‘I overheard you telling Mary how much you liked it there one day,’ he said, signalling to move away from the pavement. ‘I wanted to take you somewhere you’d feel comfortable. Somewhere you liked.’ He shrugged and I sucked in an unsteady breath.
My first date with Chris had been to a pretentious, expensive, snooty French restaurant. I’d felt uncomfortable and out of place all night and ended up starving because the portions were crazily small. We always went where he wanted; he never asked my preference and, even though we only lived five minutes away at the time, he rarely took me to Alghero.
The fact that Tom had paid attention to a passing comment I made to Mary, and then made sure I would be eating food I liked, in a place I was comfortable, gave me another surge of beautiful pain, and I felt my eyes sting.
‘Thanks,’ I mumbled with a little crack in my voice as I held back the tears that suddenly threatened. Tom glanced over at me, and I thought he probably caught my eyes misting over before I managed to turn my head away and look out of the window.
‘Um, is that okay?’ he asked hesitantly, his usual confidence shaken, no doubt by my bizarre reaction. ‘We can go somewhere else. I –’
‘No,’ I cut him off then continued after taking a deep breath, swallowing back my tears and managing a shaky smile. ‘It’s one of my favourite places in the world. You just took me by surprise, that’s all. I’m not used to …’ I trailed off.
‘Not used to what?’
‘It’s just … well … you’re being very thoughtful.’ We had stopped at some lights and he turned to me; his expression was odd. His eyes were still soft but his mouth had tightened and he looked weirdly like he was angry.
‘Taking you somewhere I knew you’d like isn’tthatthoughtful Frankie, it’s pretty normal behaviour.’ He studied me a second. ‘You do know that whoever wasn’t thoughtful with you was pond scum?’ I broke eye contact with him and bit my lip, wondering if he somehow knew about Chris, and then wondering how I felt about that. Luckily I was saved from replying as the lights changed colour and Tom concentrated on moving away.
*****
‘Francesca, Bella! Piccola mia! Dove sei stato?’ Gabriella shrieked as she grabbed me and kissed my cheek back and forth until my head was spinning. It was safe to say that she had missed me. I’d been so busy recently that I hadn’t been to see them for almost two months. She continued in rapid-fire Italian, asking what I was doing, how I’d been, why I’d forgotten them.
As with a lot of Italian women (my mother included) Gabriella had a flair for the dramatic. Well into her fifties now, she had never left the glamour of her youth behind her. I don’t think I’d ever seen her without her heavy makeup or sky-high heels. Her signature colourful scarf was tied around her neck at a jaunty angle, and she had on a stylish, wraparound, deep blue dress.
I was engulfed in the heavy cloud of her expensive perfume as she hugged me, and, as always, it made me feel safe and secure, reminding me of my childhood. I managed to get the occasional ‘Gabriella’ and ‘Attendere un minuto’ in during her tirade but she was clearly in no mood to be silenced.
We had barely set foot in the restaurant when she had spied us from her position at the hostess station and swept all the other customers aside to descend on us. I had been too wrapped up in how thoughtful Tom was, and how that made me feel on the drive over, to think that maybe I should warn him about our likely reception when we arrived.
Mid-tirade, when Gabriella had moved onto a dramatic guilt trip involving my mother turning over in her grave, she noticed Tom standing by my side, and she looked down at my hand, which was being firmly held in his. Proof that Tom’s appeal was universal to all females, be they Italian or English, sixteen or sixty, she sucked in a shocked breath and her eyes glazed over.
‘Dio,’ she murmured, looking up at him from her diminutive height. ‘Sei un ragazzo grande. Bello.’ Thankfully I thought it was unlikely that Tom knew the Italian for ‘you’re a big guy’, but I was pretty sure everyone knew what ‘bello’ meant.
‘Gabriella,’ I called, and she tore her eyes away from a slightly stunned Tom. ‘Inglese, prego.’
‘Naturalmente, Francesca,’ she said, looking back at Tom and smiling. ‘Mi dispiace signore. I hope you forgive me, but it has been a long time since Francesca came to see us. I can be a little … expressive. I’m Gabriella.’
Tom smiled at her, and I swear I could almost feel the oestrogen surge from the majority of the female patrons of the small restaurant. He was quite simply stunning.
‘Tom,’ he said through his smile. He stuck out his hand for her to shake, but instead she used it to pull him towards her and kissed him back and forth, back and forth.
When she was done she kept his face in her hands and stared up at him shouting, ‘Gio! Vieni presto! Gio!’
I wasn’t sure what Tom’s plans for the evening had been, but I doubted they involved a crazy Italian woman grabbing him, kissing him and screaming in his face. I felt my cheeks heat, and shrugged slightly at Tom with an apologetic expression to indicate my lack of ability to control an excited Gabriella.
‘Dio, pazza,’ Gio said in an exasperated voice as he strode out from behind the bar shaking his head. ‘Essere tranquillo. Do you not see the other customers? Do you want them all to leave for somewhere they can eat in peace?’
I couldn’t be certain, but most of the restaurant seemed to be enjoying the show.
‘Francesca,’ he said warmly, snatching me up in a fierce hug. ‘Come stai bella?’
‘Buono, Gio,’ I wheezed as the breath was squeezed out of me. Gio was a big man, not as tall as Tom, but a healthy five foot eleven. He was also bulky, in a more soft and squidgy way than Tom, but his hugs still packed a punch. When he finally released me and I could breath again, he eyed Tom suspiciously.
Gio and Gabriella had met Chris – not often, but enough to know that they didnotlike him or the way he treated me. I wasn’t surprised that Gio was hesitant with someone new.
‘Gio, this is Tom,’ I said gamely into the uncomfortable silence. Gio ignored my introduction; he had bigger fish to fry.
‘You are taking my Francesca out tonight?’ he asked unnecessarily, as that much was obvious. I rolled my eyes. Since when had I been his Francesca?
‘Yes, sir, after much persuasion I’m lucky enough to take her out.’
