Rewind and Play

2014

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Samuel

“Ahh fuck. Are you ok?”  asks Alice.

I can’t help but laughing: “This has just been the least tragic accident I’ve ever been into.”

We slid at the slowest speed into the ditch. Alice knew better than trying to make it worse by accelerating brusquely, and, once we stopped without even scratching the old car, started bumping her head against the steering wheel over, and over again.  

“I am starting to understand why people don’t like snow.”

“Don’t worry, yours won’t be the last car in a ditch today.”

“Should we call someone or…?”

“I would say you are safe enough getting somewhere warm and make the call from there. We are on my house’s side of town so we can walk there and you can call the garage. I can bring you home or bring you back here if they come before tonight. If you think that’s ok.”

“Thank you. Again. If you don’t mind putting up with me for some more time.”

“You know I don’t.”

“Then, let’s get moving before it gets fully dark.”

“Yes, let’s go somewhere where we can resume our argument in peace.”

“We weren’t arguing!”

I decide it best not to reply straight away. We get out of the car and slowly start to make our way along the tree-lined road. If it wasn’t because we are not equipped for the weather, I would find the walk lovely.

“We were, but we can continue later,” I say, because I don’t really want to let it go. I want to talk about everything with this stubborn, big-hearted, beautiful woman. The thought just crosses my mind in a scary arc.

“We weren’t and no, we won’t. Do you think the car will be ok?” Alice groans. “Anna will kill me.”

“She won’t, because the car is perfectly fine. We were going so slow that the Pope could have overtaken us running.”

The walk takes us twenty minutes. We encounter only one other car on the road, inching on in the opposite direction. Street lights have been turned on. The flurries are coming down thick and fast now, and visibility is null.

Even if she’s trying to be annoyed by it all, I catch Alice looking around, taking in the quiet, peaceful world, an amazed expression on her face.

“We can go out and play later,” I smile, walking briskly besides her: “I will bury you under snowballs. Guess who’s got two thumbs and a great aim?” I ask, pointing towards me.

“Silly…” she pushes slightly into me, trying and failing to hide a smile.

My house comes slowly into view: a rusty, but still beautiful, entrance gate, followed by a short path flanked by rose bushes, leads to the building, a small two storey house with a big garden on the side, painted a shade of light green with dark green shutters.

While we make our way to the entrance door, which I hold open for Alice to go through, I say: “After you, milady, and apologies for the dishevelled state of… well, most of the house. Progress is slow.”

Alice leaves her dripping shoes on a mat at the entrance and makes her way in.

The ground floor used to be, quite like Daniela’s house, a cagey affair with several different rooms and corridors. With Vittoria’s blessing, I tore all the walls down, leaving what will be, one day, hopefully, an open plan kitchen and dining area. The walls have been recently plastered, waiting for a coat of paint. The kitchen has been installed only a couple of weeks ago, and I am quite proud of its modern looking angles. The floors are the original ones, beautiful terracotta tiles which I only spruced up a little. Unfortunately, that’s the extent of the renovation down here. There’s a stove, which I now light up, a small red Ikea sofa, and that’s it.

I also installed a big floor to ceiling window with a sliding door, looking out into the countryside, and it would normally be a gorgeous view from here, if it wasn’t for the current weather.

“Please sit and dry those poor feet. I will bring you a towel in a moment.”

“Sami, this looks…”

“…Yeah, it’s a work in progress. I haven’t even started upstairs…”

“I wanted to say beautiful.”

I chuckle: “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Be back in a second.”

While the fire starts crackling and some glorious heat comes from the stove, I go upstairs to grab a towel. I go back to the entrance and get Alice’s shoes.

When she sees me with them in my hands, she blushes: “You shouldn’t be carrying my shoes, you are not my maid!”

“No worries, Ali, I don’t mind at all. I am going to take mine off as well and dry them all up next to here.” I throw her a towel and then, after untying my own wet shoes, I place both pairs near the stove. Alice pulls off her socks gingerly, dries her feet with the towel and moves to lie them on the floor next to her shoes before retreating back to the sofa.

“Do you want anything? A drink? A coffee?”

“No thanks, I don’t want to inconvenience you even more…”

“Don’t be daft.” I sit down on the sofa next to her and stretch my legs towards the stove: “So.”

 “So.”

“Quite the adventurous day, so far.”

