17. Chapter 17
17
T wo hours and three Aperol spritz later, Katie was in the groove of the festival. She and Tom had gradually wound their way towards the front to be closer to the stage.
She hadn’t heard of the bands playing, and the music—a mix of pop rock, electro-rock and Europop—wasn’t really her thing at all. But the jubilant atmosphere, the joyful crowd, the beautiful buildings—uplit in multiple colours now that night had fallen—and the Aperol spritz had combined to make it a lovely evening.
The festival had been going on all day and would continue on Sunday. There were still nearly two hours to go until the band they had come for would take to the stage. Katie checked her phone battery—she wanted to make sure she had enough juice for photos and video to mark the occasion.
She had had a message from Ryan after she shared the selfie of them under the banner on Instagram.
Is this a joke? It had read. Did you seriously use those tickets you bought FOR ME? So fucking selfish, I would have expected more from you.
In response Katie had sent a photo of her sipping her Aperol spritz, the crowd and the stage in the shot behind her.
Shortly after this, Tom had a message from Melissa.
Are you really in Italy? You know I always wanted to go. Going to that festival with her is just immature, Tom. Get a grip.
Tom sent back a short video of him telling her that he and Katie were having a fantastic time and that she could get lost—all in Italian, as a Danish rock band roared in the background.
Tom was great company. He was so easy-going, happy to do whatever she wanted. She wanted another drink—he got it for her. She was hungry? He insisted she tell him what she wanted, and he would fight through the crowds and queue to get it.
And the Italian. Mamma Mia! She had insisted on accompanying him on one trip to get more Aperol spritz just so she could hear him ordering in Italian and listen to him chatting with the vendor. It had backfired when, after a few easy exchanges between Tom and the vendor, during which she leaned against the side of the stall and just listened to the rhythm of the speech, the vendor had turned to her and asked what seemed like a question. She had stood there like a guppy, mouth open. Tom had stepped in and explained, in Italian, that she didn’t speak the language. She didn’t go with him the next time he went for a refill.
There was a cheer as the band that had just been playing finished their set and took a bow. The usual flow of people away from the stage towards bars and toilets started to happen, and a sea of people swept past Katie. She lost her footing as people rushed past and stepped back straight into Tom.
‘Sorry,’ she said, trying to step forward but buffeted by more jostling crowds and people trying to squeeze past one another in a rush to the loos.
‘It’s okay,’ Tom murmured from behind her.
She felt him lean into her slightly as if to shelter her from the people rushing around them. She felt relaxed despite the push and shove of the crowd, and she rocked back on her heels imperceptibly, feeling his warmth against her back.
Some crew were dragging kit from the stage, and others were starting to set up for the next band. At the side of the stage, a huddle of people stood, talking and gesturing, occasionally glancing out at the crowd. As Katie watched, they became more animated, gesturing with wide sweeps of their arms. One of them took a phone call and then shoved the phone into the face of another man, who took it and then started shaking his head at the rest of the people pressed together in the huddle.
After a few moments a man from the group approached the microphone at the front of the stage. He stood helplessly for a moment until a crew member came and turned it on for him. There was a screech of feedback and a collective shout went up from the audience.
The man apologised, ‘Scusa, scusa,’ and flapped his hands.
‘Uh, mi dispiace annunciare che la band principale di oggi, la band Dead Cat Mother, non potrà suonare stasera.’
A groan went up from the crowd, and people around the piazza stopped and turned to listen.
Katie turned and touched Tom’s arm. ‘What is it? What’s he saying?’
Tom’s face was a mask of concentration, trying to hear over the crackle of the mic. ‘He’s saying,’ he glanced down at Katie, ‘I think he’s saying…’
The man started to speak again, flapping his hands at the crowd in a plea for silence.
‘Il loro autobus turistico ha avuto un incidente e non arriveranno qui in tempo. Stanno bene ma non possono venire stasera.’
People started shouting from the crowd, and the man again flapped his hands in an appeal for quiet.
‘Tom?’ Katie said. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Um, it seems like the band we came to see is, um, cancelled. Their tour bus has been in an accident. No one is hurt but they can’t get here.’
