Chapter Seven
Marcello
“Ciao bellissimo,” I say lifting up my cappuccino while licking my lips. “Come to Papa!”
“Wow,” Giles says next to me. “That mug is in for a good time.”
“I’m just grateful it’s still cappuccino o’clock.” I say before taking my first sip which is better than some orgasms I’ve had. I close my eyes and rub my lips together, savouring every taste of the earthy coffee and foamy milk.
“So that’s not a myth,” Giles says. “The whole can’t have a cappuccino after midday thing.”
“Midday? More like eleven in the morning.”
“Wow, that’s quite a strict cut-off.”
I place my cup on its saucer and it chimes lightly but the surrounding sounds swallow it up; red buses roaring by, people talking as they pass us on the pavement, and a few car horns in the distance that I’d bet are from black cabs or white vans.
We’re sitting at a rickety metal table outside a coffee shop in Notting Hill that looked the right mix of trendy and homely.
Once I’d verified which roasters they used, I gave it my seal of approval and Giles went inside to order while I quickly snagged an available table.
“But why would you want to drink cappuccino after that time? It’s a morning drink. All that milk and froth. It’s basically breakfast in a mug.”
“Does that mean you think I’m weird for drinking lattes all day long?”
“Not weird.” I narrow my eyes at him, gauging what kind of mood he seems to be in. “Just very uncivilised.”
Giles’ expression falls and he lowers his latte that was on its way to his mouth.
“I’m kidding you!” I say and nudge his knee with mine. Giles’ eyes drop to where our legs just touched as he composes his expression.
“You almost had me, you fucker,” he says with a growing smile as he finally looks up.
“Giles, you literally wear three-piece suits every day of your working life. There is nothing uncivilised about you.”
I can’t be sure because we’re both still a little red in the face from our run but I think Giles blushes and that makes me smile. It’s fun making him blush.
“So, do you speak it with your mum?” he asks, and again, I make a note of how he doesn’t take my compliment very well. That’s not what I would expect from a man like Giles.
“She wishes,” I say and I feel the caffeine start to hit, perking me up after feeling like I was close to death during the last kilometre of that run.
How I’m ever going to run four kilometres more than what we just did, and after doing a swim and a bike ride, I have no clue.
“I understand most of it, but I have to say, speaking it doesn’t come as easily to me as I would like. ”
“You’ve never lived there?”
I shake my head. “Not really. Only for the summer months when I was younger.”
“In Sardinia? I’ve never been,” Giles muses. “But I’d love to one day.”
“It’s a beautiful island. I mean, of course, I’m biased, but it’s true.”
“You’d never just go back, to live for good?”
I think on this for a second. “I’ve thought about it,” I say. “But I couldn’t leave my mum.”
“She could go with you?”
I shake my head. “No, she’ll never leave the UK now.”
“Why?”
“It’s where my dad died, and is buried. My dad and my brother who died before I was born.”
Giles’ face freezes, his mouth parted. “My God, I’m sorry, that’s…”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I mean, obviously, it wasn’t at the time.
I’ve no doubt that it was hell for my parents.
He died from meningitis. They took him to the doctor, but it was too late.
I don’t think there was the same awareness that there is now.
But I wasn’t there. I don’t know what it was like.
I only know that when I arrived, I became my parents’ world. ”
“Why didn’t they bury your brother in Italy? Or your dad?”
I swallow, not feeling sad as such, just more morose, more melancholy as I think about these decisions my mum had to make.
“They already had the café, the business here in London. And I don’t think they wanted to be far away from him.
His grave, I mean. They used to go and visit him every week. They wanted him close by.”
“And then your dad?” Giles prompts so gently his voice is little more than a whisper.
“He died about ten years ago. A brain aneurysm. It happened when he was sleeping. We called an ambulance, took him to the hospital, but he just never woke up again. The doctor said it was a ticking time bomb that could have gone off at any time so I’m just grateful I had him in my life for over thirty years. ”
Giles nods thoughtfully and stares out into the crowd and traffic in front of us. I wonder if he’s thinking about his own father and how he didn’t have as long with him.
“He wanted to be buried next to Lorenzo. That was his only request.” I clear my throat, hoping it shifts some of the emotion simmering inside me too. It does, a little. “Mum still goes to their graves every week. I go with her sometimes. Not as often as I should.”