“Is it always like this around you? My, your life is so exciting!” She smiles, something occurring to her. It’s a lovely smile. “You know, I now realise this is the most time I’ve spent around you on my own in what… Ever?”

“You are right. We’ve never been alone, not really, when we were younger.”

“Nop.”

Thanks, Alice. I am now very, very aware of the fact that not only we are alone, but that we are alone in my house and you are sitting a centimetre away from me.

She clears her throat, looking around, piecing together something: “Beautiful as much as it is… No denying it’s a work in progress. I assume you and Vittoria don’t live here.”

My reply comes slowly: “No, we are living in an apartment she’s renting on the other side of Castelnuovo, while I am doing this place up. I got it before we started seeing one another. I loved it from the moment I saw it. I only work on it on the weekends, or when I have some free time, so it is slow going. There’s barely anything here, bar what you see downstairs and a room with a bed and some stuff for me when I come to work here.”

Alice is looking at me like she knows there’s more to the story.

And she’d be right. This house is another thing that has been creating tensions. Vittoria says that it’s my thing, that I never included her in any decisions regarding it, bar when I asked, at the start, if she thought I could tear the walls down. She’s not wrong, and she is even more aggrieved because it’s her job, to do this sort of things.

“I thought I could finish it up before…” I trail off and look away, waving a hand to encompass I am not sure what, exactly.

Alice looks down at my ring finger, then her voice is very gentle: “…getting married?”

The day has left me utterly depleted. I turn to Alice: “Can I ask you a favour?”

“Anything,” comes the reply, and I am a bit surprised at the eagerness in her voice.

“Can we not talk about that today? I think I have exhausted my quota and I’d rather talk about anything else than end up arguing again.”

She turns towards me, her leg coming up on the sofa and her bare foot touching my jeans.

“Deal. Not that I have much to say anyway.”

“Oh, you have plenty of stuff to say, I am sure. But I don’t want to think about it just now. Beer?”

She tilts her head and leans her head on the top of the sofa. A small grunt-sigh leaves her mouth: “Fuck it, yeah. I’ll call the carro attrezzi and then I will endeavour to be out of your way.”

“Don’t endeavour too eagerly, I have nothing else to do anyway.”

I get up to get a couple of beers from my otherwise fairly empty fridge. From her spot on the sofa, Alice spots my old stereo. It’s a gift from my mom, she said she doesn’t use it anymore. I bought it with one of my first pays, after school, as a treat for the family. I suspect she would still use it, but she wanted me to have it in the new home.

There’s a whole heap of records sitting on its side in an untidy pile. I can’t wait to get them somewhere safe.

Of course, Alice pads over and starts perusing, interest lighting up features.

I can’t help but smiling, seeing her here. I come over with a Moretti in each hand and hand one over. We clink the bottles: “I use this when I am working here. And anyway, the other place is too small for a lot of the stuff I am keeping here. Mis discos are tus discos, Ali. Put on whatever you want.”

“Really? Do you have some reggae?”

“Very funny.”

“I am happy you still hate reggae too.” After a generous pull from the beer, she gets down on her haunches and starts browsing: “What do we feel like today? More upbeat or more depressed, or mellow?”

The thought of Alice being in my house right now is sinking in: “Let’s be happy today.”

Alice smiles: “I’ve got just the thing”, and she pulls out the self-titled Abba record.

“Very good choice, Ali! If you don’t like Abba…”

“You don’t like music. Agreed. Only a monster would hate them.”

We click our bottles together once more, a laugh easing out of both. We seem to be in agreement that it’s been a very long day. Right now, I only want to relax a little.

As the first notes of “Mamma Mia” start, we move back to the sofa.

“I should call the carro attrezzi…” says Alice, uncertainly, sitting down, one leg bent under her, taking out her phone from the pocket of the coat crumpled on the floor.

I know what I thought this morning. But now, I am positive I’d do almost anything to avoid this day to end.

And that makes me reckless. I sit down next to her, our legs touching on this tiny sofa: “You should, shouldn’t you?” I say, leaning in towards her to pluck the phone from her hand. When my fingers touch hers, they are so, so cold. I see it when a shiver runs down her spine, and I complete my move quickly, letting the phone drop on the floor gently, while talking: “Give me a little bit more time, Giannelli. Are you cold?”

Alice blushes, again, and gives the beer another good gulp: “Nop, thanks. Hey, what do you think you are doing?”

I have moved closer, turning Alice sideways on the sofa, trying not to think too much about all the places I’m touching her. When I put a hand on her feet, they are also freezing.

