AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The panic’s rising. I put a hand on the counter to steady myself. ‘No, Duncan,’ I say. ‘I’m not going back. I’m sorry if you can’t accept that, but it’s true. And I want you to stay somewhere else. You can’t sleep here.’
Duncan gets to his feet. He walks towards me and all I can think about is how big he is, how angry he is, how much stronger he is than me. He comes up to the counter and leans forward just a little, just enough to make me want to lean away, and he says: ‘I’m not going back home on my own whilemy wifestays here without me. And I’m not going to a hotel. So stop whining and start packing.’
Every nerve in my body is shrieking at me to back down. But then I find myself thinking of Stella. Stella, the scrappy little teenager who smuggled guns past big, scary men every day. If she could do that, I tell myself, then I can do this.
‘All right, then, you sleep here tonight,’ I say. ‘You sleep here and I’ll go…’ I manage to stop myself just before I can mention Marco. ‘I’ll sleep at a friend’s place. We can have breakfast in the morning and sort everything out then. I’ll text you where to meet.’ I hop down from the stool, pick up my keys and bag and head to the door.
Duncan’s staring at me. ‘What are you doing?’
I open the door and then turn and give him my best I’m-so-reasonable smile – the one I used to give to obnoxious drunk stockbrokers. ‘Help yourself to whatever you need,’ I say. ‘Just shut the door behind you when you leave in the morning. If you need to go out before that… well, don’t.’
I step out and pull the door shut. As I hurry down the stairs, I half-expect to hear his footsteps behind me, but there’s only silence. Still, I’m most of the way to Santa Croce before I stop looking over my shoulder.
*
I don’t sleep. I lie in Marco’s bed and replay that awful conversation over and over in my head. I want to talk to Marco, but it’s too late to call him and anyway, I wouldn’t know how to start – I don’t think Icouldstart and, besides, there’s no sense in worrying him. I’ll get rid of Duncan tomorrow. I’ll insist he leaves, like I insisted on leaving him. In just a few hours, it will all be over. And in a few more, Marco will be home.
I smile at the thought. But I’m still shaking.
It isn’t even six a.m. when I get a text from Duncan. Are you coming back so we can talk?
I roll my eyes. Meet you at Bar Dianora in an hour.
I don’t know where that is, he replies. Just come here.
Right opposite the flat. Can’t miss it. See you there. I shove the phone away and get up before I can see any more replies.
When I get to the bar, Duncan’s waiting outside. To my shock, he looks terrible. Genuinely terrible: pale and crumpled, like he’s been punched in the stomach. I feel a strange mix of relief, irritation and a horrible edge of guilt.
‘Morning,’ I say. I almost ask whether he slept well, but it’s obvious he didn’t. And I don’t want to be asked, either.
‘Morning,’ he mumbles, and follows me in.
Behind the counter, Elisa gives me a cheery hello. I order a cappuccino with a chocolate pastry and turn to Duncan.
‘What would you like?’ I say as jauntily as I can. ‘The cappuccino’s great here, but the espresso’s lovely too. Properly strong, but not at all rough. And the pastries are super.’ God, I sound like a primary school teacher.
He stares at me like I’ve just offered him the choice of death by beheading or disembowelment. ‘I don’t mind.’
‘All right. He’ll have the same,’ I tell Elisa, and she nods.
‘Go and sit down and I’ll bring it to you.’
‘Thanks. Inside or outside?’ I ask Duncan, but he just shrugs. ‘Let’s sit outside,’ I say, and lead the way to a table. I sit down, and Duncan slumps into the seat opposite and fixes me with tragic eyes. We sit there in awkward silence for a few moments, and then he speaks.
‘There was hair gel in your bathroom cabinet,’ he says. ‘And shaving cream, and aftershave, and deodorant. Men’s deodorant. With limes.’
My head’s starting to throb again. I feel weirdly like I’ve been caught in a lie, but I haven’t lied, have I? ‘You went through my stuff,’ I say.
He shrugs again. ‘I was looking for something.’
‘Right. What were you looking for, exactly?’
‘Can’t remember.’
‘Ecco a voi,’ Elisa says. She puts a tray on the table between us and unloads the coffee and pastries. ‘Do you need anything else?’
‘Oh, thanks, this all looks great.’ Duncan’s watching us, eyes pivoting like he’s a spectator at Wimbledon. I’ve never been more grateful for his staunch refusal to learn so much as a word of Italian.
