The Place We Met Page 23

  ‘Come here,’ he says, taking my hand in his own, slightly colder one. ‘Up you come.’

  ‘Thanks!’ I trill happily, almost careering right into him as he pulls me up from the ground. This is the third time he’s discovered me on my bottom instead of my feet – it’s becoming a habit. Shelley makes no effort to move, instead waving at Marco from her spot beneath the table.

  ‘She dropped her bottle,’ I explain, collapsing into the chair next to him. And then, more by way of an explanation, ‘We love tequila.’

  ‘I wonder if you will say the same thing in the morning,’ he replies.

  ‘Pardon?’ I shout, and he gives me a look.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ I tell him boldly, for once not caring that Shelley can hear me. ‘I had an epiphany today,’ I add, and he frowns in confusion.

  ‘An epiphany is like a—’ I begin, but he interrupts.

  ‘I understand epiphany.’

  ‘Clever clogs,’ I say, tapping his nose with my finger.

  For a second he just stares right at me, and our faces are so close together that I can smell the toothpaste on his breath.

  ‘Drink?’ he asks.

  ‘Beer, please!’ I tell him, and hear Shelley say something that sounds the same. While Marco’s over at the bar, I grab both her hands and pull her back up into her chair.

  ‘He’s so gorgeous,’ she says dreamily. ‘I want to kiss him.’

  ‘You should,’ I whisper back, wondering why the words feel like razor blades in my mouth.

  ‘He likes you, though,’ she whispers back, pouting sadly.

  ‘He likes boats,’ I giggle. ‘Show him your sails and maybe he’ll drop his anchor.’

  Shelley salutes Marco when he returns with three bottles of beer, then blows him a kiss when he goes back to collect two pints of water.

  ‘Drink this,’ he instructs gently, putting one down in front of each of us.

  ‘Boooooo!’ complains Shelley, curling up her nose. ‘More tequila!’

  ‘No more tequila,’ Marco says firmly, but it’s obvious he finds the two of us hilarious. I feel bad now for making fun of his boat obsession, and decide to make it up to him by reading his palm.

  ‘This is your life line,’ I slur, running my finger along one of the creases in his hand. ‘And this, right here, this is your love line.’

  He closes his fingers around mine.

  ‘What does it say?’

  I’m aware of a pulse beating insistently from somewhere deep inside my body.

  ‘That you will make many women fall in love with you,’ I declare, trying and failing to release my hand from his grasp. Shelley is at the bar trying to order more tequila, but the barman is pretending she isn’t there.

  ‘What if I only want one woman?’ he asks, his voice playful.

  ‘You can’t argue with the lines,’ I say regretfully, then add as an afterthought, ‘Your hair looks nice today.’

  He mutters something in Italian.

  ‘It does!’ I insist. ‘Did you run out of gel?’

  ‘Your hair is curlier today,’ he remarks, picking up one of my ringlets and running his fingers through it.

  ‘Do you like it?’ I ask, my voice sounding weird and husky.

  ‘I like it,’ he confirms.

  Shelley has given up badgering the barman now and has transferred her attention to the DJ, who is beckoning for Marco to join him.

  ‘Scusami,’ he says, letting go of my hair and standing up. I watch him stroll across the room, admiring his long, lean legs and the broadness of his shoulders inside his shirt. Shelley’s right, Marco is gorgeous. I don’t know why it’s taken me this long to realise just how gorgeous. That inexplicable pull I experienced the very first night we came to this bar has never felt stronger than it does now, and it dawns on me that I feel perfectly comfortable around Marco. I don’t mind him touching me any more. More than that, I quite like it.

  I reach for my beer and take a gulp, enjoying the feeling of being out, and being tipsy, and not feeling angry or tearful or anything other than blearily at peace. I don’t have the energy to be sad tonight. I just want to go back to being me again – the Taggie Torres who hadn’t had her heart broken, not once, but twice. I miss her.

  Marco returns to the table with Shelley trailing behind him.

  ‘Where are your shoes?’ I gasp, laughing as she points under the table.

