Someone to Love (11 page)

Antonio grabbed her hand and, without looking away, stamped a kiss on her lips. “You're more beautiful when you're angry.”

“And you're just an idiot,” she said with a half smile.

It didn't seem like the kiss had annoyed her that much.

“Hey, guys, calm down, not here,” I ventured with a smile. “I'm not ready to see certain things yet,” I added, amused.

Antonio gave me a little nudge. “Oh shut up, you dream about them with that policeman.”

Fiamma instantly gave him a withering glance. I merely ignored the gaze focussed on me.

The bell informed us that someone was needed at reception.

“You go, Fiamma. I'll take care of the dogs,” I said, putting on scrubs and placing the cup on the desk.

I went down the corridor and walked quickly towards the cage with the young pit bull, I pulled the safety latch and opened the cage.

Before I knew what was happening, I found myself receiving an enthusiastic welcome. Her tail beat against the wall and her wet tongue licked my hand, hoping to receive the meaty biscuit I held between my fingers.

I had a moment of inspiration.

“Happy. I will call you Happy,” I repeated, stroking her brown coat.

Happy looked at me and raised her ears. Yes, she liked her new name.

“You're a beautiful little dog, you know? If Bubu saw you, he would go mad.”

She was young and would easily get over her terrible ordeal. I looked at her in silence for a few minutes, her eyes were full of infinite sweetness. Expressive and intelligent.

“How could they have done this to you?” I asked, more to myself than to her. “Look at you, you haven't got anything aggressive about you,” I thought, continuing to stroke her curious nose.

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I looked at the name on the display and my good mood vanished instantly: it was my mother. After a while I answered it.

“Mia, Mia!” she was apparently in the grip of hysteria.

I moved the phone a little further away from my ear. “Breathe, Mummy. What's happened? What's wrong?” I asked, worried.

“What do you mean ‘What's wrong'? Can't a mother call her daughter?”

“Yes, sure. It just seems so strange—”

I couldn't finish my sentence before she confirmed my theory.

“Why do you always have to embarrass us? Isn't Alberto enough for you?” she asked argumentatively.

“Alberto? I don't understand…” I said no more. In my mind the pieces of the puzzle began to connect. I already knew what she was going to tell me.

“Why among all the possible daughters in the world, did I have to end up with such a dumb one? Why do you hate me so much? Tell me, and I'll deal with it,” she added. “What's wrong with Alberto? He's rich, intelligent and a charming man. What else are you looking for?” she pronounced the final sentence with contempt.

I was tempted to get hold of a cage, shut my mother up inside it and abandon her at the zoo. Why was she only interested in my love life? As if I couldn't live without a man beside me.

I held the phone to my ear to make sure I had really heard her properly. I clenched my fists so hard that my nails dug into my palms. I tried to remain calm so as not to hurt myself.

“I love you too, Mum. Alberto did nothing wrong, the problem isn't him. It's you. When will you stop treating me like I'm a nothing?” I asked, angry and offended. “When will you learn to look beyond the money and figure out who your daughter really is and what she wants?” I went on, my voice trembling. “You always put my sister on a pedestal, just because she's married to a puppet full of money, and her only concern is to have more clothes than her friends.” I spat the words out with all the anger I had.

My mother was silent for a few seconds. “It's not true. For me you are equal, I only want the best for both of you. I didn't want this life for you.”

I looked up at the sky.

“Here we go again! You know what? What I have now is all I ever wanted. If my grandparents were still alive they would be happy for me. They supported my choices, always. I'm sorry, Mum, sometimes you're so petty. Goodbye.”

I put the phone down. Happy was lying next to me, her eyes staring at me. She looked worried and scared, so I hugged her gently.

It was animals like her that gave me the confidence to be who I was. Without them I would feel lost.

Happy merely laid her muzzle on my legs. She didn't need words, that simple gesture was enough.

“Can I come in?” Fiamma asked, poking her head into the room.

“Come in, I was waiting for you. I was reflecting on the activities for the hospital and a few possible candidates to take.”

