Page 33 of The Dolce Vita Divas
We had been sitting next to each other on the battered sofa, where one of the legs had fallen off and been propped up by a pile of textbooks by the previous tenants. Everyone had drunk quite a bit by that stage; we certainly had.
‘You look marvellous as a gangster. Happy Birthday,’ I’d said, and I had reached across and flung my arms around Paulo and I’d kissed him.
I hadn’t intended it, but suddenly that kiss had turned into something more. There was an unmistakeable and momentary magic between us in that moment, and I believed, I knew – he had felt it too. His arms had gone around me after a second, and nothing in that room had mattered as much to me as the feeling of his hands in my hair.
And as we parted, we had stared into each other’s eyes. Neither of us seemed able to breathe properly; the noise from the party had faded away and then I had looked over his shoulder to see Ellen, frozen in the doorway from the kitchen. Her face, normally so serene and composed, had been a picture of anger and disbelief.
She had mouthed something at me.Don’t you dare.
And then the moment was broken when we realised Paulo’s fake moustache had fallen off and landed on my cleavage, and he had laughed. I had laughed. And mercifully after a moment everyone joined in. All except the young man who was supposed to be my boyfriend at the time. I couldn’t even remember his name.
He just looked at me, utter disgust on his face, snarled some insults in my direction and then he had grabbed his coat and left, slamming the front door behind him.
What have you been doing? How did that moustache get there? What a funny thing to happen.People laughed some more.
I looked again and Ellen had left the room as well. Moments later, Paulo went after her. I’d had another drink then from the punch bowl. Heaven knows what was in it, but it didn’t dull the utter despair I felt that evening.
* * *
I met up with him in the kitchen the following morning, both of us in need of coffee and an Alka Selzer.
‘I’m sorry about last night,’ I said, just as he spoke.
‘Joanna…’
‘Is Ellen very angry?’
‘Ellen is never angry.’
I tipped a load of foil cartons into the bin liner and started clearing the table, which was littered with empty bottles and the remains of a messy birthday cake.
Paulo took hold of my wrist and we looked at each other.
‘Why didn’t you ring me? After that night?’
‘I lost your address,’ I said miserably.
‘I looked for you.’
‘I looked for you, but I never saw you until that day you turned up with Ellen.’
We stood in silence for a few minutes, both of us thinking.
‘Joanna, Jo, do you want me to?—’
I interrupted him, terrified of what he might say. Was he going to offer to end their relationship? Tell her he had feelings for me?
I felt bad enough about what had happened; I didn’t want to make it any worse. And I had a pounding headache that meant I could hardly think straight.
‘I don’t want you to do anything. Ellen’s lovely.’
‘She is,’ he agreed. ‘I don’t want to hurt her. But you and I…’
‘Then don’t,’ I said, pulling away, ‘don’t hurt either of us. I couldn’t bear it. Forget it. I just want things to go back to how they were. For Ellen to forgive me.’
Had she ever forgiven me? Perhaps it was a case of keeping one’s friends close and one’s enemies closer. She never mentioned it again and nor did I. But I remembered it.
Had I been right not to listen to what he wanted to say, to find out what he thought? Had I turned my back on something that could have been so important?