  ‘I took them off. They’re bad shoes that hurt my feet.’

  ‘Naughty shoes!’ I cry in support, kicking out a leg and sending one of Shelley’s stilettos skidding across the floor of the bar.

  ‘My shooooe!’ she slurs, scurrying after it. And then, ‘I love this song!’

  The DJ, presumably after much begging from my brilliant friend, has put on ‘Never Forget’ by Take That.

  ‘I love it, too!’ I squeal, clambering across Marco to reach Shelley and throwing my arms around her with glee just as the chorus kicks in.

  When I look back towards the table, Marco has cheekily stuck a finger in each ear and is laughing at the two of us, his green eyes shining as he watches us jumping up and down.

  As Shelley swings me round and I stumble over her discarded shoe, I look again at Marco. There’s a brief, profound second where he simply stares back, and then he brings a hand up to his mouth and blows a kiss at me.

  38

  Lucy

  The last day of the year begins with clouds. Thick and grey and forbidding, they drift in front of the sun and dull the colours of the landscape, turning the lake from brilliant blue to sludgy green.

  I’ve ventured out on my own again, having left Pete to sleep off his half of the many bottles of beer we consumed last night, and come down to the edge of the water. I’m not sure what it is that draws me down here time and time again, but the need I feel to stare out across the lake is the same one I had as a child. It was even more difficult to sneak off alone back then, because Julia was never more than a foot away from me when we came on holiday. Back in Suffolk, she had her own friends and would boss me out of her bedroom whenever they came over, but in Como she needed an ally, someone to keep her entertained. I can remember well the day I took her down to the secret beach I’d discovered in Bellagio, and how proud I was of myself. I forever wanted to impress my big sister, who always seemed so much stronger and more together than me, and that desire has never wavered since.

  Being back in Como again after so many years has reminded me of who I was as a kid, so much stronger and more independent than I am as an adult. Perhaps my reluctance to spend time alone has all been in my head, because this is the second time now that I’ve felt compelled to slip away from Pete and venture out by myself. Am I less of a wimp than I think I am, or is it being back in Como that’s brought out this braver version of me?

  It’s not even nine a.m. yet, but the harbour is buzzing with activity. Waist-height metal railings are being erected all along the shore, and in the distance, I can see a group of men in high-visibility jackets milling around a large stage. There is going to be quite some party down here tonight, and now that I’m witnessing the preparations, I’m almost sad that Pete and I will miss most of it. When we first agreed on dinner and dancing at the Casa Alta Hotel, I was content with the thought of spending the night sitting opposite him – I imagined that it would be romantic. But since last night there’s this new tension between us, and now I fear that it may be more of an awkward affair. The old Lucy would have done anything to make things better; she would have held her tongue and been supportive of Pete no matter what, but I don’t feel like that Lucy this morning – and it’s not just because I’m hungover. I don’t want to keep sidelining myself – especially not when the person I’m doing it for is acting so unreasonable.

  I make my way through the park that has become so familiar over the past few days, and carry on past the Ferris wheel, thinking to myself that I’ll sit for a while on the wall by the big war memorial. When I get there, however, the need to keep mov
ing spurs me on, and I follow the lip of the lake round until the Aero Club comes into view. I like this part of the lake, where one park trails off and another begins, and I get a tingle as I look at the seaplanes bobbing in the water. That surprise flight Pete booked for us was an amazing experience, and I must make sure that I never forget how wonderful it felt to be up there with him, making an amazing memory for both of us to treasure.

  The sun is winning the battle against the clouds now, and the wind is chasing torch beams of light across the surface of the water. Every time I look up and outwards, the scenery changes, as browns become golds and greys become blues. I could stand for hours in the same spot and see so many things differently, just as I’m starting to see my relationship with Pete in a less clear-cut way now. Ever since I met him, all I’ve wanted is to be with him – I’ve never stopped to question whether or not it’s the right thing for me. I keep coming back to the suggestion that Julia made, about me spending some time by myself, and wondering if she’s on to something. But am I having these thoughts because I really want to be alone, or just because I’m scared that Pete will do to me what he did to his last girlfriend?