He looked pained as he spoke.
‘What?’ Katie’s shoulders slumped, and the hand holding the Aperol spritz dropped to her side. ‘They aren’t coming?’
The crowd was restless and getting noisy. The man at the microphone was trying to speak but getting drowned out by shouts and boos.
‘I’m so sorry, Katie,’ Tom said, watching her face closely.
Katie was frozen to the spot. They weren’t going to play. All this way to make a point, to take photos and make videos of a band she didn’t even like so she could pride herself on not giving in, not letting Ryan walk away with this, as well as her dignity. And now they weren’t even going to play.
‘Katie?’ Tom asked, taking her by the shoulders and peering down into her face. They were close, pushed together by the swaying crowd. ‘Are you okay?’
Katie let out a long breath, her head dropping forward as all the adrenaline that had carried her this far drained from her. She felt Tom’s strong, warm hands steady her. Was she okay? She felt oddly numb—the dissatisfaction of trying to execute a plan and then being cut off at the final hurdle. Like preparing a big meal and then, when it came time to take it out of the oven, finding the oven wasn’t on, and the food was inedible.
She looked up into Tom’s face, smoky charcoal eyes dark as he gazed down at her. ‘I think so,’ she replied. ‘It’s an anticlimax,’ she said, her gaze drifting into the crowd. ‘But…’ She jerked her chin up. ‘At least we don’t need to listen to that shit.’
Tom smiled as the crowd started to thin a little around them. ‘Yes, and now I can honestly say I’ve been to a festival!’
Katie laughed. ‘Not going too well so far, is it?’ she said, draining the last of her Aperol spritz.
‘What, this trip? I’m having a good time!’ Tom said, nudging his hip into hers.
‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘I mean us getting a little of our own back. So far,’ she reeled off and counted on her fingers, ‘I’ve had a humiliating wardrobe malfunction in front of everyone at the ruby wedding, that luxury spa hotel,’ Tom wrinkled his nose and pulled a face at the mention of it, ‘was more like an open prison, with that awful food, and now,’ she looked around the milling crowd, ‘we’ve come all this way so I could do a virtual fuck you to Ryan and the band isn’t even bloody well here! We’re terrible at this!’ she wailed.
She couldn’t tell if she was genuinely upset that she wouldn’t have the satisfaction of knowing Ryan would see proof that she had seen his favourite band, or if she was just exhausted from the stress and upheaval the last couple of months had wrought.
Tom seemed to read her thoughts.
‘Hey.’ He took her hands in his, his thumbs rubbing over the tops of her hands. ‘I think you’re just emotionally burnt out. It’s hardly been an easy time.’
A couple passed them arguing loudly in Italian, yelling simultaneously at each other.
Tom winced. Katie decided not to ask what they were saying.
Tugging on her hands, Tom said, ‘How about we get out of here and find somewhere that doesn’t serve drinks in a paper cup. Unless you’re keen to stay,’ he consulted the lineup currently projected onto the big screens, ‘and hear an extended set from I Did Your Mamma In,’ he said, his lips twitching as he said it.
Katie wrinkled her nose. ‘Um, nope, I think I can happily give that a miss. Let’s get the hell out of here.’
Ten minutes later, they were happily installed at a table in a bar on a smaller piazza. Chatter and laughter surrounded them, and the music and shouting from the festival had faded to a low thrum in the distance.
‘God, I can’t believe I put myself—both of us—through all that horrible music for nothing! No photos of me with the band, no big payoff. Three hours of eurocrap and nothing to show for it!’
Katie reached for the carafe and topped up her wine.
‘But at least,’ Tom said, swigging his beer, ‘I’ve broken my festival cherry.’
‘To losing your cherry!’ Katie said, raising her glass.
Tom looked around, then burst out laughing. ‘Cheers!’ he said, gently bouncing his glass off Katie’s.
Katie looked at him, grinning at her before taking a sip of his beer. She hadn’t felt this relaxed and comfortable with a man in a long time. She wasn’t sure she had ever felt so relaxed with Ryan. She could speak to Tom without filtering what she said.