A smile flickered on Fiamma's lips. “Let's get to work.”

We spent the next several hours finalizing a plan. We had to find two dogs suitable for the purpose, well behaved and obedient, not fearful and capable of making the children genuinely happy. One would be Bubu but the other was yet to be chosen.

I put my pen down on the notebook, I rolled my sleeves up and stared into the distance trying to organize my ideas. I started drumming my foot on the floor, as I did when I was impatient or looking for a solution. Now I knew what I had to do.

I crossed the hall briskly, pushed the door open and entered the room where all the cages were.

A three months old puppy, who had been abandoned a few nights earlier in front of the clinic, began to howl and the other dogs joined him in a deafening chorus of yelps and barks. I had to calm the situation down quickly.

I re-assured the puppy, taking him into my arms, and holding him against my chest. Instead of squirming to escape, he headed straight for my face and began licking me incessantly.

“So, have you found the second candidate?” asked Fiamma through the doorway.

I shook my head. “Not yet, but I'm considering all possibilities.”

With a pencil in hand, Fiamma scaled the various barriers and knelt beside the door to Casper's cage. “What do you think of him?” she asked, pointing at him.

I walked over for a better view. I was unconvinced. “Do you really think so?” I asked seriously. Casper watched us, sitting with his head slightly tilted, as if he too, was thinking.

“Why not? Casper is a very good dog, we tested him and he proved to be patient and well behaved. He doesn't have any aggressive tendencies. He could be perfect for the job.” Fiamma stood up and smiled.

With my free hand I scratched my head, trying to collect my thoughts. “I don't know… Maybe we could use this puppy,” I continued, looking determined. “After all, children are more attracted to puppies than to adult dogs.”

I lifted him, holding him under two front legs, as in the
Lion King
scene.

He squirmed, stretching all four limbs and sporting a hairless belly.

Fiamma shook her head a few times, pursing her lips. “Mia, I thought you were smarter…”

This comment, funny and unexpected, made me a laugh. “Please, continue, teacher,” I said, amused.

Casper took a few steps forward, as if he was trying to eavesdrop. He had good reason, as he was the subject of the dispute. “You said there's a little boy on the mend after a long illness, a child waiting for a transplant and a third with autism…”

I tried to put the puppy in the padded basket, but he resisted, pushing his wet nose under my chin. I would hold him in my arms for a little longer. “Yes, and where exactly are we going with this?”

She smirked. “For a child, forced in to hospital for treatment, I think it is easier to relate to a dog that has suffered as well.”

“I have no idea if that is the case. I think it would be better to see a dog that is bursting with health,” I said.

“But for that there's Bubu!” She went on, convinced. “Imagine being a sick child, forced to live locked up in a hospital room. And suddenly you see a battered dog. One of those that you wouldn't dream of taking home, but that at the same time makes you feel tenderness. Would you not want to take care of it and rejoice in seeing it recover?” she stared at me. “Wouldn't you want to heal with it?”

Her speech was so convincing that I felt stupid not to have thought of it before. I looked at Casper, eagerly sniffing the wire mesh that separated us. “Want to join us?” I asked with anticipation.

He held up a paw and laid it against the bars of the cage, small tufts of hair sticking out from under his dark paws.

Poor thing, it was disarming to see him in that state, but we knew that the Maremma shepherd in him would be back soon.

Fiamma leaned against the wall, watching the whole scene. “Casper is a dog that you can easily spoil. Antonio has already been a victim of his ‘give me a biscuit' look.”

“I can imagine. Almost every dog would sell itself for such a delicacy,” I went on, drawing a dog biscuit from my pocket.

The puppy stared at it with eyes full of desire, trying to reach it with his mouth wide open and displaying small sharp teeth.

“No, go and sit down without making a fuss,” I ordered, fighting against that little body so full of energy. “You have to learn good manners. Now it's not your turn. And then look at you, you're still too little for them.”

