking about boys like she’d done at their age. She settled down on the sun lounger and thought about Marcello Mastroianni. If she’d been alone, she’d have run an ice cube up the inside of her thigh and popped it in.
The music came to an end and Romy lifted the needle back to the beginning. Alys stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.
Lift up, said Romy and Alys raised her arms and her vest was pulled over her head. She felt the breeze on her skin. She didn’t need a bra but wished she had one. Romy led her to the bed and Alys wanted to say I love you, but events moved at a considerable pace. Romy slipped her hand in Alys’s knickers and she was all nerve-endings and came quickly and it felt extraordinary. Alys was about to reciprocate but Romy’s mum, half cut and in need of company, knocked on the door and asked if they’d like a little something to eat?
What you got? shouted Romy.
Ricotta. Oh, and ham.
So, they ate ricotta and ham with Romy’s mum on the terrace as dusk laid out its colours. Romy’s mum talked nonstop through the splendour. Alys thought Peg would probably have done the same.
Alys left shortly after. She and Romy tongued one another in the rickety old lift going down and that’s when Alys said I love you. Romy smiled. Alys walked back along the embankment, crotch wet and whiffy from the exertions of before. She suddenly wished Romy had said I love you back, and wondered why she hadn’t. Claude was the first to see her enter the square. He flew off the statue of Cosimo R. and landed on her arm. I love you, Claude, she said. I love you too, he said. See? she thought. How hard can it be?
She got her period two days later and hid her introversion behind packs of sanitary products. Her body had a life of its own and all she could do was to hang on and try and enjoy the ride. Ulysses asked if she wanted a hot-water bottle. She just wished she had someone to talk to.
A week later, the plan to escape to Fiesole was hatched. They were in Vivoli having ice cream and Romy had just finished talking about a villa that was owned by friends of her father. He had the key because he was supposed to check on it, but never did.