‘No, no, no. I’ve seen wonderful, beautiful things. Look at this, now — it is extraordinary.’ We scanned the horizon, from the Lido to Giudecca where an illuminated ocean liner, as gargantuan as some intergalactic cruiser, set off for the Adriatic. ‘And the art and the buildings, the lakes and the mountains. Wonderful things I’ll never see again, but for the first time I’m seeing these things alone. I keep opening my mouth, and realising there’s no need. Of course, I tell myself it’s healthy and good for the soul, but I’m not sure yet that we’re meant to be alone. Humans, I mean. It feels too much like a test, like surviving in the wilderness. It’s a good experience to have, one is pleased to have succeeded, but it’s still not the best. I miss company. I miss my girls, and my granddaughter. I’ll be glad to get back home and to hold them.’ She exhaled suddenly, rolled her head and shoulders as if shrugging something off. ‘This is the most I’ve spoken in three weeks. It must be the wine! I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Not in the least.’ Soon we were back at the
‘Today has been the best time of my trip, the gallery and then tonight. I’m sorry it has come so late for both of us.’
‘Me too.’
A moment passed.
‘I hope the ceiling doesn’t spin when I lie down,’ she said.
‘So do I.’
Another moment.
‘Well!’
‘Well …’
‘We both have an early start tomorrow. We should go to bed.’
‘Sadly so.’
I opened the door but Freja didn’t move, and I closed it again. She laughed, shook her head, then in a rush said:
‘I hate to use alcohol as an excuse for anything but I don’t know if I’d have said this sober and perhaps, given your situation, you don’t care for the idea, but I hate the thought of you in that awful little room, and if you wanted to join me, for tonight, in my room, nothing … amorous, not necessarily, just for warmth — well, not warmth, it’s too hot for warmth — for company, just a safe port, safe harbour, is that correct? Well, if you feel you could do that without guilt or anxiety, then I would be most delighted.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’d like that very much.’ And so that was what we did.
Well, that was a mistake.
Despite clinical exhaustion I did not sleep at all that night, though not for the reasons one might expect. Caffeine, wine and a whirring mind kept me awake, much more so than any erotic fervour. In fact Freja was asleep on my shoulder within minutes, her breath smelling strongly of booze and an unfamiliar brand of toothpaste, and while she didn’t snore exactly, there was a certain amount of snuffling and gurgling and the crackle of something catching in her throat. Modesty and self-consciousness required that we both wore T-shirts, which made us uncomfortably warm, and the pressure of even a single cotton sheet on my ruined feet kept me twitching and straining, and sure enough, as the hours ticked by, the undoubted pleasures of the evening shaded into discomfort, guilt and anxiety. With the best will in the world, it was hard to see how lying pinned beneath this woman would save my marriage, and I was acutely aware that in the pocket of my trousers, folded on the chair, my phone remained switched off. Had Connie called back? What if there was news? What if she needed me? Was she lying awake too? As the radio alarm ticked over from three to four a.m. I abandoned any hope of sleep, eased my shoulder from beneath Freja’s head and retrieved my phone.
The glare of a screen at four in the morning is a more effective stimulant than any espresso and within moments I was entirely alert. There were no messages, no texts or emails. Seeking reassurance, with a sentimental desire to see my son’s face animated and smiling, I opened the link to the video of them singing ‘Homeward Bound’ in that unknown Venetian square. Their performance was more appealing with the sound muted, and I even noted a foolish longing look between them that I’d missed before. ‘Maybe you should let them go,’ Freja had said. ‘Let him be.’