The puppy crouched, giving me a sad look. “Look at him? He's trying to make us feel guilty.”

“Dogs are all born actors. They have the ability to imitate our behaviour… Look at him now, how he's trying to win us over with his eyes.”

I shifted my attention to the leash on the shelf. “I agree, and I would say that the young man definitely deserves a walk. Right, Casper?”

I opened the cage door and he stuck his nose out, scanning the environment outside. Casper took a step toward me. His bones were no longer sticking out, and in two weeks he would be fully recovered.

Yes, Casper would be the second candidate.

The following morning, I woke up before the alarm rang, but stayed wrapped up in the duvet for a while, before going down for breakfast.

As I sipped milky coffee from my grandmother's favourite cup, there was a knock on the door. A little early to be the postman, according to my calculations.

“Who is it?” I asked, approaching the door.

“It's Diego.”

His voice startled me. Heck, my hair was collected with a plastic clip, I had no makeup and, even worse, I was wearing threadbare pyjamas in a teddy bear print. I looked down at my dog muzzle slippers.

“Do you have something to tell me?” I asked, trying to fix my rebellious mass of hair.

“If you let me come in, maybe we can talk calmly. And I need my jacket.”

“Uhm… Do you have to come in?”

“Not necessarily, if you want you can come out,” he said, with a note of sarcasm.

“No, I can't come out,” I replied drily. “I just woke up and I haven't had time to get dressed,” I added. “Come on, open it!” he continued, with his usual annoying insistence. “I have croissants, they're still warm, we can have breakfast together.”

“Do you think you can bribe me with croissants? I don't remember having invited you.” I wasn't going to give in.

“Ok, I'm inviting myself…” he admitted resignedly. “What shall I do, shall I leave them on the the doorstep? It's a shame, they're really very good.”

“Swear you won't tease me,” I said seriously.

I felt a chuckle from behind the door. “I promise I will not laugh.”

I looked at myself again, my appearance was terrible. Maybe Diego was the type who would have appreciated the potential sensuality of my chastity pyjamas.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, his mouth widened. He was holding back a laugh with obvious effort. Too bad the result was clumsy and his grimace all but appealing.

“Oh God, no… Please, please. Get out!” I cried, trying to throw him out.

“Be careful, you'll squash them,” he said, placing the bag of croissants on the table in the hall way.

“You're an asshole,” I said, crossing my arms and pouting.

I tried to open the door again, but his body prevented me. “Did someone get out on the wrong side of the bed, today?” he quipped. I snorted and went to get changed. “You might as well have a seat.”

I accompanied the words with an eloquent gesture. “I'll be down in a minute. If you can, set the table for breakfast. You'll find everything you need in the cupboard in the living room,” I said, climbing the stairs.

While I was trying to retreive a green V-neck sweater and a pair of jeans from the chaos in my wardrobe, I heard Diego clattering around in the kitchen with cups and saucers. I brushed my hair and when I was ready I stared at myself in the mirror. Out of spite, I made him wait at least another ten minutes, then went downstairs.

The table was lovely. Diego had taken a rose from the bouquet of flowers he had given me the night we ate together and placed it on the table; two hot steaming cups of coffee were standing on the colourful place mats and beside each one was a plate with a freshly baked croissant.

“Wow,” I whispered in a faint voice.

“Sit down,” quipped Diego, pulling out a chair for me to sit on.

I indulged.

“I discovered a family run café that sells home made pastries. Try it,” he said, with a wink. I squeezed the croissant between my finger and thumb, sank my teeth into the soft dough and tore out a large bite. The taste was intense. The outside was fragrant and crisp, and the softness inside was sweetened by a cherry jam heart. I let out a small sigh of pleasure.

“You like it, don't you?” asked Diego, watching me. “Very much. My God, it's a bomb!” I exclaimed with satisfaction.

“Be careful, I see a smile on the way.”

“That's not true,” I said.

“Has anyone ever told you that you're really bad at telling lies?”

“Has anyone ever told you that I'll end up reporting you for stalking?”