‘I’m glad you came with me,’ she said. ‘I’m grateful. It’s been fun. Not what we expected, but fun anyway.’
Tom looked at her, his grin fading to a quiet smile. ‘Me too. I’ve enjoyed myself, being with you.’
The mood between them shifted. Tom held her gaze, and she felt her skin prickle all over her body, her breath stop in her throat. Then he added, ‘Besides, someone needed to tend to your terrible thirst for Aperol spritz.’
The idle joke broke the spell, and she gave a small, stilted laugh.
‘Ha ha, yes, that’s true.’
God, he’s making me nervous.
‘Shall we head off?’ Tom looked at her, his face a question. ‘Or do you want another?’ He pointed at the emptied glasses.
Looking at Tom as he lounged back in his chair, his face lit by festoon lights draped around the outside seating, his dark eyes unreadable, Katie felt that if she had one more drink, she’d be straddling him. Which, after four Aperol spritz and some wine earlier already seemed like quite a tempting idea… She collected herself.
‘Um, no, best to go now, I think.’
Before I can make a fool of myself and ruin this thing we have going.
Tom hailed a waiter and requested the bill in Italian. Katie wished to god he’d stop doing that. Why couldn’t he be like most other English people abroad and just speak half a dozen badly pronounced and badly accented words? Tom, speaking Italian, was doing funny things to her insides.
The bill came, and Katie grabbed it and insisted on paying it. She didn’t need this night feeling any more like a date than it had started to. Tom held up his hands in defeat.
They weren’t in a rush, so they agreed to walk back to the hotel. They took in the winding streets with their Tuscan yellow, rich orange, and ochre-coloured buildings. They meandered through piazzas and along the River Arno. Sometimes they chatted, sometimes they walked awhile in companionable silence, taking in the view.
It was late, but the air was still warm and musty. Laughter and chatter from late-night diners spilled out from restaurants and bars they passed. Eruptions of noise through doors and windows, then gone. They periodically stepped aside for scooters racing through the streets, but it got quieter as they moved away from the centre and towards their hotel.
They walked past the Piazza dei Mirocali and stopped to gaze at the famous leaning tower, the Cathedral, and the Baptistry, lit up against the inky sky. Even at this late hour, tourists ambled around, taking photos and posing to make it look like they were holding up the tower.
‘Want me to take a picture of you pretending to prop up the tower?’ Katie asked with a grin.
Tom gave her a withering look. ‘What, so I can have the same tourist photo everyone else has? Not likely,’ he grumbled.
‘I didn’t know you were so determined to run against the crowd.’
‘I’m not, but,’ he gestured, ‘look at these people.’
Katie glanced at the dozens of people, all posing with their hands up and pretending to hold up the tower. An American woman jogged up to her husband. ‘C’mon Chris, get your hands up. Look like you’re putting your back into it.’ Chris sighed but posed as requested. She jogged back and snapped away on her phone. She shook her head. ‘Damn it, Chris, there’s a huge gap between your hands and the tower. Move your hands left. Left again. More. Stop! Up. Left a bit…No, back! Chris….’
Chris had dropped his hands and was walking off. His wife hurried after him.
‘Chris, honey! We didn’t get the photo!’
Tom and Katie exchanged a glance. ‘Point taken,’ she said.
Katie wasn’t sure if it was Pisa, the Aperol and wine, or Tom, but she felt very mellow as they turned onto the street where their hotel was. More relaxed, she realised, than she had felt in a long time.
There was a woman at the desk as they entered the little lobby. Tom greeted her in Italian, and she nodded curtly in response. Raising their eyebrows at each other, they giggled as they climbed the stairs.
Entering the apartment, it felt smaller now as bedtime loomed. It had seemed perfectly spacious earlier in the day, in sunlight, when they were both clothed, and sleep was hours away. As Katie contemplated getting undressed and sliding beneath the sheets with Tom sleeping just down the corridor, it felt like it had shrunk.
Tom flipped off the overhead lights and turned on a small lamp, casting a soft buttery glow around the room, creating long, deep shadows. The intimate lighting wasn’t helping Katie.
