Chapter 18 – Simo
‘Ready?’ Luca asks.
‘Ready,’ I reply automatically, because I know the routine well.
Only, this time, I’m not sure I’m prepared.
Luca falls back on to the sofa and stretches his long legs, but unlike all the other times when we’ve settled in for a film night, he is mushed up against me, his head resting on my arm. I suddenly find myself unable to move.
‘I hate your weird policy, you know. We could’ve watched this weeks ago,’ he complains over the title music.
‘You’ve made that point often enough. It’s not gonna change anything.’
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to read the book before watching the film. I like to make up my own mind about the characters and their world, so I can complain about the bad job the director has done in bringing it all to life. And it’s usually a very bad job.
‘It’s selfish,’ Luca says, and shifts. For a second his weight is gone, but, to my relief, his cheek settles back against my biceps.
‘Selfish?’ I manage, gazing upon him from above.
He looks up and grins. ‘Yeah, it makes it impossible for me to watch it too, just because you’re not quick enough to read the damn book by the time the film comes out.
’ He breaks eye contact to grab a handful of crinkle crips and offers it to me, even though I know he loves them more than I do, and he can be possessive when it comes to his favourite foods.
‘I think it doesn’t hurt you to be inconvenienced. Consider it a lesson in patience.’
‘No talking over the film!’ he says, because he knows I’m right.
We watch Anya Taylor-Joy flounce around the English countryside in frilly dresses and bonnets.
What I’m not prepared for is seeing so much – any – naked man butt.
I try not to tense or make any sudden moves, because of course I’m totally unbothered by this bare-buttock display.
Luca plays it cool too, and I could be imagining that he’s chewing on a single crisp until the actor is fully dressed again.
I’ve not decided whether I do or don’t like Jane Austen. Her characters are tedious, but sometimes she drops a one-liner that hits you straight in the chest and leaves you devastated.
The creaking of the floorboards announces Maz before he steps into the room.
‘Simo, it’s nice to see your face,’ he says, and drops a container on the kitchen island.
‘And yours,’ I reply. A palpable tension hangs in the air, so I add: ‘I heard Joni’s son is opening an Italian restaurant across from you.’
Maz’s face darkens. He glances out the window towards the restaurant in question. ‘I heard the same thing. He’d better not steal my customers. I hope he’s a shit cook.’
Luca makes a choking sound, as if he’s trying not to laugh. Maz’s eyes flick to him before he turns and pours himself a glass of water.
‘There’s some leftover mac and cheese if you boys are hungry,’ he says, and points to the container. ‘I’m gonna have a shower.’
Once I hear the bathroom door lock, I clear my throat. ‘Is everything all right with you two?’
‘What makes you say that?’ Luca asks, and sits up.
I know I’m on thin ice, but it’s obvious that something is going on. They’re not fighting, but there’s also none of their usual playful squabbling.
‘Well, for example, on a normal night, Maz would watch the film with us. But he basically fled the room.’
‘He did not flee the room,’ Luca protests.
‘And the coffee tastes different too.’
‘You’re making that up.’
‘You don’t drink it, so you wouldn’t know. But I had a latte the other day, and it’s not the same. Mairi agrees that it tastes off, and I overheard Mayor Pickering telling Betsy that he’s considering going back to drinking instant.’
‘Pickering can choke on his dirt water then. And I can’t believe you’re blaming me for this coffee conspiracy.’
‘All I’m saying is that Maz isn’t himself. And neither are you.’
Luca huffs. ‘It’s all to do with Dad’s messed-up relationship with his parents. It’s affecting everything.’
A crumb of information, finally.
‘If I can do anything to help fix things . . .’
He studies me silently before saying, ‘There’s nothing to fix. We’re still . . . adjusting to this new family dynamic.’
Deep down I’m aware that Luca and I aren’t family, not in that rooted-in-your-DNA kind of way.
Most of the time I’m fine with that. We’re close in a way I lack words to describe, because neither brothers nor friends fully captures what we have.
But other times, when I’m not so gently reminded that I’m an outsider, that there are gaps I can’t fill, this ugly feeling creeps over me.
A mix of loneliness and jealousy. No matter how hard I try to rationalise it away, a seed of it remains, buried but threatening to unfurl.
Like now, when Luca’s knee is touching my thigh but still I feel like I’m not enough for him to confide in.
‘But,’ Luca says, and taps my leg with his index finger, ‘thank you. For offering.’
‘I’m worried because, well, I won’t be here for Christmas.’
The tapping stops. ‘What?’
‘And I won’t be back for New Year’s either.’
Frown lines cloud Luca’s eyes. ‘Where will you be?’
‘In Granada. For two weeks. And I’d feel less bad about leaving if I knew you guys weren’t . . . moping.’
When he doesn’t move to say anything else, my index finger maps out a path on the sole of his foot, asking him for a reaction.
