Travel Short Story Competition - Runner Up

Nothing had prepared her for the noise: the blaring horns; the revving buzz of Vespas zooming in and out of her line of vision; even the heat had its own pitch and tone, pressing into her aching temples.  Anna realised, too late, how naive she’d been, buying into those honeymoon brochure shots: empty streets; soft-focus couples gazing into each other’s eyes by the Colosseum; entwined lovers strolling through the deserted Forum.  It was a capital city in summer.  Of course it was going to be busy.
    “Fantastic, isn’t it?”  Nat yelled, as another swarm of Vespas flew past, seemingly oblivious to the zebra crossing.  He squeezed her hand, yanking her across the road, forcing the traffic to veer round them.
    “Where to first?” he asked as they reached the pedestrian island in the middle.  He let go of her hand to consult the guide book.  “The Palatine Hill?”
Anna nodded.  “If we see somewhere that sells water...” she began, but Nat was gone again, darting in front of a van that showed no sign of slowing.  Anna stumbled back instinctively, eyes half shut against the collision, but it never came.  There was Nat, already on the other side, waving as a fresh river of cars and scooters flowed between them.  
    She waved back, waiting for the traffic to slow.  It didn’t.  What kind of a crossing was it if no one let you cross?  Others followed in Nat’s wake, shouting into their mobiles in a blur of Italian that bore no relation to Anna’s ‘Holiday Phrase a Day’ CD.  Twice she ventured forwards, only to bottle it again as the cars kept coming.  In the end she attached herself to a no-nonsense mother of three, following behind the pushchair.
     “They’re not like the crossings back home,” said Nat redundantly, taking her hand again.  “You’ve just got to go for it.  Show no fear.”  He grinned at her worried expression.  “Come on,” he said, “when in Rome...”  She attempted a smile but it was lost behind him as he set off again, dragging her along like a child.  She almost had to run to keep up.  When she’d pictured the two of them walking hand in hand through the Eternal City this wasn’t what quite she’d had in mind.
                        
#

    “Happy?” he asked, gazing down towards the Forum.  Anna’s eyes were fixed on the ice cream van beyond.
    “I’ll be a whole lot happier when we get something to drink,” she said, batting the heat away with her sunhat.  “Don’t get me wrong, it’s great,” she added, guiltily – Rome had been her idea after all, the one place he’d never visited with Suzanna – “but I’d enjoy it even more with some water.  How about that van down there?”
    Nat shook his head.  “It’ll be ludicrously expensive.  Let’s wait ‘til we find a fountain.  Purest water in Italy, apparently, if a little high in calcium.  Read it in the guide book.”  
    Anna wrinkled her nose, remembering the sour-smelling drunk she’d seen guzzling at the water fountain near their hotel.  “I’d rather get a bottle I can carry round with me,” she argued, but Nat’s thoughts were already on other things.  
“Come on.  We need to get on and do the Forum if we want to have lunch in that restaurant I was telling you about.”
    “Do we?” thought Anna.  She didn’t really care where they ate – not in this heat, anyway – all she wanted was a drink.  But she bit her tongue.  Nat was one of life’s organisers – that’s what drew her to him in the first place.  That and the sad lines around his smile.  Poor widowed Nat, looking for someone to fill the wife-sized hole in his life.  And Anna turned out to be the perfect shape, stepping straight into his dead wife’s shoes.  Everyone told her it wouldn’t last – he needed more time to grieve properly before he could move on – but what did they know?  Because here she was, twelve months later, legally buckled into those very same shoes, tripping down the Palatine Hill in them, behind her over-eager husband.
                    