She is looking at me, horrified, so I offer an explanation: “They are cold, see? Put them under my legs, here.” I lift myself up for a second and sit down on those two icicles.

Alice tries to wriggle them free but I lift up a hand, sternly: “Don’t even. I held your hands when it was cold, why would this be any different?”

Relaxing a little, she mumbles: “Fair enough.”

We chat for a little while, about anything and anything, sipping our beers. Finally, Alice seems to be relaxing a little. I can see her warming up, both literally and metaphorically, waving her hands to make a point, laughing and one of my stupid jokes, and seemingly thoroughly enjoying herself. I enjoy the feel of her feet under my thigh, but I am not going to tell her that.

This sort of comfortable conversational no-man’s land is broken when, lying back on the sofa, Alice listens to the music for a moment, closing her eyes and says, suddenly: “You know, you made me cry with your mixtape. Well, I imagine you won’t even remember doing it or what’s on it.”

I should lie, I should change subject. Instead, I huff, incredulous: “Of course I do. I don’t go around giving away mixtapes left, right and centre, you know.”

“Fuck off, no way you remember.”

I make a big show of clearing my throat and start reciting: “Side A: Slide Away, Cannonball, Stop Whispering, Advert… Should I go on?”

Alice’s mouth is hanging open, and it’s so comical I can’t help but laugh: “Come now, close your mouth, that’s not very becoming.”

“How do you remember?”

“How do you remember?”

“Because I remember. I thought it was only me, that I was the only one rem…”

Alice cuts herself short.

I look at her, curiously. She seems to be regretting those words. Like she doesn’t want to admit something to either herself or me.

So I am not the only one who seems to have trouble keeping feelings in check. I secretly hoped it was like that for her too. With a little shrug, Alice moves on: “My seventeen-year-old me couldn’t cope, you were too much for poor, shy me. Plus, you were far too hot for me.”

Our exclusive double act has always thrived on banter and laughter, but tonight I don’t feel like it. The day has been one of the best I’ve had in a long time and yes, that includes, sadly, my wedding day.

“Excuse me?” I counter, looking at her. Making her understand that I do not think I am the hot one, here.

Alice gets it; breaking eye contact, she finishes the beer in one go.

I can’t help it: I take her feet from where they are warming up under my thighs, and start giving one a gentle massage: “Is this ok?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she croaks, her eyes fixed on my hands.

There goes another layer of separation between us. It’s dangerous territory, but our little bubble can’t be burst yet.

Alice’s eyes close for a second in what seems to be enjoyment, while she says: “Well, Sami, I never thought you could be interested in me as an actual human being, because you were far too funny and pretty and extroverted compared to me. I was just scruffy, and nerdy, and awkward, and short, and…”

“Don’t do that,” I interrupt, concentrating on her feet: “Don’t berate yourself like that. You were, and you are, beautiful. You were never awkward, at least not with me. I cherished every single moment we spent together that year, I just didn’t recognise it for what it was. I clearly nursed a crush on you ever since I sat next to you on the bus, Ali. I kept thinking of ways to see your smile, and when I left school and shit happened… Life got in the way, I suppose, and then you left, and it all faded away. And then you came back…” I had to swallow a sudden lump in my throat: “I’m sorry, you know I ramble when I am concentrating on doing something with my hands…”

I stop, and for a bit I don’t say anything else, realising I rambled maybe a little too much and exposed a little too much in the process.

I feel Alice’s gaze travelling from my hands to my face, her face showing more resolve than nerves.

“What happened when I came back?” she asks, her voice feeble but steady.

“I remembered it all, even the heartbreak,” I say simply, because that’s the truth.

My thumb presses into the middle of her foot at that point, and something like a small whimper leaves her mouth.

I have managed to keep it cool until now, but that small noise threatens to suddenly unravel me. What am I doing touching Alice’s bare feet? Damn my acting first and to hell with the consequences. It’s always been my downfall.

“Ali,” I force out in a whisper, “don’t make those noises. I am really trying, really hard, to be good, here.”

I look up slowly, and Alice licks her lips. My eyes cannot leave her mouth. My own tongue comes out and skims over my bottom lip, followed by teeth, biting hard into the soft flesh, because maybe some pain will break the spell.

“Ali…”

I know I am about to move and do something stupid, when her phone rings. I suppose, I should be grateful for that, and yet all I feel is bitter resentment.