I thought of Kerry then, and felt guilty. I was overdramatising, because the ‘no family’ bit simply wasn’t true. Kerry. Suddenly, I desperately wanted to speak to my sister.
I wobblingly circled the swimming pool and did my best to enter the house silently for my phone. But I was drunk and it was dark, and someone had left a chair bang in the middle of the kitchen. I tumbled over it painfully and all but wrestled it to the floor.
Once upright again, I found my phone charging beside the sink and then weaved my way back across the courtyard and on down the track to the trees, where I sank to the ground, my back against a trunk. As I dialled Kerry’s number, I tried to work out what time it was in Rome. There was a one-hour difference when I phoned her from England, and we had a one-hour difference with England from here too, but I couldn’t for the life of me decide if that meant it was the same time in both places, or if it meant she was two hours in front, instead.
Whatever the time in Rome, she didn’t pick up. I decided not to leave a message as to do so would achieve nothing other than worrying her.
I sat and stared out at the moonlit plain and the mountains and noticed again how beautiful it all was. A bird squawked somewhere in the distance, and there was an almost imperceptible thud of music coming from behind me.
I knew exactly what Kerry would say anyway, I realised. I could hear her voice so clearly it was as if she was right here beside me. How nice that would be, I thought, to have her here, looking at this view, her shoulder touching mine.
‘Leave him,’ she’d say. ‘The guy’s an arsehole.’
‘But what will I do?’ I’d ask. ‘How will I live?’
‘You can work,’ she’d say. ‘The girls go back to school in September, so you can work. You can go back to nursing again. You were happier back then anyway, weren’t you?’
And it was true; my virtual sister was absolutely right. I had been happier back then.
I thought about my nights out with the girls in Canterbury and I remembered going to the pictures with Sheena. I thought of the friends I’d lost over the years, and I wondered why I’d let that happen, how it was possible I’d got to the stage where I didn’t have a single person I could call.
The rhythm of the music changed and got a little louder and I realised it was coming from the house just behind me. It sounded like a very young person’s kind of music – the rapid thwak thwak thwak of techno. I sniffed and wiped my eyes on my sleeve and then stood and, steadying myself by hanging on to the tree, I turned to look back at the house.
Like our own, it only had small windows, but beyond them I could see the tall guy’s back silhouetted against the orange light of the interior as he bopped energetically from side to side.
I moved closer so that I could get a better view of their mini-party. The tall guy danced out of sight and the short one appeared instead, grooving in a more restrained manner, a can of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
The tall guy shouted something and the man in the window laughed and then grinned as he span around on one foot, and that simple sight, of two friends dancing and laughing, struck me as so beautiful, and so simple, and so . . . what’s the word? quintessential, perhaps . . . that I started to cry all over again. When was the last time I had danced? When was the last time I’d partied and been happy with friends? When was the last time I’d been truly happy at all?
In that moment this simple scene summed up, to my miserable drunken self, everything that was missing from my life.
In the morning, Sarah woke me up. It was too early and I had a hangover – in fact, I think I was probably still drunk. The ground seemed unsteady beneath my feet as I wobbled my way to the bathroom.
On returning, I snuggled with Sarah in my bed. I was hoping that she’d go back to sleep, but she was fidgety and chatty, and I knew from experience that it wasn’t going to happen.
When I got back up for the second time, I found Joe in front of the stove, making coffee.
‘Good morning,’ I said.
‘Is it?’ he replied.
I pulled a face behind his back and took Sarah outside. Lucy and Ben were seated at the table eating bowls of cereal, so I served one for Sarah and returned indoors to speak to Joe.
‘Thanks for fixing them up with breakfast,’ I said. He grunted by way of reply, so I moved to his side and rested one hand on his back. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked.
‘Not really,’ he said, without looking up.
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘I got a text,’ he explained. ‘She’s not coming home today either. She now says she’ll be in touch tomorrow.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Gosh.’
‘I tried to phone her, but of course her phone’s switched off.’
‘I see,’ I said. ‘That must be upsetting.’
‘Yeah, I’m a tiny bit pissed off,’ Joe said. ‘Did you get any news from Anthony?’
‘I haven’t looked. But I assume he’s back home by now.’
‘I’d be grateful if you could check,’ Joe said.
I frowned at this for a moment, until I understood what he was implying. ‘Oh,’ I said. Then, ‘Oh, I see. Yes, maybe I’ll go and
