Broken Heart Syndrome, page 17
He stood outside the door to our flat after I opened it, his eyes doing a full body sweep of me, and then lighting with humour and not the annoyance I was expecting. Lord knew, if I didn’t dress up to Chris’ satisfaction (on the rare occasions he deigned to take me out when we were together) there would have been hell to pay, and a fair few cutting comments to endure. Tom’s face however told me that he knew what I was trying to do, it amused him, and furthermore he couldn’t give a rat’s arse what I wore either way.
As soon as he was finished with his body scan he stepped forward and grabbed my hand, tugging me into him, and before I had time to gather my wits his lips were on mine in a soft, barely-there kiss. It was the opposite of the crazy wild kiss we had the day before. Just as breathtaking but in an infinitely sweeter way. As he pulled back I was left blinking and dazed.
‘You ready to go?’ He was speaking and I knew that it was English but I didn’t hear a single word. I just stared at him, open-mouthed. What felt like hours of silence passed whilst I tried to kick-start my brain. Tom’s eyes were dancing and he had his lips were pressed firmly together. ‘Uh honey?’ he asked in a voice laced with amusement. ‘Have you stroked out again?’
Oh my.
He called me honey.
Nobody other than Lou and Dylan (that is if ‘ladies’ counts) had ever used an English term of endearment with me. My parents only ever used Italian endearments, and I was lucky if Chris even bothered to use my name most of the time, leave alone something affectionate. I felt the beautiful pain of Tom calling me honey slide through me and I shivered involuntarily. Jeepers, I was in trouble. Unfortunately this did not help my power of speech to return and Tom’s suppressed laughter was quickly morphing into full on chuckling.
One of his hands came up to cup my cheek and he dipped down again, so that his face was a hair’s breath from mine.
‘Frankie?’ he called softly. ‘Shall we go?’
I nodded and he smiled, tugging me forward out of the door, and slinging his arm around my shoulders.
‘You kids have fun now!’ Lou shrieked from a suspiciously short distance away, confirming her unashamed eavesdropping. ‘Try to behave yourself Weasel,’ she added, ‘or not. Your call.’
I rolled my eyes. Lou was mortifying but at least she did the job of snapping me out of my stupor.
‘So, um, where are we going?’ I managed to ask, having regained the ability to speak. His arm was still around my shoulders and he kept me tucked into his side all the way down the stairs and to the passenger side of his van.
‘Alghero,’ he said, grabbing the van door for me. I noticed that it needed a healthy tug to wrench it open. I looked inside, deciding how best to negotiate the detritus on the passenger seat (even worse, if possible, than the last time I was in there), and thinking that Alghero was my favourite restaurant, which was a bit freaky, especially as it was all the way over in Bristol (over forty five minutes away). Tom noticed my contemplation of his passenger seat, and moved around me to unceremoniously sweep all the crap onto the floor of the foot-well.
Seriously, it would take me five minutes to clean out his van. How could he live with it like this? I bit my lip to stop myself offering to run up and grab a bin liner.
‘I love Alghero,’ I blurted as soon as he was settled in the driver’s side. He smiled at me as he started the ignition.
‘I know.’
‘How did you-?’
‘I overheard you telling Mary how much you liked it there one day,’ he said, signaling to move away from the pavement. ‘I wanted to take you somewhere you’d feel comfortable. Somewhere you liked.’ He shrugged and I sucked in an unsteady breath.
My first date with Chris had been to a pretentious, expensive, snooty French restaurant. I’d felt uncomfortable and out of place all night and ended up starving because the portions were crazily small. We always went where he wanted; he never asked my preference and, even though we only lived five minutes away at the time, he rarely took me to Alghero.
The fact that Tom had been listening and paid attention to a passing comment I made to Mary, and then made sure I would be eating food I liked, in a place I was comfortable, gave me another surge of beautiful pain and I felt my eyes sting.
‘Thanks,’ I mumbled with a little crack in my voice as I held back the tears that suddenly threatened. Tom glanced over at me, and I thought he probably caught my eyes misting over before I managed to turn my head away and look out of the window.