  I’ve drawn level with a seaplane now, which is anchored just offshore, and beyond it there’s a girl wearing a brown duffle coat, feeding bread to an excitable congregation of ducks, swans, seagulls and pigeons. I realise that it’s Taggie a fraction too late, and there’s nowhere for me to hide. Before I can turn back the way I came, she looks up and sees me.

  ‘Oh,’ she says, with barely a flicker. ‘It’s you.’

  39

  Taggie

  My first thought when I see Lucy standing there in front of me is how pretty she looks. Her blonde hair is fanned out over her shoulders, and she’s wearing a dark-green coat that perfectly complements her pale skin. While I shuffled down here in trainers and last night’s make-up, she’s painted her lips rosebud pink and added a hint of blush to her cheeks. She looks healthy and well rested, unlike me. Last night’s tequila, coupled with my ongoing inability to sleep for more than a few hours at a time, has left circles under my eyes that are darker than treacle, and my hair is a matted nest.

  ‘I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,’ she says, glancing at me nervously. One of the swans has waddled over to her hoping for more bread, and she takes a deliberate step away.

  ‘I’m just glad you’re alone,’ I tell her. ‘What have you done with Pete?’

  ‘He’s asleep,’ Lucy mutters, daring to meet my eyes. ‘He had quite a big night – we both did.’

  I remember the messages I got from him, the warning about my supposed boyfriend minding his own business, and frown with renewed confusion.

  ‘Pete’s a terrible drunk,’ I say, squinting slightly as the sun emerges from behind a cloud. The two aspirin tablets I swallowed before I left the hotel haven’t kicked in yet, and this unsettled weather is doing little to ease my headache.

  Lucy is looking out across the water rather than at me, but she doesn’t seem defensive or even uncomfortable – in fact, she’s oddly calm.

  ‘I’m finding out lots about him on this trip,’ she admits. ‘I thought I knew him quite well, but I guess I don’t. Not really.’

  So, he’s told her then. I’m surprised, but strangely not upset. Talking about it with Elsie must have helped me even more than I thought. There I was thinking that the answer was to bury it all, but that was just me being a coward, which is not a Taggie way to behave. However, I don’t want to talk about it with Lucy. She is still Pete’s girlfriend – the woman he replaced me with.

  ‘Do you live here?’ she asks me then, and I’m so relieved she’s changed the subject that I answer her truthfully, explaining about Elsie but not letting on where I work. She would be bound to tell Pete, and I don’t want him turning up at the Casa Alta.

  ‘You’re so lucky,’ Lucy enthuses. ‘This place is so incredible – I’ve loved it ever since I was a child.’

  ‘You came here as a kid, too?’ I reply, and she nods.

  ‘Yes. Every year until I was fourteen.’

  Perhaps that’s why she seems so familiar to me. Could it be that we encountered one another as children? The chances are slim, but then it would explain the nagging feeling I have that she and I have met before. I think about mentioning it, but then change my mind. She probably refers to me as ‘that crazy Taggie woman’ already, given what she witnessed on the boat. And anyway, I remind myself, she’s friends with the enemy.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Lucy says then, at last turning to face me properly. The birds have given up on us now and wandered away, and I stare hard at a pigeon that’s flown up on to the bench nearby.

  I take a deep breath. ‘I will be.’

  ‘I really do think Pete’s sorry, you know,’ she mumbles. ‘He feels so bad for hurting you.’

  ‘He turned his back on me,’ I tell her, failing to keep the hostility I feel from slipping into my voice. ‘I don’t know if I can forgive him for … Well, you know.’

  Lucy seems to agree, but there’s a hint of enquiry in her expression, as if she wants to ask me a question but is too scared.

  ‘Do you think he’s a good man?’ she says, which strikes me as weird. It feels like a trick question – especially in light of what I know he must have confessed to her.

  ‘I used to.’

  ‘Do you still love him?’

  ‘I don’t really think that’s …’ I pause, not wanting to be rude but feeling stung by her directness.

