Rewind and Play

2014

---

Alice

SAMUEL: Hey Ali, everything ok?

SAMUEL: Haven’t heard from you in a while

SAMUEL: I have finished the design for your sleeve if you want to come over and have a look

ALICE: I’m sorry. Didn’t want to bother you and I have been busy with stuff

SAMUEL: It’s ok. How is the restaurant?

ALICE: It’s improving, which is something. Clara is working on a website and I am working on a re-opening day. It will be sometimes at the end of April or early May. By the way, you are definitely invited to that. My aunt and uncle would love it if you could make it.

SAMUEL: Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world

ALICE: That will be my masterpiece, and then I’m done with Castelnuovo

SAMUEL: Oh.

SAMUEL: Back to Madrid?

ALICE: Yeah, I have to go back eventually

ALICE: Anyway, I could come over on Monday afternoon to have a look at the design?

SAMUEL: Sounds good.

ALICE: You ok?

SAMUEL: Sorry Ali, the news left me a bit shocked… I was not expecting it to be so soon

SAMUEL: I suppose I knew it was going to happen, but I didn’t want to think about it

ALICE: Yeah, Clara was the same. We were at Una’s the other evening, to talk about some of the stuff for her wedding, and she was less than best pleased about it.

SAMUEL: Glad I’m not the only one, I suppose

---

“Bring me another Cuba Libre!” Clara screeches, waving her racket around.

I hug my friend with a laugh and get up to comply, bringing Marta with me to help with the drinks. Marta looks fantastic tonight: she is dressed in a silver slip dress and she has buffed up her long blond hair in something resembling David Bowie’s hairstyle in “Labyrinth”. Despite that, the ensemble is actually breathtaking. Clara, instead, is wearing an Agassi wig and a towel hairband across her forehead. She completed the outfit with a very short pleated white skirt and a very tight white t-shirt. Clara’s brain works in mysterious ways, if that’s her idea of Eighties, but then again, that’s probably why I love her so.

Today, it’s Clara’s hen party. There has not been much to organise since Clara, much like myself, hates this sort of celebrations. When I first broached the subject, Clara said, adamant: “I am just not going around with a dick on my head. I am in my thirties, for fuck’s sake, and the only place I want a dick is into my vagina, my mouth or my ass when I feel like it.”

Point taken, I suppose.

So, Clara requested a night out at Bar Sport, the only concession given to the whole “hen” principle being there was going to be a theme for the gathering. The theme was going to be the Eighties.

Marta flew in from Sevilla today and went directly to Clara’s, where they got ready together, before heading over. Clara’s brothers’ partners and a couple more friends also make up our small group.

Una has given us the little room near the bathroom, which now contains our group, including an already merry and racket-waving Clara, who has finally forgiven me for booking the flight back to Madrid. She sulked for a good couple of days after I told her I was leaving in June, but then she came around and understood my need for an escape route.

Marta and I approach the bar, laughing at something ridiculous Clara has just said back in our place.

Man, I love this bar. Its floors are sticky, the music is on, and it feels like the right place to be yourself and let go, no judgement.

“Are you liking it being back at the village?” asks Marta while we are waiting for the drinks.

“I am enjoying it more than I thought I would, to be honest. I thought I was going to hate being here, living with my parents… But, in the end, I have been so busy that I’ve got more on than in Madrid. I might even miss it a little after I’m gone back.”

“Oh, you have a date already?”

“Ah, yeah, just after the wedding.” I peer at Marta: “You seem surprised.”

“Well, I thought… I don’t know, from talking to Clara, I thought there was a chance that you’d stay here longer.”

I now throw a suspicious look Marta’s way: “… And the reason for that would be?”

“… Standing at the entrance door right now.”

“What?”

My head whips towards the entrance: it’s almost like a gut-punch, seeing him there, coming in a jazzy-but-not-too-jazzy light blue shirt with tiny flowers, hair neatly trimmed, dimple in full display, smiling at the man at his side. He’s so beautiful I forget to breathe for one second.

When I manage to draw a breath under Marta’s amused stare, a sort of low-level anger starts boiling up: can’t I even have the one Samuel-free night? But then, again, the village is so small, and there are so very few places to go, that I should’ve known better than to hope for it to happen.

I have not seen Samuel in what feels like forever, and we only texted today. I needed to take a step back.

It’s not that I am angry at him. I completely understand him, and I know full well he doesn’t want to hurt me. The whole situation just makes me unbearably sad. I am starting to realise that I am falling for Samuel, in a way I wasn’t either expecting or wanting, really. It’s happened slowly and steadily over the last few months and by now I have stopped trying to convince myself it’s just physical attraction, or the memory of those times back then.

I like him. Of course, I like his looks, but what I like the most about him is that he’s funny, considerate, full of life. I can’t help but liking the fact that he is trying to do the right thing, that he’s probably thinking that a brief fling won’t be worth losing everything in the long run, that Vittoria deserves better. All of which is more than fair enough.

Part of me wants to spend every single day until I leave with him, to make the most of it. To enjoy his company, that feeling of being in the right place.