‘Um, is that okay?’ he asked hesitantly, his usual confidence shaken, no doubt by bizarre reaction. ‘We can go somewhere else, I-’
‘No,’ I cut him off then continued after taking a deep breath, swallowing back my tears and managing a shaky smile. ‘It’s one of my favourite places in the world. You just took me by surprise, that’s all. I’m not used to…’ I trailed off, feeling uncomfortable.
‘Not used to what?’
‘It’s just…well…you’re being very thoughtful.’ We had stopped at some lights and he turned to me, his expression was odd. His eyes were still soft but his mouth had tightened and he looked weirdly like he was angry.
‘Taking you somewhere I knew you’d like isn’t that thoughtful Frankie, it’s pretty normal behaviour.’ He studied me a second. ‘You do know that whoever wasn’t thoughtful with you was pond scum?’ I broke eye contact with him and bit my lip, wondering if he somehow knew about Chris, and then wondering how I felt about that. Luckily I was saved from replying as the lights changed colour and Tom concentrated on moving away.
*****
‘Francisca, Bella! Picilo mia! Dove sei stato!’ Gabriella shrieked as she grabbed me and kissed my cheek back and forth until my head was spinning. It was safe to say that she had missed me. I’d been so busy recently that I hadn’t been to see them for almost two months. She continued in rapid-fire Italian, asking what I was doing, how I’d been, why I’d forgotten them.
As with a lot of Italian women (my mother included) Gabriella had a flair for the dramatic. Well into her fifties now, she had never left the glamour of her youth behind her. I don’t think I’d ever seen her without her heavy makeup or sky-high heels. Her signature colourful scarf was tied around her neck at a jaunty angle, and she had on a stylish, wraparound, deep blue dress.
I was engulfed in the heavy cloud of her expensive perfume as she hugged me, and, as always, it made me feel safe and secure, reminding me of my childhood. I managed to get the occasional ‘Gabriella’ and ‘Attendere un minuto,’ in during her tirade but she was clearly in no mood to be silenced.
We had barely set foot in the restaurant when she had spied us from her position at the hostess station and swept all the other customers aside to descend on us. I had been too wrapped up in how thoughtful Tom was, and how that made me feel on the drive over to think that maybe I should warn him about our likely reception when we arrived.
Mid-tirade, when Gabriella had moved onto a dramatic guilt trip involving my mother turning over in her grave, she noticed Tom standing by my side, and she looked down at my hand, which was being firmly held in his. Proof that Tom’s appeal was universal to all females, be they Italian or English, sixteen or sixty, she sucked in a shocked breath and her eyes glazed over.
‘Dio,’ she murmured, looking up at him from her diminutive height. ‘Sei un ragazzo grande. Bello.’ Thankfully I thought it was unlikely that Tom knew the Italian for ‘you’re a big guy’ but I was pretty sure everyone knew what ‘Bello’ meant.
‘Gabriella,’ I called, and she tore her eyes away from a slightly stunned looking Tom. ‘Inglese, prego.’
‘Naturalmente Francisca,’ she said, looking back at Tom and smiling. ‘Mi dispiace signore. I hope you forgive me, but it had been a long time since Francisca came to see us. I can be a little…expressive. I’m Gabriella.’
Tom smiled at her, and I swear I could almost feel the oestrogen surge from the majority of the female patrons of the small restaurant. He was quite simply stunning.
‘Tom,’ he said through his smile. He stuck out his hand for her to shake, but instead she used it to pull him towards her and kissed him back and forth, back and forth.
When she was done she kept his face in her hands and stared up at him shouting, ‘Gio! Vieni presto! Gio!’
I wasn’t sure what Tom’s plans for the evening had been but I didn’t think they probably involved a crazy Italian women grabbing him, kissing him and then screaming in his face. I felt my face heat, and shrugged slightly at Tom with an apologetic expression to indicate my lack of ability to control an excited Gabriella.
‘Dio, pazza,’ Gio said in an exasperated voice as he strode out from behind the bar shaking his head. ‘Essere tranquillo. Do you not see the other customers? Do you want them all to leave for somewhere they can eat in peace?’
I couldn’t be certain, but most of the restaurant seemed to be enjoying the show.
