IMMAGINARIO Page 3

  “I asked you if I could sit with you bella?” He raised an eyebrow questioningly. I nodded without hesitation. “I asked you why are you here? Are you on business or holiday?”

  “Holiday. For two weeks. I’m spending the whole two weeks in Florence.” I informed him. “I arrived yesterday.” I added, hoping this would convey that I was at the beginning of my stay and therefore had plenty of time to get to know him. I flashed him what I hoped was an encouraging smile. Not that he seemed like he needed any- he was bold as brass so far.

  I chanced a closer look at his face as he sat and adjusted his chair. His mouth captured my immediate attention. His lips were full, sumptuous and downright kissable and accentuated by his strong chin. His face was angular but slim, with high cheekbones. He sported a casual scruff and short moustache that matched his salt and pepper hair. My eyes travelled upwards to his and I took in a sharp breath as two deliciously, deep set, pools of hazel brown looked directly back at me. Wow!

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Melissa” I replied.

  I crossed out Melissa and replaced it with ‘Naomi’. As soon as the words appeared on the paper in the bright red ink, I felt a rush of adrenaline. I felt like a naughty child and I rather liked it. Filled with rebellious determination, I turned a few pages and found another scene. As I read through it I began crossing out whole sentences and rewriting them as I would’ve written it, unashamedly including myself in the story.

  Melissa became me and gradually, paragraph by paragraph, Joseph Ferrantino became mine. Granted, it was only in the literary sense, although I had claimed him in my heart long ago but it felt good nonetheless. I supposed if no one was going to see it what harm could it do? I was just practicing my writing skills and giving myself an extra treat at the same time. I knew it was a little crazy, claiming a fictional character as my own and even crazier writing myself into his story. I didn’t know what would happen if Laney ever found out. I’d probably get sued or put in an institute for the mentally insane, but it felt satisfying seeing his name next to mine in print. Rereading what I’d written gave me an insurmountable feeling of childish euphoria. I made no apologies for indulging my most intimate fantasies. Right now, at this very moment in time, in my heart and in my own weird way, I had started to create a life with my perfect man.

  It was nearing dawn when I stopped. I had spent at least two hours writing and reviewing, changing things I didn’t like and moving scenes around. It hadn’t taken long for me to get back into the swing of things. I found myself smiling as I wrote because for the first time in two years I felt a flicker of happiness. I shuffled off to bed and climbed in, realising that for all I was exhausted, I felt at peace for once. No anxiety, no frustrations. It was bliss. My head hit the pillow and I felt myself start to drift off.

  “Goodnight Joe” I managed to whisper. As my eyes closed and my breathing steadied, just for a brief moment, I thought I heard someone reply,

  “Buonanotte Naomi, amore mio.”

  A small, contented smile graced my lips for a second before what was left of the early hours claimed me.

  ***

  When I opened my eyes again the clock had moved forward three hours. My dreams had been particularly vivid, I distinctly remembered a man’s voice calling my name. I loved it when I remembered my dreams. I always tried to analyse them. I was convinced the human brain had some secret ability that we hadn’t tapped into yet and that the universe talked to us, sent us signs that most failed to notice. I believed my dreams were trying to tell me something. I guess you could say I believed in magic of sorts. I wasn’t religious in the traditional sense. I didn’t believe in God, heaven and hell. I was more of a spiritual soul. I liked to think I had a secret connection with the earth and everything in it. Mum said I was born in the wrong decade that I was a bit of a dreamer at heart and would’ve made a perfect hippy. She was probably right, although I couldn’t see myself dancing naked round a fire singing folk songs or wearing floral mix dresses and daisies in my hair. But, I liked to walk in the woods or barefoot on a deserted beach and listen to the wind and the waves. It was people I didn’t particularly connect with.

  After my nasty divorce, I became a bit of a social recluse, although I laughed and joked outwardly when I did manage to get out and visit people, inside I just wanted to go home. I had a handful of friends and acquaintances but in general I preferred my own company. These days I suffered badly with depression and social anxiety. Sometimes I couldn’t even face walking out my front door. Perhaps that was one of the reasons I still loved reading so much. On a bad day all I had to do was open a book and forget the world.

  When Laney Marsh’s part manuscript had appeared in my mailbox a year ago, I had been ecstatic. It’d been ages since I’d had a fiction to proof and it’d come just at the right time. My sister Immy had moved across the other side of the planet and I had never felt so lonely. A good meaty romance novel was just what I needed to take my mind off the mess that was my life. Not getting much sleep wasn’t helping either. I looked like a total zombie again today.

  “Today is a good day young lady!” I told my mirrored self. My large satchel bag held the manuscript and my red pen, I decided to go out for a few hours, take a walk and settle in at the coffee house for an afternoon of reading and editing. Staying indoors too much was making me look like a member of the Cullen family so I grabbed my bag and headed out.

