All Tomorrow's Parties (15 page)

“I’m here with the man I love, my best friend and the most magical city in the world - Ells this is truly inspirational, thank you so much for this, I don’t think I have ever felt so alive”, said Laine, giving her friend a hug.

The sun, now high in the sky, was making an imprint on the back of the necks of the tourists. Mary’s advice, although not understood at the time, had been good. As the little boat approached the port it had made a sharp 180 degree turn. All of the tourists who had been on the right side of the boat to disembark now found themselves on the wrong side of the boat. Once aware, the collective of tourists in swarm-like fashion crossed the boat, bottlenecking the gangplank and creating merry hell. The group of friends had sat and waited whilst chaos ensued and then abated.

“Let’s find a café somewhere, grab some lunch and plan our day, agreed?” said Andy as they finally stood on the quayside.

They made their way to Café Pietro just off St Mark’s Square. After a quick lunch and glass of wine, they all decided to go their separate ways and explore elements of the city that appealed. They agreed to meet back at the quayside to catch the vaporetti at 6pm.

Andy, Pete, Mary and Ella went straight to St Mark’s Basilica whilst John whispered to Laine he had a surprise to show her and they headed off towards the waterfront. “You’re being quite secretive John, what’s this about?” asked Laine.

“Ah you’ll see”, he said, grabbing her hand and moving towards a small ferry.

This boat was taking them to the small island of San Lozarro deli Armeni. The island was home to the order of Mekhitarist Monks, originally from Armenia. John explained that the island had been a place of love for the poet Byron. He knew from their conversations that Byron held a special place in Laine’s life. It was also fortuitous that San Lozarro deli Armeni was also home to some of the world’s rarest roses – a favourite for them both. Walking along the beach that first night, they had both been surprised by the other’s love of roses. It had sparked a debate on the origins of the rose and a discussion around why both the UK and the US had adopted it as their national flower. It had been the first of many coincidences.

As they approached the island they were struck by its beauty. The monastery tower framed picture perfect against the powder blue sky, the jade blue sea contrasting against the backdrop of the soft coral stonework of the island. The island itself seemed to be perfectly square with the monastery centrally placed.

Laine had heard of the island when she had read about Byron’s life and his love of Armenian culture but had never expected she would be able to visit it. “This is amazing John - how did you know about this place?” she said, taking hold of his hand. “One of the guys at the base mentioned it a while back, it’s not that well-known, but really worth the trip. When you mentioned you loved Byron, well, it all kinda fitted together”, he said, squeezing her hand just a little.

They walked hand in hand through the cloisters of San Lorrazo del Armeni. The air was heavy with hints of musk and tea rose. Their olfactory senses at first were overwhelmed as the subtle changes in scent presented themselves, ebbing and flowing like the tide. The roses in the gardens were nurtured like much loved children, now resplendent in a wild spectrum of colours. A monk knelt, a trug by his side. His secateurs delicately dead heading the myriad of rose bushes. He turned and nodded as they passed.

These roses had seen lovers come and go. The memory of their scent imprinted, able to trigger emotions of either love or sorrow. Petals fell as the breeze drifted through and scattered them onto the cobbled path. A carpet of resplendent blooms in multiple colours lay ahead of them. They walked slowly along the path; petals appeared to drop from the sky as if heralding their arrival. Instinctively, Laine took off her sandals. A mix of smooth velvety gloss and heat from the cobbles tickled the soles of her feet. John smiled. The more time he spent with Laine the more he realised how similar they were –both cherished simple beauty where they found it.

They continued in silence, caught up comfortably in their own thoughts. As they reached the end of the path they turned to see the monk who had been dead heading walking quickly towards them. “Scusi senior, senorina.” He held forward a striking red rose, petals splayed equally revealing a deep yellow centre. He wanted Laine to have it, no words were needed. “Grazie, graziemille”, she said. It smelt as she had imagined it would: deep and musky, reminiscent of bygone days.

They sat underneath the arched white cloisters looking out towards the garden. The day had been hotter than expected and they had been thankful for the coolness the cloisters now brought. Laine smelt the rose again, she had to remember it. It would remind her of a time where perfection was present and love really did exist.

The breeze had changed direction, bringing with it a change in mood that they both felt. The carefree dream was being replaced by the slow forward movement of time.

Their eyes met, his deep and full of kindness, hers immensely sad. They knew time was on their heels. She had hoped with all of her heart that she would see John again, beyond the here and now. She needed him in her life. He knew his path would take him away from Laine: he had no choice, and it was just how things were. His path had to be followed for the sake of his family, whatever the cost to him. He could feel the bile rising up inside at the thought of never seeing her again. Why did life have to be so cruel? He could not choose anyone above his children.

He had tried the best way he knew to try to cushion her fall. Right from the start he had said that he would not stay in touch, that it would be too painful to hear from her but not be able to be with her. Laine did not understand, she had known with every ounce of her being that he was the one. He knew she had fallen for him with all of her heart. He had resisted as best he could, knowing that pain would follow, but now he could not hold back, it were as though the flood gates were opened. He had allowed himself to love this strange, beautiful girl who had mesmerized him from the start. Why did life have to get in the way? He loved his kids with all of his heart and knew he had to stay on track for them. He loved Laine but right now there was not a way forward that he could see without immense pain and misery for her. Kimberley would not be shaken off easily and would make trouble at every point she could. His kids needed stability. Kimberley was doing everything she could to stop him from seeing them: if she even got a whiff that he could be happy she would not stop. How could he even begin to think Laine would want to take them on? She was a free spirit who deserved so much more than some screwed up GI with no prospects and two kids to support.