But tonight, it’s supposed to be about Clara, not about my small-town-drama which is bound to go absolutely nowhere anyway.

It comes out slightly more aggressively than I want it to when I huff: “You have to be fucking with me. Do you think it would be rude if I didn’t go near him?”

“Why? I thought you really wanted to go near him. I would love to go near him…”

I sigh: “Tonight is Clara’s night, Marta.”

Marta pats me on the arm: “Well, you can say hello, not be rude, and then tell him that you have your hen to attend. No harm done. Also, Vittoria is not around. Don’t you regret not smoking? It would be a hell of an excuse to have a chat.”

“Happy without smoking, thanks. But point taken. Can you bring the drinks? I am going to say hello and I’ll be back.”

“I am so proud you can be a functioning adult…”

Samuel is already beelining for the bar, eyes locked on mine. The swooping sensation in my stomach deepens, and I can feel Una’s stare on me, too. She knows more than she lets on, I’m sure.

When he gets here, it takes a lot of restraint for me not to stretch my hand and touch him on the arm, or to hug him. If I do it, I am not sure I’ll be able to hold back. I am scared everyone will see how much I care for him.

But of course, as soon as I’m within reach, Samuel pulls me in, an arm around my back, and gives me two kisses, on each of my cheeks. They are quick, but they are much closer to my mouth than etiquette would allow.

“Hey, Ali,” he then says in a somewhat ropey voice, releasing me and giving me a lopsided smile, dimple out.

I have tunnel vision, at the moment. I almost feel like fainting, and I am happy I can lean back on the counter to hold myself up. Last time I saw him, I kissed him. He looked a little worse for wear, and vulnerable in more than one way. I thought taking a step back would help. Seeing him here, all done up, smelling (and looking) delicious, is almost too much.

“Hey, Sami,” I reply, feeling a bit like someone has hit me on the head with a heavy book. Less than two seconds, and the conversation has already slipped from my hands, just like that.

“How’s your back?” I ask, trying to keep it safe.

“I am really sorry,” comes out of Samuel’s mouth at the same time.

“Whatever are you sorry for?” I look at him inquisitively, head tilted to one side.

“Well, I didn’t know you were here or…”

“Or what? You wouldn’t have come? Avoided me?”

Ok, it seems to me like the pressure cooker is letting out some steam. Oh, well.

Samuel holds up his hands.

I close my eyes, sigh and try again: “Sorry. I know what you meant. Thanks.”

“You look…”

I know how I look. I look like a million dollars, with a teal t-shirt-dress-number and yellow tights, on very high, very cool heels. I fluffed my hair so much it’s almost an afro; that, with some bright eye shadow and cherry lips, make me feel like I could conquer anything.

Anything bar a compliment from Samuel’s, that is.

I lift a hand up: “Don’t finish that sentence, Sami. I am trying here. It won’t help if you are going to say what you were going to say. Maybe it’s best if we don’t talk at all tonight. Nothing good can come of the two of us being in the same square meter.”

There’s a definite hurt look in Samuel’s eyes, but he ends up saying, voice small and sad: “Ok, Ali. Say hi to Clara from me and enjoy your night,” and without saying anything else, he goes back to the small group of men he came in with.

I heave a big, suspiciously wet, sigh.

“Well, that went well.”

A small glass thuds on the bar and I turn around just in time to see Una pouring something in it and pushing it towards me: “On me.”

“Thanks, Una. Can I stay here a minute?” I ask, leaning on the bar and scrunching my eyes shut.

“All night long if you want, but I think you’ll soon be found by your friends.”

Young, fearless, wise Una, looks at me for a second, then leans forward, a hard glint to her dark eyes: “To be honest with you, Alice, Samuel deserves better than what he brought on himself lately. I’ve always thought that way. He is such a nice person. He likes living here. He could even convince you to live here, and I’d be very happy of that.”

This type of conversations is what you have to expect when you leave in a small town like Castelnuovo. Of course, Michele must’ve run his mouth, and everyone knows that Samuel was helping out and that we spent a night at my aunt and uncle’s.

But Una is not trying to pass judgement, or being nosy. Drinking the shot in one go, the gin burning my throat, I say: “I can’t blame him. I appear in his life all of a sudden, making a big mess of everything. He doesn’t want to put all on the line for what? Someone who will be leaving in a couple of months? Hell, if I was in his place I wouldn’t do it either. I am not sure sticking around is a good idea.”

Una pats my hand: “Tonight is not the right time to wallow. Try and have fun with your friends, and forget Samuel exists, if you can.” Throwing a glance in Samuel’s direction, she mumbles: “He’s handsome all right, the fucker, which is a problem. I’m tempted to give you another shot to make you feel better.”

“I’ll manifest a great night and it will happen, Una.” Squaring my shoulders, I look her in the eye: “Thanks for the shot. I’m gonna get very drunk and very happy with my best friends, now.”

---

I manage to do at least one of those two things in spades. The other I try my best to achieve, for a bit at least. I didn’t plan for anything in particular for tonight, so we have a good old session, dressed up like lunatics. Clara, Marta and I have the chance to properly catch up for the first time in a long while, and we do so with relish. The only subject we avoid is Samuel-shaped, but that’s ok.