  “Hey Mrs Crabtree, how are you?” I said, smiling at my elderly ground floor neighbour, who stood at the bottom of the internal stairs. She stared at me, not returning her usual cheery greeting.

  “Um, everything OK?” I asked.

  “No it isn’t.” She replied- a little alarmed. I frowned. This wasn’t like her at all, she was normally full of the joys of spring.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Is it anything I can help you with? You’re not unwell I hope?” I liked to keep an eye on her, she always put my post in my designated basket in the lobby for me, always had a kind word and an enquiry after my mother whenever we crossed paths. I’d hate to think of myself as a neglectful neighbour- social recluse or not.

  “I heard noises last night, thought it was number 3b’s cat had gotten out again and was knocking my plants over on the step.” She said. Slinky, was the big fat ginger fur ball that lived in 3b with Nelly Parker. Nelly was a young lawyer who had just landed her first job at a big firm in Newark so she commuted every day. Unfortunately it meant she kicked her cat out every morning and occasionally he didn’t come back till the early hours. There was no cat flap on the front door so Mrs Crabtree or one of the other residents would let him back in when they found him mewling on the front step.

  “I came out to let him in,” she continued. “I went to the front door and he was making a right old racket, hissing and spitting like a banshee!” She emphasised the hissing and spitting with dramatic noises of her own, re-enacting the scene for my benefit. “I thought it was maybe another tom cat and he was defending his territory, you know?” She was well into her story now, I could tell she’d been dying to tell someone whatever it was that had happened. I wondered if she’d been waiting for someone to come downstairs. “Anyway, he shot upstairs like a bat out of Hell when I opened the door, never seen the like.” She tutted and shook her head, “Poor thing, he must have scared him.” She dropped her voice and leaning into me, touched my arm and whispered, “Mind you, he scared me. I don’t mind telling you love. Just standing there in the rain he was, soaked through, looking up at me.”

  “He who?” I asked. Her dramatic performance had drawn me in.

  “Don’t know. Not seen him before but he looked a bit odd. Just stood there looking like he did, shirt all wet.” Iain? was the first thought in my head. Surely not though? Mrs Crabtree knew him and besides why would my ex-husband- whom I’d not seen for two years until the other day- be standing outside my building in the rain? I sighed, was he having second thoughts about his new upcoming nuptials? Ha! Bloody typical, he was a
total commitment-phobe

  “Thought it was a ghost at first, what with his hair and everything.” Mrs Crabtree said.

  “Wait. What?” My heart stopped. “What about his hair?” I demanded.

  “White like a ghost!” She replied. “Well, least it looked to me anyway.”

  “Did he say anything?

  “Couldn’t tell you lovely. I shut the door, right sharpish I did. Didn’t like the way he was looking, like he wanted to be inside. Good looking fella though, it’s a shame if he’s turned out a bad ’un. Get all sorts of criminals these days you know. He was a fast ’un I can tell you, the minute I’d locked the door and looked up he’d gone, quick as a flash!” Her expression turned to a look of concern when she noticed my own. “Oh dear, love. Are you alright? I haven’t scared you have I?” She patted my arm. “Just I thought everyone should know, you know? Be aware, on alert so to speak.”

  My mind raced. White hair. Like silver hair? It had to be just a coincidence. Probably some old guy, or some drunk that had taken a wrong turn and thought it was his building. I told Mrs Crabtree as much but she didn’t look too reassured.

  “Mmm, well maybe dear but just you take care when you’re in and out OK?” She asked and I nodded.

  “I will, don’t worry. And so should you too.” I said. She smiled at me, back to her usual happy self again and pottered off to water her plants.

  I thought about this strange encounter of Mrs Crabtree’s all the way to Starbucks and was still puzzling it out as I settled into a booth at the back of the coffee house, took out my notepad and pen. Today I was going to people-watch, one of my favourite things to do was to evesdrop on conversations. However, I couldn’t get my mind off the mysterious nighttime stranger, who was he? I knew for a fact now it couldn’t have been Iain. The only good-looking white haired young man I knew of wasn’t even real so that was impossible. Then who? It was nagging me a little. A group of people entered and went to the counter to order, the place was starting to fill up as it was almost 11.30am. It’d soon be heaving when the lunch crowd came in. I had my latte and my fruit salad and sat unnoticed in my little booth.

  I tried to focus on the snippets of conversations I caught. This was great practice for writing dialogue. People never did speak how you thought they did, it always made me smile. I loved just sitting and observing how people interacted with one another. The hand gestures, the fidgets, the sideways looks fascinated me and it was a useful exercise for a would-be author. I tuned in to the random conversations as people began to filter in and started jotting them down

  “She said it would be OK though right?”

  “Yeah, far as I know.”

  “Eh, order for Laura, Grande and no cream?”

  “I can’t tonight sorry. Tuesday?”

  “Can you stop?”

  “Do you have gluten free?”