‘Well,’ she said, at a loss for quite how to bring the night to a close. There was an energy crackling between them. She was sure of it. ‘Thanks again for a fun night and for coming with me in the first place. I really appreciate it.’
Tom was across the room from her, beside the sofa, his face cast in part shadow. ‘No problem,’ he said quietly. ‘I had a great time.’
‘Good,’ Katie said. ‘Well, that’s good then. All good.’
She shifted from foot to foot.
‘Okay. Well, I’ll head to bed then.’
She felt wide awake and the possibility of sleep seemed suddenly remote.
‘Night then.’
Tom didn’t move from his spot. ‘Yes, night. Sleep well.’
‘Yes. Thanks. You too.’ She gestured at the sofa bed. Then, turning, she walked on heavy legs towards the bedroom.
She snicked the bedroom door behind her and leaned against it. What was wrong with her? This was Pisa’s fault, she decided. All the romantic buildings and the leaning tower and winding streets. Pisa and Aperol spritz. She was fine. Or she’d be fine in the morning. This was nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t take care of.
Katie slipped out of her dress and into a red chemise. She opened the door an inch and could hear Tom moving around in the living room. Quickly, she tiptoed to the bathroom and closed the door. Twisting her hair into a knot on top of her head, she surveyed her face in the mirror.
Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks were flushed. She shook her head at her reflection.
‘Get it together, Matheson,’ she told Mirror Katie.
Mirror Katie smiled and combed her fingers through her hair until the waves were full and bouncy.
Fuck. Enough.
Grabbing her toothbrush, she brushed vigorously, then cleansed and moisturised. She glanced back at the mirror before she turned to go. She looked younger now without her make-up, less assured. More like she really felt, she thought with a wry twist of her lips.
She opened the door and stepped out straight into Tom, treading on one of his bare feet. He caught her by the arms as she lurched sideways.
‘Sorry,’ she gasped, ‘about your foot.’
She stumbled to regain her balance.
He too had changed for bed and was wearing only his boxer shorts. Her eyes strayed down across his chest, down over his taut stomach to his boxer shorts, and took in his bare, muscular thighs. She could feel the heat from his chest, his breath fanning her face.
‘It’s okay, I’ll live.’ He smiled, gently releasing his grip as she regained her footing, his hands sliding down her arms to her hands, gliding over her fingers, then letting go. All the nerves on her arms were standing on end. Heat built between her legs.
They were pressed together in the bathroom doorway, only inches between them. Tom was gazing down at her. She could see his dark eyes in the gloom as he stared at her, unblinking. His lips were inches from hers, and she felt her own lips part slightly. Neither of them moved. Katie felt frozen to the spot—she wasn’t entirely sure she was still breathing.
She didn’t know how long they stood like that. It was probably only a couple of seconds, but it felt like five hours.
Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed. ‘Night,’ she said in a strange, garbled tone, slipped past Tom, and closed the bedroom door between them.
On the other side of the door, she fell back against the cool wood. Her skin was prickling all over. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it and her hands were trembling.
A nearly-naked Tom was just a few feet away from her on the other side of the door. Her ovaries begged her to open the door and throw herself at him. She clamped her thighs together and tried to take a full breath.
He had been so solicitous all weekend, so considerate. All the little things he did that she had never had before; the car door being opened for her, him carrying her bag, getting her a drink, picking up a restaurant tab without discussing how to split it down to the tip. He had given her a glimpse of something she had missed without even knowing it.
That’s just Tom, came a voice in her head. He’s just a gentleman. He’d probably do it for anyone.
Katie sagged back into the door.
That’s just how Tom is. It doesn’t mean a thing.
And these feelings are normal enough, she told herself. It’s just part of the process. It’s normal in the aftermath of a breakup to be interested in someone else, someone different.
She heard the bathroom door close, then a few moments later the sliver of light that crept under the doorway from the lamp in the living room went dark.
And here she was, hiding behind a door and panting like a German Shepherd after a three-mile run.
God help me. This was not part of the plan.