‘Francisca,’ he said warmly, snatching me up in a fierce hug. ‘Come stai bella?’
‘Buono Gio,’ I wheezed as the breath was squeezed out of me. Gio was a big man, not as tall as Tom, but a healthy five foot eleven. He was also bulky, in a more soft and squidgy way than Tom, but his hugs still packed a punch. When he finally released me and I could breath again, he eyed Tom suspiciously.
Gio and Gabriella had met Chris, not often, but enough to know that they did not like him or the way he treated me. I wasn’t surprised that Gio was hesitant with someone new.
‘Gio, this is Tom,’ I said gamely into the uncomfortable silence. Gio ignored my introduction; he had bigger fish to fry.
‘You are taking my Francisca out tonight?’ he asked unnecessarily as that much was obvious. I rolled my eyes. Since when had I been his Francisca?
‘Yes sir, after much persuasion, I’m lucky enough to take her out.’
‘You pick her up or she meet you here?’
Jeepers, men are crazy. Why the heck did Gio think that was important?
‘I picked her up, of course.’
‘Wait in the car or come to the door?’
‘To the door.’
‘Gio-’ I started, wanting to interrupt this bizarre interrogation.
‘Hush Frankie, this is between the men now,’ Gabriella said, laying a warning hand on my arm. I looked at the ceiling and searched for patience. Gabriella might be fiery, but she had a strong Italian husband who wore the trousers, and that was just the way she liked it. If Gio thought something needed to be said, then she would let him say it. For his part Gio ignored me.
‘Who will pay tonight?’ Gio asked, still staring intently at Tom.
‘Gio!’ I raised my voice, mortified by how rude he was being. Tom however was totally unruffled.
‘Me of course sir,’ Tom replied without hesitation. Gio regarded him for a moment longer, then smiled.
‘Bene amico,’ he said, clapping Tom on the back. ‘Let’s get you to a table.’
As soon as we were seated and Gabriella had admonished me (luckily in Italian) for my casual clothes, a bottle of pinot grigio was dumped in an ice bucket by the table. Gio patted me on the cheek and they thankfully left us alone. I tucked some of my hair that had fallen out of its knot behind my ear and studied the menu, avoiding Tom’s eyes.
‘Sorry about that,’ I mumbled without looking up at him. ‘They can be a bit…full on.’
‘They’re great,’ he said warmly. ‘They care a lot about you. How do you know them?’
‘Family friends,’ I replied vaguely, and not wanting to go into too much detail about my family I asked, ‘Do you speak Italian?’
‘Yes, fluently.’ I lifted my shocked eyes to his and my mouth dropped open, but then I saw his eyes were dancing again. ‘Well I’m nearly fluent. I can say “cioa” and “bella”, what more do you really need?’ I felt a wave of relief, then, seeing him smile, I burst out laughing.
‘You snake,’ I said through my laughter. ‘I almost choked on my wine.’
‘I love watching you laugh,’ he said, and I saw his eyes were warm on me. ‘I used to get so jealous watching you laugh with the others. It made me ridiculously angry.’
‘Angry?’ I asked, confused.
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘Angry that you never laughed or smiled with me. It made me act like even more of a knob, making you even less likely to loosen up. A vicious circle.’ He shrugged, ‘I’m an idiot.’ I looked at my hands and didn’t say anything because he had been a knob and an idiot. He sighed.
‘How long have you been baking cakes?’ I looked up at him and smiled a small smile. I knew he was trying to coax me into a safe conversation to help me relax, and I appreciated it.
‘Three years,’ I replied. ‘At first just for Gio and Gabriella and the odd event, then it just took off. I guess I wasn’t loving medicine, I was looking for a way out.’
‘But you don’t want a way out now.’
‘No… Mamma got sick and the palliative team were so wonderful. I’d never seen medicine work that way before. So when I came back to work I applied to do some of my medical core training in a hospice and loved it. I don’t think I could do it full time but that’s where the cakes come in: light relief.’
‘It must have been hard with your mum,’ he said softly. I broke eye contact and shrugged. I was glad I did it but yes, it was hard. Mamma had wanted to die at home and I made sure she could, but with no siblings or other family to help (at least none who could or would) things were…tough. That was part of the reason I had been so grateful to the palliative care team.