#

The day passed in a blur of heat and noise and history.  Gladiatorial ghosts filtered through the crowds in the Colosseum; scrawny cats snoozed amongst the ruins of temples; stone creatures springing up from Bernini’s fountains, taunting Anna with their sleek, water-cooled bodies.  Church after church.  Statue after statue.  The Spanish steps with the angry official shouting at picnickers; the Trevi fountain with its flurry of flying coins.  
Nat was reading something out of the guidebook now, but Anna was only half listening, eyes drawn to the passionate couple kissing at the fountain’s edge, utterly oblivious to the crowds spilling around them.  She felt a pang of envy, or was it disappointment?  Had she really imagined the romance of the city would transform her and Nat in the same way?  They were both too reserved, too wholeheartedly British for such public displays of emotion.  It just wasn’t them.  And yet...
    “Happy?” Nat asked her, again, over lunch in his chosen trattoria.
    Anna poured herself a third glass of water.  Smiled.  “What do you think?”
    “Do say if I’m going too quick,” he told her, leafing through the guidebook with one hand as he stabbed at his orecchiette with the other.  “Suzanna was always asking me to slow down on holiday.”
    Anna flinched at the mention of her name, forcing her mouth into an even wider smile.  She’d been naive enough to think they might have left Suzanna behind at Heathrow, if not at the registry office door.
    “No, you’re fine,” she lied.  “We’ve only got a few days after all.”  She took another long slug of water.  “What about you?” she asked, turning the question back at him.  “Are you happy?”
    “Let me think – a delicious bowl of pasta in the most beautiful city in the world, with my lovely new wife.  Of course I am.”

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Another restaurant, another bowl of pasta ordered.  Anna alternated gulps of water with the Sangiovese Nat had chosen.  Suzanna always drunk white wine on holiday, apparently, so she was damned if she was going to.  Even if it would have been cooler and more refreshing after a dusty day trudging round the city after Nat.  He was already back in his guidebook, of course (had Suzanna found that as irritating as she did?), having waxed lyrical for a full five minutes about the intense flavour of the complimentary olives.  Anna studied the chalk menu board behind his head, whispering the names under her breath, enjoying the shapes of the words in her mouth: L’aragosta, il finocchio, la melanzana.
Now she was sitting down, the heat finally having gone out of the sun, she could relax.  Tomorrow would be better, she was sure of it, growing surer with every gulp of wine.  She’d be better acclimatised tomorrow.  More in tune with the bustle and noise.  Tomorrow they’d stock up on water before they set off.  Take time for ice-creams from one of the enticing gelaterie.  Stroll hand in hand through cobbled streets and kiss in crowded squares.  Yes.  Tomorrow she’d leave her boring British second-wife anxieties at the hotel, and embrace a more Italian way of looking at the world.  Tell Nat to ditch the guidebook and let them discover the city for themselves.  She beckoned to the waiter and ordered a second carafe of wine.  

                        #

    “Steady on,” said Nat, as Anna lurched across the road in front of a speeding Vespa.
    “When in Rome...” she giggled.
    “You’re drunk,” he said, an edge of disapproval to his voice.  
    Anna took no notice, grabbing hold of his neck and kissing him with what she imagined was authentic Italian passion.  
    He pulled away after a few moments.  “Come on, we’re not far from La Bocca della Verità here.  It’s virtually on our way back to the hotel.”
    “What?”
    “The Mouth of Truth,” he said.  “You know, like in Roman Holiday.”
    “I’ve never seen Roman Holiday.”
    “Really?  It was one of Suzanna’s favourite...” Nat stopped himself.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “You don’t like me mentioning her, do you?”
    “She was your wife.  You were happy together,” said Anna.  “I get it.  But I’m your wife now.  This is our honeymoon.  If you weren’t ready to move on you shouldn’t have married me.”
    “Of course I was.  It’s what Suzanna wanted, after all.  She told me to find someone else and be happy.  And I found you.  Look,” he said, “it’s been a long day.  Perhaps we should head straight back to the hotel.”  He took her hands in his, turning on his sad smile, and Anna felt her anger melting into guilt.
    “It’s fine,” she said.  “You know what I’m like after too much wine.  Let’s go and see your Bocca della Whatsit while we’re here.”
    It turned out to be a large stone face with a mouth like a letterbox.  
    “That’s it, put your hand in there,” said Nat, as Anna slid her fingers into the waiting gap of its lipless jaws.  “Then I have to ask you a question.”  He thought for moment.  “Are you happy?”
    “Then what happens?” asked Anna.  
“You answer.  And if you’re lying it bites your hand off.”
Anna yanked her arm back.  “That’s horrible,” she said.  “I’m not doing that.  Of course I’m happy.”
Nat put his own hand in.  “Go on then, you ask me a question instead.”
    There were so many things she wanted to ask.  Will you ever love me as much as Suzanna?  Do you wish she was here instead of me?  But was she really ready for a truthful answer?
    “Will you still love me if I throw your guidebook in the Tiber?” she said at last, flexing her fingers against the sudden numbness in her own hand.  Glancing down at it, instinctively, to check it was still there.