The Church of Lost Souls 20

Maria sensed that I was feeling out of sorts and asked if everything was OK.

´I´m fine,´ I said. ´It´s just I made some really good friends at the campsite and I didn´t get to say a proper goodbye.´

´They seemed like nice people,´ she said.

´Paolo´s from Brazil, he´s the one I was going to go to Switzerland with.´

´To pick grapes,´ she said.

´Yeah.´

I could tell from Maria´s expression that she wasn’t exactly impressed with my attitude. She could have been forgiven for thinking that I was being ungrateful when here I was in the lap of luxury with the most beautiful girl in the world and all I could think about was saying goodbye to some people I´d met at a grotty campsite.

´The girl, what was her name?´ she said, kissing my neck, then looking up at me.

´Sofia,´ I said.

´Yes, Sofia, she was pretty.´

´Yeah.´

I tentatively started to talk about how I´d come by her advert at The Church of Lost Souls but before I had a chance to get going she looked at her watch and sprang out of bed.

´Arturo will be here soon,´ she said, heading for the bathroom, and again it occurred to me that The Church of Lost Souls was essentially a sewer, and a very strange place for a young mother to be advertising for an au pair. It had been the girl at the embassy who told me about it, though, so it can’t have been too weird. Maybe it really was the only place to find work for an English speaker, but why had Paolo not been shown the noticeboard?

As expected, the buzzer sounded a few minutes later and Maria went to let Arturo up.

As he flung my bag onto a small chair in the hallway, I looked at it fondly as a symbol of my old life.

Arturo had been very quiet the night before but he was much more animated now, talking in breathless Italian about something or other. By the sound of it Mussolini had returned from the grave and swept back into power, such was the excitable veracity with which he spoke.

Maria laughed at his monologue as I stood there like a lemon and again I felt out of sorts, wondering if I´d made the right decision not to join Paolo. I couldn’t understand a word they were saying.

´We´re going to a party,´ she said. ´Is that OK?´

I nodded as enthusiastically as I could.

We headed downstairs and sped off in Arturo’ car, which turned out to be Maria’s but she wanted to be in the back with me.

They were old friends from school. He lived around the corner from Maria’s other flat near The Vatican and would often take the wheel when they went out to party. Arturo worked at a fashion house as a designer’s assistant. As I’d been utterly engrossed with Maria we’d hardly spoken a word. The language barrier found us out very quickly too.

It was just a small party at a friend’s flat, Maria told me. The car was a convertible and the top was down and as Arturo weaved theatrically through the traffic I started to feel much more relaxed.

Maria talked about Giovanni visiting family on his father’s side in Sicily. He loved it there and went every year just before going back to school. While I’d been in Naples a painting he’d submitted to a competition had since won first prize. He had, however, torn the painting when he was reunited with it, showing the difficulties I faced as his au pair. He had, she said, a few difficulties with social situations and at school but that was to be expected from someone like him.

‘I was a dropout at school so maybe I can help,’ I said.

‘He needs someone to look up to,’ she said.

‘Ah yes, well, we all need that,’ I said, bending down to look up at her with puppy dog eyes.

Leaning in to kiss her neck, she rested back into the seat, pulling me in with her. Looking into each other’s eyes as we kissed I felt her breasts and her hand went for my groin.

I’d never really understood that sex could be a beautiful thing until I met Maria. She knew how to help me overcome my urges, to enjoy each sexual moment for what it was. In my fumblings with the few girls I’d slept with in the past I’d performed quite miserably without achieving anything close to lovemaking.

With Arturo concentrating on the road and, being gay, not in the least bit interested in us making out, we felt at each other and kissed passionately. I felt like coming at one point but when I thought of my grandmother the urge subsided as quickly as it had arrived.

Stopping outside a block of flats we got out and walked towards the block’s communal door.

The flat was two floors up and there were about fifty people in attendance. Music was coming from somewhere but it was almost inaudible with the resonant din of chatter and clatter.

Maria introduced me to a few of her friends and then left me in the living room by the food, telling me to tuck in. Everyone else seemed to have eaten by the empty plates strewn around the table so I chose some salami, cheese, olives and bread and went over to the window to eat with a glass of water.

Maria didn’t reappear for about an hour.

‘I had to talk with my ex-boyfriend,’ she said. She explained that she’d been divorced from her husband for two years and had been with this guy up until recently. ‘Don’t worry, it’s over,’ she said, ‘but he still has feelings for me.’

I really wasn’t that bothered and that bothered Maria.

‘Don’t you care that I’ve just spent an hour with my ex-boyfriend?’

‘Not really,’ I said. ‘Isn’t it a little early on to be playing games, though?’

‘What games?’ she asked. ‘If you’d spent the last hour with your ex I’d be angry. Don’t you feel angry?’

‘Do I have reason to?’

Maria huffed in defeat. ‘No.’

‘Well then.’ I gave her a kiss, during which her shoulders relaxed and her eyes softened.

‘Come on,’ she said, revitalised. ‘I want you to meet some friends in the kitchen.’

Once in I was introduced to a pregnant woman and her husband. I asked when the baby was due and they said very soon. The woman was quite drunk, I think. She kept talking to Maria in Italian with one eye at me and she’d laugh hysterically. When she tried to enter into conversation with me, with her hand on my chest, the din was too loud to understand and she hugged me.

Maria came up to me and held my hand. ‘Veronica would like to know if you’ll have sex with her,’ she said.

‘What? She’s pregnant,’ I said.

‘Yes, but she thinks it’s healthy for the baby. It’s an old tradition.’

As Veronica huffed and puffed next to her husband, Maria explained that she thought I had the face of an angel.

‘Si, angelo,’ said Veronica, overhearing.

I couldn’t work out why the husband didn’t seem to care but the long and short of it was that I wouldn’t want to do anything with Veronica so I told Maria.

‘OK,’ she said, ‘let’s go to a place I know.’

Arturo was ready to go too so we zoomed back into town and he dropped us off outside a hotel.

I don’t know the name of it but there was a cocktail bar with a double bass player and a pianist doing old covers of the jazz era. Having sworn a pact with Harry back home only to listen to punk and new wave, I realised how stupid I’d been to lump jazz in the same league as popular music.

Maria introduced me to whisky sour and it was delicious with a roll-up. We had a little dance at the side of our table and drifted off with the music.

It must have been midnight when we left to go back to the flat, where we hastily tore off clothing to have sex.