Back to Bologna

30

After his conditional release from the clutches of the Carabinieri, Zen felt like a drink. On the other hand, he didn’t fancy returning to the bar near his hotel, where half the clientele, judging by the stacked trophies and plaques on display, were high-ranking officers from the Questura. He’d had enough of cops for one day.

In the end he stumbled on the perfect refuge in a side street off the market area. The customers here were drawn from a much broader social range than at Il Gran Bar, and were less interested in showing off their status and style than in chatting animatedly, drinking deep and pigging into the astonishing range of non-fat-free appetisers piled high on the bar: glistening cubes of creamy mortadella, chewy chunks of crisp pork crackling, jagged fragments of golden stravecchio Parmesan. The Lambrusco was of the increasingly scarce authentic variety, unfiltered and bottle-fermented. On that bleak evening, when the gelid smog in the streets seemed not just a meteorological fact but a malign presence, its rich purple froth provided a welcome confirmation that there was more to life than hospitals, police stations and faithless lovers.

Most people are familiar with the temporary euphoria produced by a few glasses of wine, but few would claim that the experience had saved their marriage. For Zen, however, this may just have been the case, because when his phone rang he was in a particularly mellow and affable mood, amenable to anything and treating it all lightly.

‘It’s me,’ Gemma’s voice said.

‘At last! How are you? Where are you?’

‘In a bar.’

‘Me too.’

He laughed.

‘We really must stop meeting like this.’

There was no reply, but instead of regretting his flippancy and moodily clamming up in turn, he signed the bartender to refill his glass and carried on as though there had just been a brief lapse in transmission, of no personal intent or significance.

‘Which bar? I’ll come immediately.’

‘No, no, don’t. Stefano’s here.’

‘Stefano?’

‘My son.’

‘Oh, Stefano! Yes. Yes, of course. I thought you said…er, “sto telefono”.’

‘You’re the most awful liar, Aurelio.’

‘That’s because I never get any practice.’

‘Anyway, the reason I’m calling is…I’m having dinner with them, as I told you. Then I was planning to drive home, but after what’s happened I’m not so sure that would be a good idea.’

‘Don’t dream of it, particularly in the dark. The truckers on the autostrada are vicious. The doctor I spoke to at the hospital was horrified that you’d even discharged yourself. He said you needed more tests and…’

‘It’s not just that. But I really need a bed for the night, only because of this trade fair there don’t seem to be any hotel rooms to be had.’

‘Do you want to sleep with me?’ Zen replied in a lighthearted tone that he had thought he would never be able to manage again.

‘If that’s what it takes.’

‘It’s a sort of bed and a half rather than a full double.’

‘I’ll take it.’

He laughed again, quite naturally.

‘It’s yours, signora. We’ll just need a credit card number to secure the deposit. I had an appointment this evening, but I’ll cancel it.’

‘Don’t do that. I won’t be free till later anyway. Probably much later. They’ve had some bad news, you see. That’s why Stefano arranged to meet me here before dinner, so that he could break it to me alone. Anyway, it looks like being a long evening in every sense.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘I’ll tell you later. But the upshot is that I’m not going to be a grandmother after all.’

This was a much stiffer check, but once again Zen carried blithely on.

‘That’s a shame. Still, they’re young. There’s plenty of time.’

‘Not necessarily. It sounds as though this has put the relationship at risk. I get the feeling that Stefano’s relieved, quite frankly. Lidia, on the other hand, is naturally shattered. So a long evening, and I may be a bit weepy when we meet. It’s been a difficult day, one way and another.’

Zen took another hearty gulp of the effervescent wine and started toying with one of the pork ciccioli.

‘Yes, shame about lunch. You misunderstood me. I was talking to my stomach.’

‘I’d rather been looking forward to knitting little bootees and jackets.’

‘Well, I could use a new pullover.’

‘It wouldn’t be the same.’

He laughed again, by now quite impervious to anything she might throw at him.

‘I should hope not! It would never fit otherwise. I’ll tell the hotel to expect you. Just ask at the desk and they’ll give you a key if I’m not back.’

‘Thank you.’

‘All part of the service, signora. We know you have a choice. We work hard to be both your first choice and your last.’

He hung up, grinning widely, and grabbed a lump of Parmesan the size of an inoperable tumour.