Page 54 of In Just One Day

Flora looked at the list of wines, the number of local ones running to a whole page. ‘I’m going to order two glasses, a white and a red and we can try them both. What was that you ordered?’

‘I have absolutely no idea.’ Johnny poured them a glass of water each from the carafe on the table. ‘I’m just doing what Mack said.’

Flora’s eyes widened. ‘But what if it’s, I don’t know… tripe? Isn’t that a speciality here?’

‘Adds to the excitement, I suppose.’ Johnny laughed. ‘You order the wine. I’ll be back in a mo. I’m desperate for a wee.’

Flora ordered and a few moments later the waiter returned with two glasses of wine. The glasses were short-stemmed but generously sized.

‘The Custoza,’ the waiter said, putting the white wine on the table. ‘And the Valpolicella.’ He put the glass of red down too.

‘Thank you.’ Flora picked up the glass of white and took a long sniff as she looked out across the water. The scent of orange blossom and jasmine filled her nose, flavours of citrus followed by a touch of spice spreading across her mouth as she took a sip. It was just right for that moment, crisp and alive on her taste buds. She broke off a piece of the still warm focaccia the waiter had left on the table, popping it into her mouth. She chewed on the bread, the taste of rosemary mingling with the traces of lemon left by the wine. Taking a breath, she exhaled slowly.

Noting the flavours, the smells around her, the feel of the sea air on her skin and the sound of boats on the water, she began to feel as if she was resurfacing at last. Her shoulders felt lighter, her mind more present.

Johnny took his seat next to her, picking up the glass of white. ‘What’s this? Is it good?’ He went to sniff the wine.

‘Very good!’ Flora winked at him. ‘It’s a local wine, Custoza. Lovely, isn’t it?’

‘Really good.’

Johnny managed to hide his surprise when his dish arrived, octopus, legs akimbo as if trying to escape the plate, and they talked easily, unrushed. They shared the glasses of wine, the white working with the vongole like a dream, and the bright cherry fruit pop of the Valpolicella matching the meaty octopus perfectly.

But, later, as they sipped on their strong espressos, Johnny noticed Flora had drifted in her thoughts. ‘Would you rather we head back to the hotel, have a rest before going out for one last time later?’

Flora looked at her hands in her lap, then at Johnny. ‘It’s my parents, Johnny. There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for ages, but I just couldn’t face saying it out loud.’ She sighed. ‘I think, well actually, I know… Dad’s been having an affair.’

‘Flora! What makes you say that?’ Johnny couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘Are you sure? Your father adores your mother!’ Robin had always struck him as so steady, dependable. Certainly not someone you’d put down as the kind who would have an affair.

‘I saw him, at the station. With a woman. Johnny,’ Flora fixed him with her eyes, ‘they definitely weren’t just friends.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Well, if I saw you kissing a friend goodbye like that…’ Flora shook her head. ‘Trust me, they were more than just friends.’

‘Well, did you say anything?’

‘Not at the time, but I have told him I know.’

Johnny waited. ‘Go on.’

‘Well, I said that either he stops it, or I’ll tell Mum.’

‘And what did he say to that?’

‘He didn’t say anything really. Although to be fair to him, he didn’t have the chance. It was at the end of the launch party and someone came up to talk to us – Tilda, I think – just after I’d told him I’d seen him.’

‘Look, it’s not your problem to fix, it’s theirs. But, Flora, I really hope you’re wrong about this.’

‘I hope so, too, Johnny, but my dad didn’t deny it. What if my parents split up? I mean, I’m not sure either of them would cope without the other now…’ Her voice broke.

Johnny felt a surge of anger rising in his chest. Flora had enough to deal with, without this to worry about too. ‘Listen, it’s up to them to sort it out. They’re adults, Flora; somehow you have to leave them to deal with it. But I’m glad you’ve told your dad that you know rather than having to keep that to yourself. Now, let’s just enjoy these last few hours without worrying about it, shall we? I promise you it will be all right in the end.’ He squeezed her hand across the table.

Flora drained her coffee cup. ‘I hope so, for both their sakes.’

They spent much of the rest of the afternoon back at the hotel, a tangle of limbs and sheets, their lovemaking gentle and indulgent. Later that evening, they crossed the Grand Canal by traghetto, standing as the locals did. They walked, hand in hand, along the quiet streets of Cannaregio, stopping for a glass of chilled, pear-scented prosecco at a small bar on a corner by a canal, another plate of cicchetti between them.

‘We never did take that gondola ride.’ Flora spoke between mouthfuls of fresh olive tapenade on crunchy crostini, the bitterness bumping up deliciously against the off-dry froth of the prosecco.

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