“I can understand why you want to stay close to your mother,” Giles says, his eyes still fixed ahead. “Physically, I mean.”
“I’m also not very good on my own,” I say with a sigh.
It’s all coming out now. “I have ADHD and struggle when I don’t have a routine and when I live alone, I find routines…
hard. Like I just let them go. Living with my mum helps me because I always know she’s there so I have a reason to pick up my shit, to do my share of the chores and she has her routine that I work around. ”
“You’re messy?” Giles asks.
“No, not exactly. But I can be. When I’m stressed or overwhelmed. Meds keep me on track most of the time, but if I’m not in a good headspace, bad habits creep in.”
Giles’ gaze has gone again, and it looks like so have his thoughts. He just nods to himself and I fall silent, wanting to give him space for whatever it is he’s thinking about. Besides, I still have the majority of my cappuccino to enjoy.
“Thank you for sharing all that with me, Marcello,” Giles says and when I look up from my cup, his eyes are back on mine. “When did you get diagnosed with ADHD, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“When I was eighteen. I struggled throughout school. I was the naughty kid who scraped by with my charm and winning smile.” I demonstrate exactly this to Giles who chuckles.
“But really I wasn’t being naughty as just trying to entertain myself, my friends and my teachers.
I have pretty bad dyslexia and they caught that quite quickly, so they just thought my bad marks at school were down to that and my cheeky personality.
But then I completely flunked my GCSEs. Like I did spectacularly bad.
It was epic how terribly I did. Even I was shocked.
I finished school, worked in the café full-time with Mum and Dad and that’s when they saw what I was really like. ”
Giles blinks. “What do you mean?”
“Well, for one thing I couldn’t sit or stand still. Like, it was physically impossible. That side of things has gotten better in the last ten years. Apparently, it’s possible to grow out of the hyperactive side of ADHD although I still struggle to be completely still.” I point to my shaking leg.
Giles smiles at it. “I didn’t even notice.”
“Well, most people do. Nowadays, my biggest struggle is with the concept of time. I forget about things or actively put them off unless the deadline is right this minute. Like I don’t really get things done unless they’re really urgent or someone else holds me accountable.
“After about a year or so of working in the café, Mum and Dad tried leaving me in charge for a few hours at a time and it was just a complete disaster. Like what I said about time being a difficult concept for me, you know?” Giles nods and I can tell he’s listening to every word.
“Mum and Dad saw me struggling with that and also sleep was difficult for me. Like I’d be up all hours and find it impossible to wake at a decent time.
I tried everything to try to fall asleep at a better hour, but nothing worked. My brain just wouldn’t switch off.”
“That’s tough,” Giles says and his voice is a little croaky.
“So, Mamma convinced me to go to our GP about it and when I did, they had the answer almost straight away. I’ve been on some sort of medication ever since, although I take quite a low dose now.”
“But it helps?”
“Yeah, it does. It sort of silences the wilder parts of my brain, if that makes sense. I still struggle with focus and I still stay up too late sometimes but these days it’s not because I can’t switch my brain off. It’s because I’m just an idiot who likes playing video games or watching porn.”
Those last two words land with Giles and he coughs, nearly choking on his latte.
“Sorry,” I say and I slap him on the back, trying to help but pretty sure I make it worse.
“It’s okay!” He holds his hands up. “I mean, I’m sure you’re not the only one.”
“You’re not a fan?” I ask, now a bit concerned I’ve dropped in his estimations for admitting that.
“I wouldn’t say fan, but yes, porn has its uses.” Giles’ eyes slide from side to side.
“I’m curious,” I say and I am only partially aware of what I’m doing, running with a question the second it pops into my mind, even though it may be a question I shouldn’t ask.
But still I bulldoze my way into asking it.
“What kind of porn do you watch? Being pansexual and all? Do you like a bit of everything?”
Giles’ reaction – blushing cheeks, twitching moustache and downcast eyes – make me realise that was absolutely a question I shouldn’t have asked.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “Ignore me. That’s another ADHD thing. I sometimes don’t have a filter when I really need one.”
“No, it’s okay. I just…” Giles drops his voice. “I haven’t watched porn in a long time.”