“A penny for them”, he said, meeting her heavy laden eyes.

“I was wondering if I will ever see you again.” She looked skyward and caught sight of a black kite riding the thermals - how free it appeared, she thought.

“I can’t answer that Laine…truth is, I don’t know. I know I love you with all of my heart and if I could see a way to make you happy I would. But right now the pain I would cause you would be unbearable. I can not do that to you.” Her gaze fell upon the rose, its petals piercing red, beauty on the stem of thorns.

Their last few days together were bittersweet. Never far from each other’s sight they sang and danced knowing time was precious, wanting the days to be made of sweet joyful love but aware that time was moving faster than ever before. John swapped his work schedule so that the time they had could be one continuous moment. He was afraid that once out of his sight the dream that was Laine Marshall would be broken. Their friends, respectful of their imminent parting, gave them space enough to spend alone without making them feel excluded. Red and Pete hooked up with the Scottish crew, leaving the upstairs apartment their private sanctuary.

8

The journey back home was tough; it was as though Laine had been bruised from the inside. A big, dark purple bruise, shining right through her soul, making her feel raw and tortured. She was in a state of shock. Unable to fully comprehend what had happened. Why why why? He loves me, that I know…she thought. Why won’t he let it be what it’s meant to be?

One word was all it would have taken. One word and she would have stayed without hesitation. She knew her life would never be the same now. Her soul had been liberated, liberated and loved at its very core. What happens now? John has opened my heart, she thought, he’s nurtured it and watched it develop, what now? A knot as sharp as barbed wire and as stabbing as a crown of thorns was setting her stomach into agonising spasms. Grief was beginning its slow climb.

It was a strange feeling landing back at Gatwick, almost as if the last ten days had never really existed. She felt as if she had lived a lifetime and was now an outsider looking in on the everyday movement of existence.

Whilst its true there’s no place like home, Laine knew that this return carried with it a new chapter. She had known from the moment she met John that her relationship with Danny was dead: even Tony had not been able to get her to that decision. God, and then there was Tony. This was not where she wanted to be. She had taken such a risk with John, she had risked everything. She couldn’t lie and say he’d misled her, he hadn’t. She had misled herself. She had never felt so utterly out of control as she had with him, he had infected her very essence, but now she had to adopt the behaviours of a sane normal person. She needed to do the right thing, even if all she wanted to do was run back to Italy. Danny had barely crossed her mind whilst she was away. She had felt a pang of guilt as Ella set about sending postcards and had been shamed into sending one to Danny. That in fact was the only time he had truly entered her thoughts, and even then she had battled with herself to keep him out of them, as if any mere thought of him would break the spell of her love for John. She could honestly say that her thoughts of Tony had not even been there. It was as if he had disappeared from her consciousness. Landing back at Gatwick was making her carry the weight of her situation, and she was now starting to crumble.

She had been back for three days now and still no word from John. Had she really got it so wrong, had he really been that much of a bastard that he had played her and just wanted to get her into bed? Another conquest for the young virile GI?

As much as she refused to accept it, the evidence all pointed to the fact that John had seen a naive English girl coming. He had whisked her off her feet, slept with her and then dumped her: what the f..k was that about? Ella had warned her time and time again not to get in too deep but Laine had felt compelled to follow her heart. Never again, she thought, never again would she give herself so completely, so wholeheartedly. John had taken everything she had to give and more. Like a master of deception he had not once given her any reason not to trust him. He had explained why he couldn’t keep in touch but she had refused to believe him, refused to accept that he would be so heartless. He’d felt the same, she knew he had, so none of this made any sense. Why throw away something so profoundly beautiful?

Laine was now faced with a new dilemma. She had known what to do about Danny and dealt with it the best she could. She had known she had broken Danny’s heart the day she returned and told him it was over. He had stared at her blankly; he did not seem to have processed what she had said. She couldn’t bear to feel the hurt she had inflicted. It was not planned, it just was the end. She had not stopped long enough to unpack, she couldn’t stay, she was screaming on the inside. A clash of two worlds was messing with her mind.

The sight of Danny’s expressionless face was etched on her mind. She headed for the sanctuary of Ella’s flat. It had been a miserable end to a totally miserable day. As she lay on Ella’s futon, sleep refused to come. It taunted her, giving her moments of calm quickly and violently followed by sharp images of Danny, expressionless, crumpled. Her nights from now on would be long and torturous she thought. Causing pain to someone she cared deeply for had no hiding place in Laine’s psyche. The depth of the night had taken hold, dark and luxurious. The noise of the traffic on the Bayswater road buzzed intermittently; dawn was fast approaching. She lay there tuning in and out, trying to think if the noises were buses or cars, wondering about the lives of the people contained within. Every detail imagined, married or single, rail worker or policeman, keeping her mind busy and occupied with the lives of make-believe. Torturous voices would have no room to mock, no room to accuse if her mind was busy.

She returned to work on the Monday, relieved to get a small dose of normality back into her system. The phone was already ringing.

“Hello, press office.”

“Well you don’t sound Italian at all!” He had caught her, he had caught her completely off-guard.

“Tony…I, eh, hi”, said Laine, surprised by the call but knowing sooner or later she would have to face him.

“Laine, I have missed you”, he whispered into the phone. Obviously calling from the office, she thought.