  ‘It’s OK.’ Lucy braves a small smile. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. I’m doing this new thing where I try to be brave and stand up for myself more, but it’s not really me.’

  Folding my arms across my chest, I dip my chin until it’s hidden inside the top of my coat. I don’t want to cry in front of her; I want to prove that I’m strong.

  ‘I can’t believe it’s the last day of the year,’ she says then, her hands deep in her pockets. ‘Time seems to go so fast these days.’

  ‘Mmm-hmm,’ I reply, still unable to speak for fear of a sob escaping.

  ‘We leave on the second,’ Lucy adds, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. There’s a diamond stud in her lobe, which keeps sparkling in the light from the sun, and an intricate floral brooch pinned to the front of her coat. The sky above us is almost completely blue now, and I gaze up at it in the hope of absorbing some of its reassuring beauty.

  ‘I thought you’d want to know.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I manage.

  ‘Back to work for me,’ Lucy groans good-naturedly, adding an eye roll for effect.

  ‘What do you do?’ I ask, wondering if she’s someone from Pete’s radio office.

  ‘I’m a nurse,’ she says, smiling properly for the first time since she walked over. ‘I work in the A&E department at All Saints Hospital in London, which is pretty mental, but I love it.’

  I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out except a hoarse sort of gurgle. My cheeks are burning and I feel my heart flutter inside my chest. I need to get away. I don’t want to be here any more.

  Lucy is peering at me now in concern, and I stumble backwards away from her.

  ‘Are you feeling all right?’ I hear her ask as I turn, so I wave a feeble hand in response.

  ‘Taggie!’ she calls, more loudly this time, but I shake my head, slipping now as I hurry away from her across the slimy cobbles.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ I shout. ‘Both of you, just leave me alone.’

  The next time I look back she’s still standing there, a green and blonde smudge against the grey of the pavement. I watch as she shakes her head, with pity or confusion I don’t know, and then she walks away.

  40

  Lucy

  I’m not sure what just happened.

  One minute Taggie seemed to be warming to me, and the next she seemed to turn to stone right in front of me, as if she’d seen a ghost or something. I tried to follow her, to check she was OK, but she waved me away as if I was contagious.
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br />   I shouldn’t have asked her if she was still in love with Pete, but it just came out. I selfishly wanted her to let me off the hook and tell me that she’s over him, but what the hell was I really expecting? That she’d give the two of us her blessing? Even I know that’s utterly absurd. Now I’ve upset her so much that I’ve caused her to get ill. I should have kept my stupid mouth shut. This is what happens when I try to channel Julia and ignore who I really am – I end up hurting people. If I wasn’t so insecure and paranoid all the time, then I wouldn’t have said anything to Taggie at all. But I am, and so I made a pathetic attempt to forge an alliance between us. Taggie isn’t the bloody enemy here, though – I am.

  I hurry back along the promenade, too distracted to enjoy the crunch of the dry leaves underfoot or the flawless vista of water and mountain and sky. Pete will be awake by now, but I have no idea what to say to him, or even if I should mention seeing Taggie at all. Didn’t we promise to be honest? I insisted on it. But I know that this will only wind him up, and perhaps even make him angry. I can’t face another outburst like the one he had over Marco yesterday.

  My mind is made up for me when I reach the apartment and find Pete still in bed. As soon as I close the door, he holds his arms out to me, and I rush gratefully into them. Taggie seemed so fragile this morning, her dark, beautiful eyes ringed with fatigue and her fingernails bitten down to the quick. I don’t want to be lonely and broken like she is, I want to be loved and cherished, and Pete is offering me those things. If I give up on him now, won’t I just become the architect of my own misery?

  ‘Sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up,’ I rush out, kissing his neck, his chest, the warm hollow of his throat.

  ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,’ he croons, taking my face in his hands. ‘You’re perfect. I’m the one who should be apologising.’

  I love it when he holds me like this, his big arms pressing me tightly against his chest. I feel safe in the nook of his affection, as if nothing can touch me.