Page 50 of In Italy for Love

Jules rummaged in her backpack for the foil tray of dog food she’d packed that morning and set it in front of Arco. He was so tired, he just stuck his nose against the packaging at first, before hauling himself to his feet and swallowing down the wet food seemingly without chewing.

‘Did he just burp?’ Alex asked, appearing in the room again with two glasses of water and a puzzled smile.

‘He burps a lot. Doesn’t Attila do that?’ Her own smile wobbled as she remembered that Attila was Laura’s pet and that was why Alex had stumbled over his admission the first night that he hadn’t named the cat. She certainly couldn’t fault him for keeping the truth from her when she now seemed to put her foot in it with every sentence she uttered.

But he didn’t get that haunted look in his eyes, he just said, ‘Attila would never burp with an audience, so if he does, I’ll never hear it.’

‘He should teach Arco some manners while we’re here.’

‘Did you say you’ve only had Arco just over a year? How did that happen?’ he asked as he opened the door of the tiled stove and peered in.

‘God, you want to hear all about my stupid mistakes? Now I finally understand a little what you’ve been through, I feel bad for complaining about a break-up.’

‘Jules,’ he said carefully, his voice deep. ‘We don’t compare heartache. It doesn’t help anyone, including me. I have enough pity from myself.’ He rubbed a hand over his eyes.

‘You’re right,’ she agreed.

Satisfied with her answer, Alex turned away again to stuff some newspaper and three pieces of wood into the stove, adding a rolled-up firelighter and setting it all expertly alight with asingle match, allowing them to burn with the door open for a few moments. Staring into the flames, it seemed easier for her to talk.

‘Arco is a symptom of my stubbornness. I jumped into the relationship with Luca too fast and I stayed to salvage my pride. Maybe I sensed him drawing away and I thought a pet might keep us together, but it only gave us something else to argue about after we broke up.’

‘Is that why you didn’t want to stay with me? Did it trigger your feelings, moving in with someone you… well, you know.’

‘I didn’t really think of it like that,’ she reassured him. ‘That one time with you was very different from the two years with Luca. And my main worry was keeping my hands off you.’

‘That challenge I am familiar with,’ he said earnestly, turning around again, but when he pressed his lips together, she could make out the smile he was stifling. ‘Luca, is it?’ he asked. ‘The guy I’m supposed to beat up? What? The beating up was your idea.’

‘It was not. I prefer non-violence.’

‘So you want me to beat him up in a figurative sense?’

‘Do you have a special book of Furlan insults or something?’

His smile broke out and it felt like she’d won a prize. ‘We save those for the people of Trieste.’

‘You weirdos,’ she teased.

‘“Va’ a vore.” That’s what a Furlan would tell your Luca.’ He stood and disappeared back into the kitchen.

‘What does it mean?’ she called after him, scooting to the end of the bench so she could see him stirring something over the gas stove.

‘“Go to work”,’ he translated. ‘He sounds a bit useless.’

Jules snorted water up her nose. Alex peered around the doorway in concern, but she waved him back into the kitchen, pressing a hand to her chest. ‘I’m okay,’ she croaked. ‘But howdo you say it again? I love that. He always had big plans for the future, but getting his hands dirty in the here and now was not his style.’

‘Whereas you’ve been a lifesaver for Maddalena. No wonder Berengario insists you have Friulian roots.’ He set two bowls of thick stew with beans and chunks of something unidentifiable onto the table and collapsed into the chair opposite Jules with a tired sigh. The dish would have looked less than appetising if it weren’t for the scent of garlic and smoked meat rising off it. ‘Va’ a vore,’ he repeated. ‘That’s the phrase.’

‘Mandi, va’ a vore!’ she said, grinning when he chuckled. ‘Bon pitìc,’ she added, gesturing to the bowls.

‘You remembered the Furlan for “buon appetito”?’ He looked impressed and she wished she could take credit for being amazing at languages.

But in this case, there was a simple explanation that didn’t involve much effort on her part. ‘It’s painted on one of your ceramic bowls,’ she reminded him.

‘It’s still appreciated, when you try to learn the language.’

If he kept giving her those smiles, she’d have all the incentive she needed to learn Furlan.

‘What’s this dish, then?’ she asked.

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