Evening Class (56 page)

And she enquired nervously at the desk had there been any more messages.

‘No, Signora Kane, nothing at all.’

Barry and Fiona were going to the bar where Barry had met all the wonderful Italians during the World Cup. He had pictures taken that summer, flags and bunting and Jack Charlton hats.

‘Have you written and told them we’re coming?’ Fiona asked.

‘No, it’s not that kind of scene, you just turn up and they’re all there.’

‘Every night?’

‘No, but you know… most nights.’

‘But suppose they came looking for you in Dublin, you mightn’t be in the pub the night they came. Don’t you have any names and addresses?’

‘Names and addresses aren’t important in something like this,’ Barry said.

Fiona hoped he was right. He had set so much store by meeting them all and living through those glory days again. He would be very disappointed if it turned out that nobody ever gathered there any more. Or worse if they had forgotten him.

That was the evening that everyone was at leisure. If things had been different Connie might have gone window-shopping with Fran and Kathy and had coffee at a pavement cafe. But Connie was afraid to go out at night in case somebody really was waiting to push her in front of the cars that sped up and down the Roman streets.

If things had been different Signora and Aidan would have had supper together and planned the visit to the Vatican next day. But he was hurt and lonely and she had to be somewhere quiet until she could think over the turbulent proposal that had been made to her.

They wanted her to go back and help in the hotel, bring them English-speaking visitors, be part of the life she had looked on for so long as an outsider. It would have made sense of all those years she had watched and waited. It would be a future for her now as well as a past. Alfredo had begged her to come back. Even for a visit first, so that she could see how things were. She would realise all that she could contribute and know how much people had admired her. So Signora sat alone in a cafe thinking about what it would be like.

And a few streets away Aidan Dunne sat and tried to think about all the good things that had come out of this trip. He had managed to create a class that had not only stayed together for the year but had travelled in a block to Rome at the end of it. These people would never have done that without him. He had shared his love of Italy with them, nobody had been bored at his lecture today. He had done all he had set out to do. It had in fact been a year of triumph. But of course he had to listen to the other voice, the voice that said it was all Nora’s doing. It was she who had created the real enthusiasm, with her silly games and her boxes pretending to be hospitals and railway stations and restaurants. It was Nora who had called them these fancy names and believed that one day they would go on a
viaggio
. And now that she was back here in Italy its magic had worked too strongly for her.

She had to talk business, she told him. What business could she have with a waiter from Sicily, even if she
had
known him as a child? He ordered a third beer without even noticing. He looked out at the crowds walking around on the hot Roman night. He had never felt so lonely in his life.

Kathy and Fran said they were going for a walk, they had planned a route and it would end up in the Piazza Navona where they went the first night. Would Laddy like to come?

Laddy looked at the route. It would pass the street where his friends the Garaldis lived. ‘We won’t go in?’ Laddy said. ‘But I can point out the house to you.’

When they saw the house Fran and Kathy were dumbfounded.

‘We can’t possibly be going to a party in a place like that,’ Kathy said.

‘
Giovedi
,’ Laddy said proudly. ‘Thursday, you’ll see. He wants all of us, the whole forty-two. I said to him
quarantadue
but he said
si, si, benissimo
.’

It was only one more extraordinary thing about this holiday.

Connie waited for a while in her room for Signora to return; she wanted to give her the information and the surprise. But it got dark and she never came back. From outside the window came the sounds of chatter and people calling to each other as they went along the street, the distant sound of traffic and of cutlery clinking in a nearby restaurant. Connie decided that she would not allow herself to feel imprisoned by this mean, cowardly letter-writer. Whoever it was would not kill her in a public place even if it was someone sent by Harry.

‘To hell with him, if I stay in tonight he’s won,’ she said aloud. She walked around the corner to a pizza parlour and sat down. She didn’t notice someone following her from outside the door of the Hotel Francobollo.

Lou and Suzi were across the river in Trastevere. They had walked with Bill and Lizzie around the little Piazza but, as Signora had warned, the restaurants were a bit too pricey for them. Wasn’t it wonderful that they had learned all that about the
piatto del giorno
, and how to think in lire rather than translating it back into Irish money all the time.

