Читать книгу One Summer in Rome: a deliciously uplifting summer romance! - Samantha Tonge - Страница 9

Chapter Two

The aeroplane revved its engines, turned onto the runway, and took off. Heart pounding, Mary looked out of the window and watched a nearby city shrink into a Lego village. The pilot could be drunk. What if a terrorist was aboard? Perhaps they’d hit a storm?

Okay. Deep breaths. Mary needed to think baking – that always calmed her down. ‘There isn’t anything a good biscuit can’t cure,’ one of her foster mums would declare. At the time Mary agreed as, instead of receiving sorely craved hugs, she’d been given comforting sweet treats in abundance. It was hard when the following foster couple had introduced a strict, calorie-controlled diet. Kale instead of cake? That plan was never going to encourage a close relationship between fourteen-year-old Mary and her new carers.

Knuckles white, she clenched a smooth, coffee-coloured crystal in her hand. The plane was bound to crash. It was so heavy. Massive in length, with nothing underneath to support it. As the engines eased, Mary tore her glance away from the windows. Watching light, fluffy cloud only served to reinforce her sense of fragility. Instead, she gazed around at the June holidaymakers who had smugly beaten the July schools-off tourist crush. Happy faces filled the length of the plane and the female flight attendants, especially, were just as smart as she’d expected, with their pencil skirts and full make-up.

Mary was the only person travelling on her own – or so it had seemed, until a businessman had sat down next to her. He was middle-aged with eyelashes so thick they made up for the receding hairline.

Hands shaking a little, she flicked through the in-flight magazine.

‘Nervous flier?’ asked a deep voice.

Mary smiled shyly.

‘Nothing to be ashamed of. I’m always glad to land safely on the other side. I’m John. John Jones.’

Her shoulders relaxed. It was nice to meet someone with a name as boring as hers. ‘Mary Smith. And I don’t really know about being nervous. I’ve never flown before.’

His eyes crinkled. ‘It’s one of the safest forms of travel. The worst bit is over now. So, this will be your first trip abroad? Rome is an excellent choice.’

Why couldn’t she have made her first big journey a girls’ break in Ibiza or day trip with school? Oh no, Mary’s had to be on the back of ditching her old life – lock, stock, and barrel. She slipped the in-flight magazine back into the pouch on the seat in front and gazed at the crystal in her hand. Beautiful it was, with its cappuccino shades.

John nudged her elbow. ‘That your lucky charm?’ He delved into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small, pink teddy on a key ring. Its fur was worn and it was missing one eye. ‘My young daughter insists that I carry this. Says that Little Ted will keep an eye on me. One eye, literally.’

Pulse slowing, Mary grinned. ‘That’s really sweet.’

He returned the teddy to his pocket and nodded at the stone. ‘My sister’s into healing crystals. They helped her through a rough patch last year. Never goes anywhere without her rose quartz bracelet. As you probably know it’s—’

‘The crystal of love.’ Mary smiled. ‘Yes. It can help you move on from heartbreak or a broken friendship.’

John’s face turned purple for a second. ‘Treated like dirt, she was, by her ex-husband. But one year on and she’s met a decent bloke.’

Mary loved her crystals. Believed wholly that they worked, but she had stashed her rose quartz away after Jake left. She was convinced nothing or no one could ever unbreak her heart.

‘Which crystal is that?’ he asked. ‘What’s it supposed to—’

Mary squirmed.

John groaned. ‘Jeez. Listen to me, getting carried away. Ignore me. The missus is always telling me to curb my chat. But it goes with the job, you see. I’m an international recruitment consultant. I ask people questions for a living.’ He smiled. ‘It’s too easy to get stuck in business mode and be a right nosy parker.’

She was being precious. John’s sister had crystals, so he wouldn’t judge. ‘It’s okay. This is quartz too – smoky quartz, a protective crystal, great for travelling. I’ve got some yellow citrine in my handbag, as well – that’s the crystal of good fortune. It should help me take my life in a new direction and bring prosperity and success.’ She shrugged. ‘Not that it’s money I’m after. Just a new chapter.’ Her voice wavered. ‘A better life, I guess.’

John eyed her curiously and then reached down and pulled a dog-eared book out of his briefcase. ‘I don’t know much about crystals. My sister tried to explain how they work. Something to do with atomic vibrations …’

Mary nodded.

‘Talking of chapters, I’m more of a self-help book man. Found them really useful, over the years. You know the sort – Become a Millionaire in One Year.’

‘That clearly worked, seeing as you’re stuck in Economy,’ she said and gave a shy grin.

John chuckled. ‘No. But it gave me some ideas on how to push my career forwards. Anyway …’ He passed Mary the book. She didn’t grip tight enough and it almost slipped to the floor. She swallowed. Jake always used to playfully tease her for being clumsy. ‘This is my current favourite.’

‘Hook, Line, and Sinker,’ said Mary. Her brow knitted. ‘No offence, but I’m not interested in learning about fishing.’

