Mary slipped the crystal into her shorts’ pocket and smiled. ‘In a pizzeria. With lodgings. It was too good an opportunity to miss.’
He gave a low whistle. ‘Good on you. That takes guts. So, where do you see yourself in five years? What’s your plan?’
‘Should I have one?’ Up until now, her plan had just been to take one day at a time. Pay the rent. And her bills. Hold down a job. Be independent.
‘Good grief, yes. Otherwise life just passes you by. At around your age, let me see …’ He thought for a moment. ‘I gave myself five years to buy my own car and put down a deposit on a home. And I managed that – albeit the wheels were an old banger and the new pad a tiny flat.’
The flight attendant offered them a drink and crisps, whilst Mary digested everything John had said. Perhaps this was her problem – she rarely made concrete plans for the future. There would have been no point in having aspirations, as a child. Her life was wholly in the hands of others. But now could she really, finally, work towards building a solid future of her own volition?
‘Hook, Line, and Sinker contains some great tips,’ said John and yawned. ‘It helps you set realistic goals, so that you aren’t heading for disappointment. It doesn’t matter how small and it says to concentrate on three areas – work, health, and love.’ He yawned again. ‘Right, I’m going to get some shut-eye. Little Ted’s owner kept me and her mum up most of the night.’
As he snuggled back into his seat, Mary looked through the book. Work, health, and love. She could do that – make three resolutions. She stared out of the window and awe extinguished fear as she marvelled at wisps of cloud. If humans could put a giant metal bird in the air then she could take control of her destiny.
First, work – learning to assert herself had to be the number one goal. Landlady Brenda had walked all over her. At twenty-six the legacy of a life in care was that she still feared being rejected by anyone holding an important position in her life. That meant she put up with being taken advantage of, when it came to the nine to five. What if her new boss had the biggest Italian temper? Or didn’t let her keep tips? So that was her first resolution – to stand up for herself at work, whatever the cost, even if it meant returning to England within the first month.
Secondly, health. She took out her iPod and put in her earphones. Her favourite pop salsa song came on. Of course! She should learn to dance. It has always been a dream since she’d first started watching her favourite ballroom dancing television programme. The sparkles and spray tans offered such an escape from the daily humdrum. Back in England she’d felt too self-conscious to join a ballroom class. It meant dancing with a partner and Jake would have rather spent an hour in a straitjacket than Lycra. But in Rome, no one would know her. Okay. So that was her second resolution decided upon.
Now for love. Jake’s last ever words to her still resounded in her ears. Don’t say I didn’t invite you to join me. For Christ’s sake, most people would jump at the chance of moving to Dubai! But not you. Well suit yourself – and thanks for helping me waste the last year of my life.
Santa beards of cloud, floating by, became blurry as she turned down the music. One year. That was the longest she’d ever dated anyone. Her chest tightened as she recalled the feeling of normality she’d revelled in, at becoming part of a couple. She’d come the nearest ever, with him, to emotionally letting go – or rather, letting him in. She’d risked getting close and had opened up her most vulnerable areas … shared some of her fears and dreams.
Mary had dared ask the question – could he be The One? Yet still she’d held back from telling him the things she’d never even told Jill. Just in case, like everyone else, he left – a defence mechanism she appreciated now. They’d had a terrible argument, in the end. He’d shouted that she suffered from attachment disorder – blamed her biological parents.
Mary squeezed her eyes tight. It had been hard to explain to him exactly why she couldn’t commit. But it was nothing to do with her birth mum and dad. She’d never met her father and up until the age of five, from what she could remember, had only felt love from her mum. Whereas her grandparents – that was a different matter. She recalled no hugs nor kind words, yet couldn’t blame them for giving her up. Time had given her perspective, as had getting to know Toby and Tilly next door. A small child was a lot of work for a couple who were heading towards their seventies – and who’d been estranged from their daughter.
‘Talk about an ice queen!’ Jake had shouted. ‘Didn’t the last twelve months mean anything?’
Maybe he should have worked it out – that, in fact, the last year had meant so, so much. That was why she felt hurt that he was effectively abandoning her, just like every person in her childhood. Oh, he’d asked her to go with him, but his plans – his future – were already in place. Cancelling or postponing Dubai, if she said no, never got a mention. Jake was leaving, regardless of her decision.
‘I’d be mad to turn down an opportunity like this,’ he’d said.
‘If anyone’s got attachment problems it’s you,’ a heartbroken Mary had muttered and she swore that her heart actually broke in two ragged halves that could never fit together again.
Jake was just like the social workers who passed her case on. Just like the foster parents who got pregnant or moved abroad. Mary never felt like she truly belonged. Social Services didn’t encourage the use of the words “Mum” and “Dad” and that was hard for a little girl. Plus, looking back, Mary could see that the front she’d put on had probably fooled foster parents. The stories she’d heard, of other foster children, made her realise she must have appeared to be quite solid. Unaffected. Strong.
‘You’re lucky,’ said one social worker. ‘My last client is four and has never seen a piece of fruit.’
‘What a relief to look after a child who’s so well behaved,’ said one foster parent. ‘In the past we’ve opened our wallets to children but still they’ve stolen from shops. You’re a good girl.’
And she was. Clean and tidy. She’d never committed a crime. Mary went to school. The records and diaries her carers had to keep were probably very short. And because of that, they’d never guessed that inside she was howling for attention.
Perhaps she expected too much of grown-up life – to be someone’s Number One. And she tried to remind herself that there were always others who were worse off.
Mary opened her eyes and sat up straighter in the aeroplane seat. She shook herself. Rome was about her future, not her past.
‘Get a grip and stop feeling sorry for yourself, Mary Smith,’ she murmured. She reached into her handbag and pulled out an envelope. Sarah had given it to Jill who had passed it on, a couple of days ago. Apparently Alfonso had sent strict instructions for her to open it on the flight. Naturally, Mary had obeyed and waited until this moment. She slid her finger under the top flap, and pulled until it broke all the way along. She tugged out … a photo. Without studying it closely, Mary turned it over.
We are all so excited to meet you, Maria! See you soon. Buon Viaggio!
‘Maria,’ she whispered and her face broke into a smile. Somehow her new life sounded better already. More exciting. Vibrant. She turned the photo back over and scrutinised every detail. A group of people stood in front of the ground floor of a building – the restaurant. A white canopy stretched forwards and underneath it stood eight tables, each covered with a pretty green gingham cover topped with a vase containing a rose. Clouds of cooling mist came out of jets, at the side of the restaurant. Above the canopy a scarlet sign read Pizzeria Dolce Vita. Dolce Vita. The good life? What was that exactly, Mary wondered?
Perhaps it simply meant happiness, as the customers certainly