‘Maybe we should have kept our sandwiches from lunchtime,’ Lizzie said sadly.

‘We can’t go in the door of these places,’ Suzi said philosophically.

‘It’s not fair as a system, you know,’ Lou said. ‘Most of those people are on the take somehow, they all have an angle, a scene for themselves. Believe me, I know…’

‘Sure, Lou, but it doesn’t matter.’ Suzi didn’t want the murky past brought up. It was never discussed but it was hinted at wistfully when Lou might sometimes tell her how the living could have been very easy had she not been so righteous.

‘Do you mean like stolen credit cards?’ Bill asked, interested.

‘No, nothing like that, just doing favours, someone does a favour and they get a dinner, or a big favour and they get many dinners or a car. It’s as simple as that.’

‘You’d have to do a lot of favours to get a car,’ Lizzie said.

‘Yes and no. It’s not doing a lot, it’s just being reliable. I think that’s what people want when favours are being exchanged.’

They all nodded, mystified. Sometimes Suzi looked at her huge emerald engagement ring. So many people had claimed it was the real thing that she had begun to believe that it might have been the result of a huge favour Lou had done for somebody. There was a way of finding out, like having it valued. But then she would know one way or the other. Far better to leave it as part of the unknown.

‘I wish someone would ask us to do them a favour,’ Lizzie said, looking at the restaurant with the musicians going from table to table, and the flower sellers passing amongst the diners selling long-stemmed roses.

‘You keep your eyes peeled, Elizabetta,’ said Lou with a laugh.

And at that moment a man and woman rose to their feet at a table near the road, the woman slapped the man across the face, the man snatched her handbag and leaped over the little hedge that formed the restaurant wall.

In two seconds Lou had caught him. He held one of the man’s arms behind his back in a lock that was obviously extremely painful, he raised the other hand, the one holding the stolen handbag, high for all to see. Then he marched him through all the guests right up to the proprietor.

Huge explanations in Italian were exchanged, leading to the arrival of the
carabinieri
in a van and enormous excitement all around. They never got to know what had happened. Some Americans nearby said they thought the woman had picked up a gigolo. Some English people said that he was the woman’s boyfriend who had been taking a cure for drug addiction. A French couple said that it was just a lovers’ tiff but it was good that the man should be taken to a police station.

Lou and his friends were the heroes of the hour. The woman was offering him a reward. Lou was quick to translate it into a meal for four. This seemed entirely suitable to all parties.

‘
Con vino, se epossibile
?’ Lou added. They drank themselves into a stupor and had to take a taxi home.

‘It wash the besht time I ever had,’ Lizzie said as she fell twice before getting into the taxi.

‘It’s all a matter of looking for opportunities,’ said Lou.

Connie looked around the pizza place. They were mainly young people, her children’s age. They were animated and lively, interrupting each other laughing. Very alive and aware. Suppose this were to be the last place she was to see. Suppose it were really true and someone stalked after her leaving frightening messages at the hotel. But she couldn’t be killed in front of everyone here? It wasn’t possible. And yet how else to explain the letter? It was still in her handbag. Maybe if she were to write a note to leave with it just in case, a note explaining how she feared it might be from Harry, or one of his associates, as he always called them. But was this madness? Or was he just trying to make her go mad? Connie had seen films where this happened. She must not let it happen to her. A shadow fell over the table and she looked up, expecting the waiter or someone to ask for one of the spare chairs. But her eyes met those of Siobhan Casey, her husband’s mistress of many years. The woman who had helped Harry salt away money not once but twice.

Her face was different now, older and much more tired. There were lines where they had never been before. Her eyes were bright and wild. Connie suddenly felt very afraid indeed. Her voice dried in her throat. No words would come out.

‘You’re still alone,’ Siobhan said, her face scornful. Connie still couldn’t speak. ‘It doesn’t matter what city or how many deadbeats you travel with, you still end up having to go out by yourself.’ She gave a little bark of a laugh with no humour in it.