John chuckled again. A warm sound it was, and comforting, like hearty soup simmering on a stove. ‘Me neither. No, this book is about setting goals and achieving them. It’s helped me get fit and draw up a savings plan so that the missus and me can eventually move house.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you got a job lined up?’ John pretended to bite his fist. ‘Aarghh, Mr Parker is doing it again …’

Mary slipped the crystal into her shorts’ pocket and smiled. ‘In a pizzeria. With lodgings. It was too good an opportunity to miss.’

He gave a low whistle. ‘Good on you. That takes guts. So, where do you see yourself in five years? What’s your plan?’

‘Should I have one?’ Up until now, her plan had just been to take one day at a time. Pay the rent. And her bills. Hold down a job. Be independent.

‘Good grief, yes. Otherwise life just passes you by. At around your age, let me see …’ He thought for a moment. ‘I gave myself five years to buy my own car and put down a deposit on a home. And I managed that – albeit the wheels were an old banger and the new pad a tiny flat.’

The flight attendant offered them a drink and crisps, whilst Mary digested everything John had said. Perhaps this was her problem – she rarely made concrete plans for the future. There would have been no point in having aspirations, as a child. Her life was wholly in the hands of others. But now could she really, finally, work towards building a solid future of her own volition?

‘Hook, Line, and Sinker contains some great tips,’ said John and yawned. ‘It helps you set realistic goals, so that you aren’t heading for disappointment. It doesn’t matter how small and it says to concentrate on three areas – work, health, and love.’ He yawned again. ‘Right, I’m going to get some shut-eye. Little Ted’s owner kept me and her mum up most of the night.’

As he snuggled back into his seat, Mary looked through the book. Work, health, and love. She could do that – make three resolutions. She stared out of the window and awe extinguished fear as she marvelled at wisps of cloud. If humans could put a giant metal bird in the air then she could take control of her destiny.

First, work – learning to assert herself had to be the number one goal. Landlady Brenda had walked all over her. At twenty-six the legacy of a life in care was that she still feared being rejected by anyone holding an important position in her life. That meant she put up with being taken advantage of, when it came to the nine to five. What if her new boss had the biggest Italian temper? Or didn’t let her keep tips? So that was her first resolution – to stand up for herself at work, whatever the cost, even if it meant returning to England within the first month.

Secondly, health. She took out her iPod and put in her earphones. Her favourite pop salsa song came on. Of course! She should learn to dance. It has always been a dream since she’d first started watching her favourite ballroom dancing television programme. The sparkles and spray tans offered such an escape from the daily humdrum. Back in England she’d felt too self-conscious to join a ballroom class. It meant dancing with a partner and Jake would have rather spent an hour in a straitjacket than Lycra. But in Rome, no one would know her. Okay. So that was her second resolution decided upon.

Now for love. Jake’s last ever words to her still resounded in her ears. Don’t say I didn’t invite you to join me. For Christ’s sake, most people would jump at the chance of moving to Dubai! But not you. Well suit yourself – and thanks for helping me waste the last year of my life.

Santa beards of cloud, floating by, became blurry as she turned down the music. One year. That was the longest she’d ever dated anyone. Her chest tightened as she recalled the feeling of normality she’d revelled in, at becoming part of a couple. She’d come the nearest ever, with him, to emotionally letting go – or rather, letting him in. She’d risked getting close and had opened up her most vulnerable areas … shared some of her fears and dreams.

Mary had dared ask the question – could he be The One? Yet still she’d held back from telling him the things she’d never even told Jill. Just in case, like everyone else, he left – a defence mechanism she appreciated now. They’d had a terrible argument, in the end. He’d shouted that she suffered from attachment disorder – blamed her biological parents.

Mary squeezed her eyes tight. It had been hard to explain to him exactly why she couldn’t commit. But it was nothing to do with her birth mum and dad. She’d never met her father and up until the age of five, from what she could remember, had only felt love from her mum. Whereas her grandparents – that was a different matter. She recalled no hugs nor kind words, yet couldn’t blame them for giving her up. Time had given her perspective, as had getting to know Toby and Tilly next door. A small child was a lot of work for a couple who were heading towards their seventies – and who’d been estranged from their daughter.

‘Talk about an ice queen!’ Jake had shouted. ‘Didn’t the last twelve months mean anything?’

Maybe he should have worked it out – that, in fact, the last year had meant so, so much. That was why she felt hurt that he was effectively abandoning her, just like every person in her childhood. Oh, he’d asked her to go with him, but his plans – his future – were already in place. Cancelling or postponing Dubai, if she said no, never got a mention. Jake was leaving, regardless of her decision.

‘I’d be mad to turn down an opportunity like this,’ he’d said.

‘If anyone’s got attachment problems it’s you,’ a heartbroken Mary had muttered and she swore that her heart actually broke in two ragged halves that could never fit together again.

