Wednesday, July 11
My phone beeped, letting me know that a text had arrived. 'Tomorrow night is the opening of new bar on the Montemare terrace, music and fun, all of us invited after 8pm.' So I dressed up a pair of jeans with a flowing white top and amethyst necklace and bracelet that an old schoolfriend , Emily had sent me from Florida.
I put Skye to bed and at 9pm I left Carlo happily watching CSI on the TV and walked up to the new bar. From the road I could see the whole bar below me on a large terrace overlooking the sea, but I couldn't see anybody I knew down there. It didn't seem to be an opening party either, just romantic couples sitting around candlelit tables.
I sat on the wall and called Cath who I was supposed to be meeting outside the bar.
"Are you still at home? Don't come down, there's nobody here! It's strange, maybe I've got the wrong evening. What shall we do instead?" I walked up an extra 500 steps to meet her at another bar where we bought a bottle of Rosato and sat outside watching the world go by. A couple of friends passed by on their way to the opening bar, I said I might see them later. A friend of Carlo's tried to invite me clubbing. The towns one journalist stopped by and we yapped about how awful another journalist was. She signs all her emails with 'professional journalist' at the bottom. "Its like going around telling everybody that you are rich! You just don't do that.."
When the bottle of wine was empty we walked back down to the new bar. Everyone was there but they were all standing up, ready to leave. A few drops of rain fell suddenly and people scattered as if they might melt. I slowly walked home, enjoying the view: houses piled higgledy-piggledy on top of each other and the sea glittering with boats and yachts.
As I walked I had an urge to NOT go home. I wanted to go dancing at the club on the beach, or go drink Martinis in the cocktail bar, to meet new people, flirt harmlessly and drink too much. I wanted something more. But then I sighed, what was the point? I'd only be tired in the morning.
The apartment was quiet, everyone was fast asleep. The living room glowed with soft light from the mosaic egg lamp that we had bartered for in Sharm El Sheik when I was heavily pregnant. Music filtered through the open windows, from a piano bar at a nearby hotel. By the end of the season we would know the playlist by heart and be singing along in our sleep.
As I climbed into bed Carlo stirred and turned over. "Ti amo", he whispered, followed by a gentle snore. I read for a little while before turning off the light and letting myself be lulled to sleep by the hotel singer up the hillside.
at 9:43 AM