Connie struggled to remain calm, she must not let the fear show in her face. Years of pretending that everything was normal stood to her now. ‘I’m not by myself any more,’ she said, pushing a chair towards Siobhan.

Siobhan’s brow darkened further. ‘Always the grand lady with nothing to back it up. Nothing.’ Siobhan spoke loudly and angrily. People began to look at them, sensing a scene about to begin.

Connie spoke in a low voice. ‘This is hardly the setting for a grand lady,’ she said. She hoped her voice wasn’t shaking.

‘No, it’s part of the slumming duchess routine. You have no real friends so you go and patronise a crowd of no-hopers, and you come on their cheapo trip with them and even then they don’t want you. You’ll always be alone, you should prepare for it.’

Connie breathed a little more easily. Perhaps Siobhan Casey did not intend to launch a murderous attack on her after all. She wouldn’t speak about an empty, lonely future if she were about to kill her. It gave Connie a little courage. ‘I am prepared for it. Haven’t I been alone for years?’ she said simply.

Siobhan looked at her, surprised. ‘You’re very cool, aren’t you?’

‘No, not really.’

‘You knew the letter was from me?’ Siobhan asked. Did she seem disappointed, or was she pleased she had instilled such fear? Her eyes still glinted madly. Connie was unsure which way to react. Would it be better to admit that she had no idea, or was it more clever to say that she had rumbled Siobhan from the start? It was a nightmare trying to guess which way would be the right one.

‘I thought it must be, I wasn’t sure.’ She marvelled at how steady her own voice was.

‘Why me?’

‘You’re the only one who really cared enough about Harry to write it.’

There was a silence. Siobhan stood leaning on the back of the chair. Around them the babble and laughter of the restaurant went on as before. The two foreign woman did
not
appear to be about to have a fight, as had looked possible. There was nothing of interest there any more. Connie would not ask her to sit down. She would not pretend that matters were so normal between them that they could sit together as ordinary people. Siobhan Casey had threatened to kill her, she was literally mad.

‘You know he never loved you at all, you do know that?’ Siobhan said.

‘In truth possibly he did, the very beginning, before he knew I didn’t enjoy sex.’

‘Enjoy it!’ Siobhan snorted at the word. ‘He said you were pathetic, lying there whimpering, tight and terrified. That was the word he used about you. Pathetic.’

Connie’s eyes narrowed. This was disloyalty of a spectacular sort. Harry knew how she had tried, how she had yearned for him. It was very cruel to tell Siobhan all the details. ‘I did try, you know, to get something done about it.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Yes. It was upsetting and distressing and painful, and in the end did no good at all.’

‘They told you that you were a dyke, was that it?’ Siobhan stood swaying, mocking, her lank hair falling over her face. She was hardly recognisable as the efficient Miss Casey of former times.

‘No, and I don’t think that
was
it.’

‘So what
did
they say?’ Siobhan seemed interested in spite of herself.

‘They said that I couldn’t trust men because my father had gambled away all our money.’

‘That is pure bullshit,’ Siobhan said.

‘That’s what I said too. A little more politely, but it’s what I meant,’ Connie said, with weak attempt at a smile.

Unexpectedly, Siobhan pulled out the chair and sat down. Now that Connie didn’t have to look up at her any more she saw close up the ravages that the past months had worked on Siobhan Casey. Her blouse was stained, her skirt ill-fitting, her fingernails bitten and dirty. She wore no make-up and her face was working and moving all the time. She must be two or three years younger than I am, Connie thought; she looks years older.

Was it true that Harry had told her that he was finished with her? This was what must have unhinged her. Connie noticed the way she picked up the knife and fork and fingered them, moving them from hand to hand. She was very disturbed. They were not out of the wood yet.

‘It was all such a waste when you look back on it. He should have married you,’ Connie said.

‘I don’t have the style, I couldn’t have been the kind of hostess he wanted.’

‘That was only a small and very superficial part of his life. He practically lived with you.’ Connie was hoping that these tactics would work. Flatter her, tell Siobhan that she was central to Harry’s life. Don’t let her brood and realise it was all over now.