Page 106 of The Start of Something Wonderful

She takes my arm and leads me into the front room.

While the sisters exchange some words in dialect, I look around. The apartment is very similar to Anna’s: old-school Austrian, with high, ornate ceilings, weighty oak wood furniture, traditional double doors, lace mats and antimacassars,framed photographs, and watercolour paintings depicting alpine scenes.

Francesco appears from the kitchen, the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt neatly rolled above the elbows.

‘Buonasera!’ he says, kissing each of us in turn. He cracks open a bottle of Sekt and Cristina takes four crystal glasses from the carved, antique cabinet.

‘Prost!’

‘Salute!’

‘Cheers!’

We sit downto an antipasto misto of mixed Austrian meats followed by Melanzane Aubergine Parmigiano.

‘The last time I went to the opera was in nineteen eighty-eight,’ says Anna, putting down her knife and fork, and producing a sepia snapshot from her purse. ‘This night it was alsoLa Bohème.’ She passes me the picture of a young man in military uniform. Her eyes mist over as she continues, ‘Since manyyears, my Walter has wished with his whole heart to see this opera. I save my money to buy the tickets – to make his dream true. Three days after we see it,Gotthas taken him from me.’

I return the picture to her and cover her hand with mine.

‘Now,’ she says, voice brightening, ‘Francesco, it is my turn – today I makeschnell, quickly, just for you, Austrian speciality.’ She producesa foil-covered dinner plate from her basket. ‘ApfelstrudelAnna.’ We applaud the strudel, and Cristina shuffles off to the kitchen to heat up the vanilla sauce.

* * *

We make it to the opera house with fifteen minutes to spare, but arrive at our seats (luxury) just as the lights go down.

The orchestra is tuning up. I steal a sideways glance at Francesco. He takes my hand in his. Ilook away quickly and try to focus on the story. That Mimi will die in the end is a given, but the circumstances leading up to this are doubtless complicated, and will require the utmost concentration, particularly as the dialogue is sung in Italian.

* * *

The interval arrives. Francesco goes to the bar while I nab a table. I put on my glasses and look at the programme. I need to knowwhat the big deal was with Musetta’s shoe at the end of Act Two. What the hell has a goddamn shoe got to do with anything? Why did she suddenly take it off and give it to the bearded man? It was like she wanted him to try it on, or something. It doesn’t make sense. And I’d been doing so well up to that point.

‘Salute, cara!’ says Francesco, handing me a glass of Sekt and clinking glasses.

‘Salute!’

* * *

As Mimi lies dying, she and Rodolfo recall their past happiness, in the soul-stirring duet ‘Sono Andati?’ (‘Have They Left Us?’)

A huge tear rolls down my cheek. I’m not just crying for Mimi and Rodolfo, but for Anna and Walter, who sat in this very place, listening to the same opera almost thirty years ago, and who were to be parted for ever just days later.

The music rises to a crescendo. I feel his hand squeezing mine, then our fingers entwine. The space between us is electric. I close my eyes and let the music swallow me up. I don’t want him to ever let go of my hand or for the music to stop. I wish I could hold on to this moment for ever.

* * *

Placing his arm firmly around my shoulders, Francesco propels me across the cold, windy square.

‘Vai!Vai!’

My hat blows off, and as he runs back to pick it up, I notice an attractive, middle-aged woman standing at the tram stop. She cuts a lone, forlorn figure, shoulders hunched against the rain, a Billa supermarket bag at her feet. She smiles wistfully then looks away. I am reminded of that night, waiting for Mags, eating a hotdog and enviously watching the loved-up couple dashingacross the square.

I wonder if the woman at the tram stop is going home to her partner, or to her one-bed flat and ready meal. Did someone break her heart? Is she trapped in a dead-end job or relationship, too afraid to make a change? If so, I’d like to say to her, It’s never too late. Life doesn’t always go the way we plan, but some things happen for a reason. I had my heart badly brokenand my world fell apart. But the life I have now is better than the one before. I’ve learned to be stronger, to not put up with shitty behaviour, and to just enjoy being in the here and now. So hang on in there.

On the other hand, she’s probably perfectly happy and wondering why there’s a strange woman gawping at her.

The Graben’s opulent shop windows, a-shimmer with extravagant displays,cast their reflection onto the wet cobbles.

A violinist, wearing an old army coat, plays a waltz before the Pestsäule statue, undeterred by the downpour and lack of audience. Francesco tosses a handful of euros into the young man’s instrument case, gives a little bow, and holds his hand out to me.

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