Jake was just like the social workers who passed her case on. Just like the foster parents who got pregnant or moved abroad. Mary never felt like she truly belonged. Social Services didn’t encourage the use of the words “Mum” and “Dad” and that was hard for a little girl. Plus, looking back, Mary could see that the front she’d put on had probably fooled foster parents. The stories she’d heard, of other foster children, made her realise she must have appeared to be quite solid. Unaffected. Strong.

‘You’re lucky,’ said one social worker. ‘My last client is four and has never seen a piece of fruit.’

‘What a relief to look after a child who’s so well behaved,’ said one foster parent. ‘In the past we’ve opened our wallets to children but still they’ve stolen from shops. You’re a good girl.’

And she was. Clean and tidy. She’d never committed a crime. Mary went to school. The records and diaries her carers had to keep were probably very short. And because of that, they’d never guessed that inside she was howling for attention.

Perhaps she expected too much of grown-up life – to be someone’s Number One. And she tried to remind herself that there were always others who were worse off.

Mary opened her eyes and sat up straighter in the aeroplane seat. She shook herself. Rome was about her future, not her past.

‘Get a grip and stop feeling sorry for yourself, Mary Smith,’ she murmured. She reached into her handbag and pulled out an envelope. Sarah had given it to Jill who had passed it on, a couple of days ago. Apparently Alfonso had sent strict instructions for her to open it on the flight. Naturally, Mary had obeyed and waited until this moment. She slid her finger under the top flap, and pulled until it broke all the way along. She tugged out … a photo. Without studying it closely, Mary turned it over.

We are all so excited to meet you, Maria! See you soon. Buon Viaggio!

‘Maria,’ she whispered and her face broke into a smile. Somehow her new life sounded better already. More exciting. Vibrant. She turned the photo back over and scrutinised every detail. A group of people stood in front of the ground floor of a building – the restaurant. A white canopy stretched forwards and underneath it stood eight tables, each covered with a pretty green gingham cover topped with a vase containing a rose. Clouds of cooling mist came out of jets, at the side of the restaurant. Above the canopy a scarlet sign read Pizzeria Dolce Vita. Dolce Vita. The good life? What was that exactly, Mary wondered?

Perhaps it simply meant happiness, as the customers certainly appeared cheerful. As for the group standing in front, the middle-aged man was Alfonso. Portly. Hairless – apart from an impressive moustache. And chunky fingers giving a wide-fingered wave. His whole face shouted Welcome! – although his expression triggered a sense of sadness and she wasn’t quite sure why. In the end she decided it was because the smile only came from his mouth, not his eyes.

She recognised him easily from her Skype interview. He wanted another English waitress, like Sarah. Apparently with her GCSE in Italian and experience in catering Mary had outshone the other candidates. He was effusive and friendly and immediately put her at ease.

Alfonso’s arm was draped around the shoulders of a woman in her early twenties – that was bubbly Natale, who’d joined him during the interview to say hello. What a beautiful floral dress and long brunette waves that could have starred in any shampoo advert. She looked like Catherine Zeta Jones out of Jill’s favourite old show, The Darling Buds of May.

Natale held hands with a little girl – no doubt the granddaughter, six-year-old Lucia, with her mop of black curls. A real Mediterranean Annie with a scampish grin, except she was no orphan; she was surrounded by family. Perhaps Mary should have felt a pang of envy, but she didn’t. Lucia looked around the age she was when Mary’s grandparents had handed her over to Social Services and she never saw her mum again.

To the left stood a slim man, perhaps in his early thirties, with a high hairline and Harry Potter glasses. He wore black trousers, a white shirt, and black bow tie. In his hand was a pen. He looked like someone with little time to spare. That had to be Rocco, the head waiter the family employed. Sarah didn’t get on with him – said he’d always been standoffish. Her stomach squeezed. Was it just bad luck that the camera had caught him frowning?

Finally, her gaze settled upon …

A tide of heat spread up her neck. A sensation she hadn’t experienced for months. To the right, next to Natale, that had to be Dante. Broad. Bronzed. Thick, burnt-caramel hair. She couldn’t determine his height as he crouched, one hand casually in his pocket. The other wrapped gently around the most adorable-looking dog. That’s what pulled Mary in most. Such tenderness, as if the pet was his most precious possession ever. Dante wore a wide smile – or was he simply squinting, in the sunlight? Mary wished he wasn’t wearing those trendy aviator sunglasses, but they matched what looked like expensive designer jeans that perfectly showed off his strong thighs.

She’d wondered why he’d kept so quiet on Skype as Alfonso had encouraged Natale to ask questions and said it was a family interview. He’d simply sat in the background looking stern. Jill had mentioned something about a tragedy the whole family suffered a couple of years ago. Plus something about Dante facing his own problems. Looking for clues, she scrutinised his face. Did he have a drink problem? A physical illness? Depression? She looked at her watch. It wasn’t long before she’d find out.