Lying in Wait(66)

‘Have breakfast with me tomorrow! I’m not being picked up until eleven.’ I readily agreed. We parted with a peck on the cheek. I sensed for a second that we might have kissed properly, but I was the one who hesitated. Why did I? There was nothing I would have liked more than to follow her up the grand staircase of her hotel, but something stopped me.

‘See you in the morning,’ she said, trailing her fingers away from my shoulder.

I made my way back to my hotel slowly, wondering what was wrong with me. I stopped at a small pizzeria and ate my way through a very large pizza on my own. The proprietor baulked at my capacity, and I worried that my old appetite was returning.

The streets and alleyways behind Termini that had seemed so lively earlier now took on a sinister glow and I thought, at first, that it was my malign thoughts that had brought this change in atmosphere, but then I noticed the girls. Lounging in groups of two or three, dressed inappropriately for their age in very short miniskirts and skimpy T-shirts and the highest of heels. The girls whistled at me as I approached, and I realized that they were for sale. A dangerous-looking man in a leather jacket sat in a Mercedes nearby, surveying his wares. He was clearly the pimp. The girls catcalled, hissed and followed me for a few yards. They tried several languages, including English, but I kept my head down and my hands stuffed into my trouser pockets. I knew that I didn’t look prosperous enough to mug, and I passed unscathed.

The encounter unnerved me. All I could think of was Annie. Selling her body as if it was ice cream to the nearest buyer. I wondered about the man in the Mercedes. Was he there to mind them? Would he treat them well? Or beat them, kill them?

When I got back to my hotel, Mario was still on duty.

‘You telephone your mamma now, yes? She call four times.’ Christ. ‘I place call for you, yes?’

‘Thank you, but I will telephone in the morning.’

‘Not now?’

‘No. It is late. Tomorrow.’

He heaved a deep sigh. I suspected he would never have made his mother wait for a return call.

‘There is another message. A lady. Is name Helen.’

‘Helen? When?’

He seemed reluctant to tell me.

‘An half hour ago.’

Oh God, something was wrong.

‘I’m going to my room. Can you place a call to Dublin for me in five minutes?’

‘Yes. Helen or Mamma?’

I did not answer him, but took the stairs two at a time, dreading the news I was going to receive.

In my room, I picked up the receiver with a shaking hand. I was not in the humour for Mario’s impertinence and barked my home number to him. He put me through without delay. Helen answered.

‘Helen! What are you doing there? Is Mum OK?’ I heard her say ‘It’s him’, and then there was a grappling sound as somebody else took the phone, while voices babbled in the background.

‘Oh, Laurence, where have you been? We’ve been trying to get hold of you all day!’ My mother, breathless and excited.

‘What is it? What is so important?’

‘Try not to be upset, dear, but it’s your grandmother. She died this morning. Your Uncle Finn and Aunt Rosie are here. It’s all so awful. Such a lot has happened. It’s up to you of course, but I really think you ought to come home.’

Shit. Shit. Shit.

‘Yes, I will.’

‘Oh, that’s great, darling. I knew you would. Helen went to the travel agent and booked your ticket for first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘She … what?’

‘She’s been an enormous help. Would you like to speak to her? … Helen!’ Mum dropped the receiver and Helen took it up again.

‘Sorry about your granny, Lar. I know she was a fierce wagon like, but she was still your granny.’

‘Thanks. So what time is my flight tomorrow?’

‘It’s at 9.20 a.m. You can collect the ticket at the airport. Is that OK?’

I rang Mario and asked for an alarm call in the morning. I told him that I would be checking out. He was incensed that I was cancelling my week-long stay, but when I told him I had to go home to my mother because my grandmother had died, he understood immediately. I asked him to place a call to Karen’s hotel. The receptionist there refused to put me through, insisting that Karen had asked not to be disturbed. I guess ‘beauty sleep’ is a real thing. I left a message with the receptionist, apologizing for not being able to keep our breakfast appointment, explaining I had to return to Ireland.

I lay back on my bed, considering the last forty-eight hours of my life. Yesterday, Granny was alive and Karen’s husband physically attacked me, and now here I lay after spending the day with her in Rome. I was genuinely sad about Granny Fitz. Despite her rudeness, I think she did always have my best interests at heart. When I was a boy, she doted on me in a way that made Mum jealous.

I knew that I would not be coming back to Rome after the funeral. The flights were too expensive.

Thankfully, Mario wasn’t on duty in the morning. A silent girl served me strong coffee with chocolate powder in it and a croissant, and hailed a taxi on the street to take me to the airport.

My mother greeted me tearfully when I arrived home. Helen had stayed the night in one of the spare rooms to keep her company.

‘Jesus, Lar, what happened to your face?’