‘OK then. I promise not to mope.’
‘Good,’ I say. I wasn’t sure how to bring up that we’d be spending the entire holiday in different countries.
‘Two weeks, huh?’ Luca says.
‘Yeah,’ I reply, well aware of the fact that we’ve never gone so long without seeing each other.
‘Don’t look so sad. You love it there; you’ll have a great time.’ He grabs several cushions, stacks them up against me and lies down by my side once more.
I guess this means he’s not mad at me for bringing up his dad, or my Christmas plans.
His head rests on my ribcage, and for a while I keep my arm on the backrest above him.
Then it starts to fall asleep, so I have no choice but to use him as an armrest. I pretend to be more casual about it than I am.
We’ve slept like this before, our bodies close, but it’s different when we’re both awake.
Currently, I’m very conscious that the heat of his body is seeping into mine, driving up my temperature.
‘Talking about holidays,’ Luca says, more than halfway into the film, ‘do you fancy a weekend trip away?’
‘Away where?’
‘To the capital.’
I takes me two seconds to travel from the early nineteenth century onscreen and land back in the present. ‘Why would I want to go to the capital?’
‘Because my grandparents invited us, and I want to go.’
I blink at him, slowly, to signify that he needs to bring better arguments. ‘Because we’ll be staying in their luxury town house. Because they’ll let us borrow their chauffeur. Because they’ll take us to a charity ball where we might bump into celebrities or royals.’
‘Literally none of that is doing it for me.’
‘Because,’ he says, propping himself up on his elbow, ‘we could sneak away to second-hand bookshops and find you stinky old books with stinky bookmarks and old messages hidden inside. Because the town house has a library and a pool.’ Now he has my attention. ‘And I want you there.’
I try to keep a straight face, but it’s hard keeping a lid on the sunny feeling that’s rushing through my body.
‘Just because it would be less scary,’ Luca adds, sounding defensive.
‘Sure,’ I say, unable to swallow my smile any longer.
‘You don’t find my grandparents scary?’
‘They can be intimidating,’ I admit.
‘Which means you’ll come.’ It’s a statement, not a question. He gets his way too easily.
‘If my being there makes you less intimidated,’ I say.
‘It does,’ he replies with sincerity.
‘Can’t wait to find stinky old books with you,’ I grin.
‘Can’t wait to see you wear a tux for the ball,’ he retorts.
‘Don’t ruin it,’ I say and flick him on the temple. ‘And focus on the film. You can’t afford to miss things, lazy-ass reader that you are.’
He doesn’t complain. He got what he wanted, after all. I guess we both did.
With Luca’s head in my lap and my arm around him, we continue watching.
I could stay like this forever; I’d watch a thousand films with him, even without reading the book first. Luca tenses, and I look up to see the priest make a fool of himself in front of polite society.
Luca is prone to second-hand embarrassment.
While I close my eyes at gory stuff, he shuts his and blocks his ears whenever the cringe factor rises.
‘I thought you liked that actor,’ I say.
‘I do,’ he says, sounding surprised, ‘in roles where he’s not a twat, anyway. But I didn’t know you knew that.’
‘I notice things,’ I say.
Luca hits the pause button. ‘What things?’
‘You seem to like Jacob too.’ The words are out, and I can’t take them back.
‘I like Jacob,’ he confirms, hesitantly, like he’s unsure of the ground we’re treading on. ‘But not in that way.’
‘In what way?’ I inquire.
Luca’s face forms a silent question. Are we actually doing this? it asks. I lift an eyebrow, indicating that, yes, we are.
‘I like him as a friend,’ he replies, keeping his voice calm.
‘So your date—’
‘I never said it was a date.’ And the calm is out the window.
‘It didn’t go well, then?’
‘It went well, thanks, but it wasn’t a date. Just friends hanging out,’ he says. ‘Like us.’
He looks at me as if he’s expecting me to challenge him. But my heart is thundering in my ears and I’m trying to breathe like a normal human being, so all I manage is to echo his: ‘Like us.’ And though it’s but two little words, they sting like nettles on my tongue.
‘I’m allowed to have other friends,’ Luca says.
‘Obviously.’
‘I mean, you have friends beside me, right?’
‘Right.’
‘And you and Mairi, you’re friends, right?’
‘Right.’
‘And nothing else.’
‘Just friends.’
‘Great,’ he says, like it’s everything but.
‘It is great, yeah,’ I say in the same tone.
Jaw set, he turns back to the screen and hits the play button a little too aggressively. I cross my arms and stare ahead, until I realise that I’m mirroring his exact posture and drop my hands in my lap.
I don’t know what to make of that conversation. It plays on a loop in my head, as I inspect every word from all possible angles, unable to follow the film until the very moment when Knightley faces Emma and says: ‘If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.’
And though I knew the line was coming, it leaves me devastated.