As if sensing my withdrawal Tom moved things back to a lighter subject. ‘What’s the weirdest cake you’ve ever made?’
‘Um…’ I bit my lip and smiled. ‘I guess this might be one of the strangest.’ I pulled my phone out of my bag and quickly brought up a picture of the cake in question. He frowned.
‘It’s beautiful,’ he said. ‘What’s weird about it?’
‘Look carefully at the design,’ I urged, and when he still looked confused I added, ‘It was for a genitourinary consultant’s birthday.’ I saw that he finally understood when his eyes widened and he burst out laughing.
The beautiful designs on the cake were in fact the microscopic appearance of Syphilis, Gonorrhea, Chlamydia, HIV. In fact, all the sexually transmitted diseases were represented. The cake had been perfect because only the genitourinary doctors (who spend a large percentage of their time peering down a microscope at these images) had known what it was, and all his family just thought it was a beautiful design.
On a high from making him laugh I grabbed the phone a flipped to a photo of a cake I made for a hen party. There was nothing subtle about this one and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head.
‘That is seriously gross!’ he exclaimed through his laughter. ‘You’ve even put all the veins and stuff on there. Rank. Who was your model?’ I blushed, instantly regretting showing him, although watching him laugh nearly made it worth it.
‘No one you know,’ I muttered, grabbing back my phone and shoving it into the back pocket of my jeans.
‘Well if it was a live model he must have a lot of stamina to maintain that for long enough for you to sculpt it,’ he said teasingly.
Gah! He was totally getting the wrong end of the stick.
‘Gay porn,’ I reluctantly admitted.
‘Sorry?’ he asked as he started chuckling again.
‘I freeze framed gay porn,’ I explained. At this statement he started laughing flat out and after a few moments I joined him.
‘That is not a statement I ever thought would pass your lips. Why…gay porn? What’s wrong with…the…um…equipment in the regular kind?’ he choked out through his laughter.
‘Well I found out in my…research that they tend to focus in on the…equipment in gay porn a bit more as I guess they’re the main event, so…’ I trailed off, still giggling. Gabriella approached our table as we were still getting a hold of ourselves and she beamed at us.
‘My Frankie,’ she said to Tom. ‘She is funny, no? Beautiful, sweet, funny, kind. You agree?’
‘Definitely yes to all those,’ Tom said smiling at me and I felt heat hit my cheeks again.
Gabriella whipped away the menus even though neither of us had even so much as glanced at them declaring: ‘I will bring you best Italian meal you ever have,’ then bustled off to the kitchen. Tom grinned at me, totally unconcerned that he wasn’t choosing his own food, but then again I was getting the impression that not much fazed Tom.
The food was of course amazing, and I actually had a great time. I had been dreading the night, thinking I would come off as a mute, boring freak. Since the idea was to be putting Tom off and protecting myself, I had thought that this wouldn’t be altogether a bad thing. But Tom expertly steered the conversation into safe waters and didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. He was funny. He seemed to find me funny. He teased me in a sweet, non-threatening way. And stupid me I loved every freaking minute.
I was in trouble.
Throughout the evening he had been casually affectionate. It struck me that he was a very touchy-feely guy. He held my hand, he slung his arm over my shoulder when we were walking anywhere, guided me through the restaurant with his hand to the small of my back. All of this was turning my insides to mush and giving me the weirdest sense of contentment. I would challenge any woman who endured three hours of Tom’s casual affection to not feel the same.
He was certainly noticed by the majority of the women in the restaurant, whose eyes had all been drawn to Tom as soon as we walked in. If he noticed the attention he certainly never let on, and, other than when he was talking to Gio and Gabriella, his eyes were always entirely focused on me.
It was also obvious that he liked Gio and Gabriella, and was not at all put out when they muscled their way onto our table towards the end of our meal and made us all drink cinzano together. Both Gabriella and Gio were known to partake of their wares of an evening (a trait they shared with my parents, but fortunately, unlike Mamma and Papa, Gio and Gabriella had more self-control), and both had definitely got a buzz on by the time they reached us.