After a while, the chat becomes more discombobulated and we start an impromptu karaoke session, joined by almost everyone in attendance. Sonny and Piotr are in attendance. Piotrs meets Clara and myself like we are long-lost relatives and pays for a round for “the most beautiful bride-to-be” in attendance.

At this stage, Clara has already hit two people on the head with her stupid racket, despite Marta’s best efforts to avoid it, and the sisters in law and other friends have long since abandoned the fray, fortunately for everyone involved.

Marco arrives at some stage, thank goodness, together with his best friend. After being welcomed like a hero by the three of us (and Piotr, who’s found a brother), Marco has stayed solidly next to Clara, weathering the worst of the storm. He is also very drunk, because he’s coming from his own stag-do just finished at the Disco Cometa, but he is keeping some semblance of composure, although he is currently enjoying some heavy petting with his future wife on top of the pool table.

Bar Sport is still, incredibly, packed with people, despite the late hour. While everyone starts on a very heartfelt rendition of Don’t Look Back in Anger, I look around, squinting slightly, on my own, for now. I have felt Samuel’s eyes on me in bits and pieces throughout the night, but I have tried very hard to not look his way. I did it, mostly. His hair has gotten progressively more mussed, like he’s stuck his hand in it multiple times during the night, but I can’t find him anywhere at the moment.

It might be time for a smoke bomb on the two lovebirds. What the fuck am I going to stick around for, this late in the night? I’m suddenly despondent, and want out.

Without a backward glance I grab my coat and bag and I’m out, through a slightly tilting floor, fumbling to find my earphones. I put them in, fumble some more, and then start blasting The New Pornographers’ Electric Version. It normally manages to make me smile. My mood, once the cold March air hits my lungs, is not fantastic, all of a sudden. I start marching on, following the power pop that is making me a little (a lot) deaf, knowing my legs won’t like me very much, tomorrow. My stomach won’t like me either, from the look of things. Hell, it’s not like I like myself very much. Why did I have to get tangled with Samuel, again? Don’t I remember what happened the first time around? Of course I do. I mean, it was my fault back then. Stupid, silly Alice. I’ve never been good looking enough, smart enough, cool enough for Samuel. Why would he leave his perfect future in the small town for the big city girl who doesn’t even have a job, or a calling of any type? Who has already booked a return flight to Madrid, to go back to her miserable existence?

I can feel them coming, the frustrated and angry tears that are threatening to make an appearance, fuelled by many a gin and tonic. I shake my head, refusing to give in, and making myself dizzy in the process. So dizzy, in fact, that all those gin and tonics are suddenly coming up too.

I stop abruptly and I get sick on the side of the road.

Now, this is a new low.

Then, a big hand touches the small of my back, rubbing my coat in circling, soothing motions.

No, wait, this is the new low.

When I am finished, I turn blearily around, and Samuel appears in my field of vision. He is saying something and looking worried, but I can’t hear him because Neko Case is still singing in my ears. I clumsily pull at my earphones until they are dangling from my neck.

“I’m sorry, Ali, I have been shouting your name a while but hadn’t realised you had earphones in. Should’ve known better.”

“Yeah, you should’ve. I should’ve known better too; I wasn’t supposed to drink this much. Sorry, you had to see me like this,” I mumble, looking down at a very interesting pebble in the vicinity of Samuel’s right foot.

“Hey, don’t be sorry. I am not at my best myself. Also, you helped me out with the back, remember?”

“I helped you because you helped me with the paint,” I mumble belligerently, still looking down.

“Don’t look down like that. It reminds me when I had just met you…”

That only makes me want to try and drill my way to the centre of the Earth. Then Samuel’s cold hands are on my face, lifting it up. His golden eyes are serious: “Ali, let me bring you home. Please?”

I look at him, at his beautiful, kind face. If he asked me to jump out of a window, I would. How can I not let him bring me home?

I turn homeward, and give him one earbud. He has to stoop down a little, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I hold onto his arm, and we slowly get going. Neko Case resumes her singing, and I lean on Samuel’s coat, inhaling his soothing scent. Neither talks, and it seems like the walk goes on forever and not long enough. It’s slightly foggy, and chilly. Now that most of the gin has left my body, the cold air starts clearing up my brain, leaving me just thirsty, slightly ashamed and sad.

We finally reach home.

I clear my throat: “Thanks, Sami. I don’t think I deserved that you be nice to me, tonight. I’ve been an asshole.”

Samuel stares at me, while I rummage into my bag and retrieve the keys, where I left them together with my dignity.

“Well, I suppose I will see you next w…”

Samuel quietly steps forward and wraps his arms around me. He is clinging to me; I can hear his heart beating fast in the nook of his neck where he holds me tight. Before I can think it through, my arms go around his lean frame and hold tight. I am drowning, and he’s keeping me afloat. We stay like that for longer than we should.

When we finally break apart, Samuel holds onto my hand for a moment, then turns around and starts walking: “See you next week Ali. Sleep well.”