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Of course she fucking did. ‘Duncan—’
The door buzzes again and I turn away gratefully and press the intercom. I can feel Duncan’s eyes boring into the back of my head. ‘Pizza,’ comes a tinny voice from the speaker, and I can’t help but shoot him a look of triumph.
‘Come on up.’
It’s Luigi, the son of the family who own the pizzeria. He hands over the box and asks how my book is going, and I say fine and ask after his new baby, and he whips out his phone to show me a photo of her wearing a ridiculously frilly dress and all the time I can feel Duncan’s presence just offstage, glowering. My skin’s prickling and I have that nasty cold feeling, the feeling you get when you might be sick. I say goodbye to Luigi and close the door, and only then does it occur to me that I could have asked him to create a distraction somehow, give me some reason to get away. Duncan doesn’t speak Italian. He wouldn’t have known.
I take the pizza over to the counter, avoiding Duncan’s eye. ‘You can have some if you want,’ I say.
‘What’s on it?’
‘Buffalo mozzarella and anchovies.’
He snorts. ‘Disgusting.’
‘I didn’t order it for you, I ordered it for me. Glass of wine?’
‘No.’
‘Suit yourself.’ I take out the pizza-cutter-wheel thing I bought a while ago and busy myself slicing the pizza into manageable pieces, then I sit down at the counter. My hands are shaking, and the harder I try to stop them the more they shake, but I’m strangely determined to act normal. God, I wish I’d stayed at Marco’s. I pick up a slice of pizza and take a bite, swallowing convulsively as the salty anchovy taste hits my tongue.
Duncan sighs. I hear it, and I hear the creak of the sofa as he sits down, but I don’t look at him. ‘Tori,’ he says, ‘aren’t we going to talk about this?’
‘About what?’
‘Aboutthis, for fuck’s sake!’ He pauses and clears his throat. ‘About our marriage. About you, running off to Italy to play at being a writer without… without giving me a chance to fix it. To fix us.’
Now I look at him. ‘I did give you a chance,’ I say. ‘I gave you lots of chances. And I’m not playing at—’
‘Yeah, yeah, okay, okay.’ Duncan holds up his hands in an exaggerated show of surrender. ‘You’re a real writer. Fine. I just don’t understand why you need to be one here, and not at home.’
‘But this is my—’
‘Charlie thinks you’re making a point,’ he goes on. ‘She says you’re playing up, punishing me for what happened with your gran. And look, I’m sorry I’m not perfect. I made the wrong decision, and I admit it. All right? Can we stop this now?’
‘I’m not playing up,’ I say, keeping my voice as level as I can. I’m clenching my jaw, I realise. ‘I told you I was leaving. I told you, and you said you didn’t care, so I left.’
‘I didn’t think you wereserious.’ He looks as incredulous as he sounds. ‘I thought you were just being dramatic. God, I can’t do anything right.’
I can feel my blood pressure rising. But some still, cool voice tells me that the only way to deal with this is to stay as calm as I possibly can. I breathe out slowly and take a sip of wine before I speak. ‘Duncan, why have you come here? Why couldn’t we talk on the phone?’
‘Because I wanted to give you space,’ he says, with a distinctly martyred air. ‘I thought you’d calm down if I left you alone for a while.’
‘Right. And now you’re here because…?’
‘Because this needs to end. I’ve been patient, I’ve tried to understand, but I’ve had enough now. You need to stop pissing about and come home.’
My head’s starting to pound. I close the pizza box and push it away from me. The smell of the anchovies is giving me nausea. ‘We’re not having this conversation.’
‘But—’
‘No,’ I snap, and then take another breath. ‘It’s the middle of the night. I need to sleep, and I’m sure you do, too. I’ll call you a taxi, and then we’ll talk about this tomorrow in daylight.’ In a public place, I think. ‘Which hotel did you book?’
‘I didn’t book a hotel.’
‘What?’
‘Of course I didn’t. Why would I? I’ll stay here until you’ve packed your things and sorted yourself out, and then we’ll go. I’ve got us plane tickets for the day after tomorrow. I assume that’s enough time.’
