Page 9 of Livia in Rome
‘That’s not...I didn’t...’ Heat rushes to my face, and Inner Isla chooses that moment to mutter something about it being worth a second glance – traitor.
Ma puts her phone down and leans her elbows on the counter. ‘Play nice,tesoro.Giulio’s just being helpful.’
‘It’s OK, Caterina. I’m sure Livia didn’t mean to be abrupt. It’s easy to get muddled when Italian’s not your first language. That’s what the lessons are for.’
Ooft!A double dig – not only reminding me about my Italian lessons, but insinuating I need them too.
I spread my hands towards Ma in silent appeal –See what he’s like?
But Ma, missing the subtext as usual, shakes her head fondly. ‘I’m afraid you’re being too generous,caro.’
I bite back the retort on the tip of my tongue and glare at Giulio instead. Generous? Not the word I’d use.
‘Aren’t we closing for lunch?’ I ask, keen to get rid of him.
Many bars here shut during the hottest hours of the day, and I know Nina does too, but Ma shakes her head. ‘I need to do a stocktake and see what’s what. We may as well stay open.’
But even with the doors flung wide, no one comes in. And as the afternoon drags on, I get a clearer picture of how Giulio’s been managing on his own while Nina’s been in hospital. The place is dead. Sodead, it’s only 7 p.m. when Ma announces we’re closing early – early for Italy, that is. Back in Scotland, we’d already have shut the doors. And while I’m glad to see Giulio leave, taking his smug comments and irritating smirk with him, I get why Ma’s wondering how Nina’s getting by.
Ma pushes some buttons on the till and it spews out a receipt. ‘It won’t take me long to cash up. Want to eat on the terrace tonight?’
‘The terrace?’ I echo, surprised. I didn’t even know there was one.
She raises an eyebrow. ‘You haven’t been yet? You were desperate to get up there when you were little. We had to watch you like a hawk.’
Memories flash through my mind of a staircase behind a door, and of Nina turning a key and pocketing it.
I climb the steps and find myself on a tiny roof terrace crowded with luscious potted plants and mismatched bits of outdoor furniture. But it’s the view that really grabs my attention. I finally get why Pa’s so obsessed with Golden Hour. The sun is low in the sky over Rome, its warm light hitting the red rooftops and mustardy-coloured palazzos that are crammed together like Tetris pieces. If it weren’t for the intense heat and the sounds of voices and trafficaround me, I’d think it was a painting.
A free-standing hammock in striped deckchair colours sits off to one side. It sways invitingly at my gentle push, so I tentatively hoist one leg only to end up doing a bad impression of the splits. It swings sideways as I hop closer with my standing leg, then it’s a full thirty seconds before I’m properly inside. It could be the sun, but I am suddenly hot all over and worried that someone in the neighbouring palazzos has seen my awkward moves.
But when I’m finally lying down, my weight supported by the strong fabric, the worries of the day lift away too. Cocooned, one finger poised to Face-Time Isla, I smile to myself. I’ve found my first Roman happy place – which is good, because I’m not entirely sure I know how to get out of this thing.
I wriggle deeper. Could I sleep out here? Better this than a collage of Giulios staring down at me. My own little escape, far away from that smug, annoying—
‘Don’t post any more letters to the bar, OK?’
Is that...Giulio? At first, I think I’m hallucinating – it’s still so hot, and I’m frazzled to the max after spending the whole day with him – but then his voice drifts over again.
‘I told you. I’m not alone any more...and the daughter mustn’t find out.’
My heart thunders in my chest, so loudly I’m afraid the sound will carry like Giulio’s disembodied voice. I peer over the edge of the hammock, confirming what my sinking stomach already knows. Giulio’s apartment has access to the adjoining roof terrace.
And . . .ommioddio. . . what daughter? Does he mean me . . . or Ma?
Iwake up to Isla’s name flashing on my buzzing phone. She’s already up and dressed when I answer – the cattery’s communal area with its multilevel play spaces and cosy igloos behind her. From the camera angle, I’m fairly certain she’s propped me up on a litter box in the sanitation corner.
‘Liv! Sorry I couldn’t speak last night. Your mum says you’re still in bed, but I wanted to catch you before the cat chaos takes over.’
I sit up. I didn’t get to tell her about Giulio’s shady phone conversation last night because when I called, she was mid-argument with a bouncer accusing her (correctly) of having a fake ID.
‘You’ve spoken to Ma already?’ I check the time, worried I’ve woken up late again. But there’s still forty minutes until the bar opens.
Isla rolls her eyes. ‘She called five minutes ago to quiz me on the evacuation procedures. Again.’
Yep, that sounds like Ma. ‘I wish she had a procedure to evacuate Giulio. He’s—eww!’
A cat’s bottom fills my screen.