  “I just need some shoes”

  “Nope, that’s fine.”

  “Yes but your Dad said…”

  “Sir?”

  “Espresso please.”

  I smiled, looking at the random sentences, tiny glimpses into people’s lives.

  “Grazie.”

  “What name on the cup?”

  “Joe.”

  My pen froze. Did I just hear that right? I glanced down to see what I’d written and there it was, right there in print. What name on the cup? Joe. I daren’t move. I wanted to look up and find the owner of that sultry accent but was sure I’d be disappointed. No way it could be Joe, my Joe. This was just the universe sending another one of those signs- signs I was on the right path and finally changing my life for the better. Like the imaginary voice I’d heard in my sleep, me writing Joe’s name on my pad without knowing it and the white-haired man outside my building. Just signs.

  The cashier called out for a Joe. I had to look, I just had to. Why couldn’t I look damn it! My palms were sweating, blood pumped furiously in my ears. Just look for goodness sake! The sound of the door closing snapped me out of my frozen state. I looked quickly around the coffee house but saw no hint of silver anywhere and then out the corner of my eye I saw him. He was walking away, already crossing the road. I just caught a glimpse of a tall, slim figure with slicked back silver grey hair. I shot out of my seat and headed for the door just as a woman struggled through with her pram. Are you kidding me?! I held back the door, impatience tempered my polite smile.

  “Oh, thanks.” She said, dragging her shopping bags through after her.

  “No problem.” I replied through gritted teeth. She must have caught my tone because her expression went from exasperation to apologetic in one go.

  “I’m so sorry.” She said in a quiet voice. Oh god, now I felt awful! That wasn’t like me at all to be rude. I looked across the road for the mystery man but there was no sign.

  “No, really, it’s fine. I’m the one who’s sorry. That was rude of me. Let me help you?”

  “Thank you. Could you just take this bag while I find a seat? Thanks.”

  “Yes, of course. Here, you find a seat and let me buy you a drink?” I offered”

  “Really? Oh, that is so kind.”

  She looked a little emotional and it crossed my mind that she might be having a bad day. “What can I get you?”

  “Oh, um…I’ll just have a large tea please. I’ll take the bag.” She smiled shyly and sat down, turning to face her baby in the pram who was now screaming. “Oh god, he’s hungry, sorry.” She began unfastening the safety straps in the pram and arranged the baby on her lap to breastfeed. I went to the counter and ordered. The cashier took my money and I asked him,

  “Hey, the guy that just left, with the silver hair?” The cashier looked at me, a polite smile on his face. “What did he look like?”

  “I’m sorry Madam, I don’t remember an old guy.” He said

  “No, he wasn’t old. Around mid-thirties? Italian accent?” I prompted. The cashier shook his head. “Ordered an Espresso?” Still nothing. “But you must remember him, you served him!” My voice had risen slightly at the frustration of the guy’s blank stare. He shook his head again. “OK, never mind then. I’ll take a cinnamon roll too please.” How frustrating. How could it be that he didn’t remember a guy with such distinctive colouring, and one he’d just served? It didn’t make any sense. Had I been daydreaming again?

  “Here’s your tea.” I placed the large cup down on the mother’s table. “I got you a cake too, I figured he might not be the only hungry one.” I smiled and nodded towards her now content baby.

  “Thank you! That is so kind of you.” She beamed back. “You really didn’t have to.”

  “Yes I did. I was rude. Sorry.” I shrugged apologetically. “Enjoy the rest of your day.” I went back to my booth and gathered up my things. I’d had enough of people-watching. I needed to walk and clear my head. As I walked I forced myself not to think about Joe but tried to enjoy the sunshine instead. The park should be nice right now, maybe I’d go there and get an ice cream and just sit for a while.

  Lincoln was a beautiful place to live. As I turned towards the park I looked up at the old medieval buildings and noted the magnificent architecture. I really didn’t appreciate this city enough. The cathedrals towers dominated the skyline above the city and I could see the flag atop Lincoln Castle fluttering in the breeze. The city’s cathedral quarter was situated right at the top of one of Lincoln’s most iconic streets - Steep Hill. Aptly named as one needed both a sturdy pair of lungs and legs to conquer the climb from the lower part of the city upwards. Its cobbles didn’t make the task any easier either but the vast array of medieval buildings and quaint little boutique shops more than made up for it. One of my favourite places to visit was a second-hand bookshop called Readers Rest, part way up Steep Hill. It offered the weary walker a place to stop, rest and peruse the shelves for a worthy read. Lincoln really was a treasure, I smiled thinking I honestly wouldn’t want to live anywhere else, except Florence, my subconscious piped up. Great! We’re back to J
oe again. I rolled my eyes. It seemed no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t get him out of my head. I really was hooked on him, or the idea of him? I wasn’t sure which, maybe both. Whatever it was it surely wasn’t healthy. I kept telling myself it was just a fantasy and it was harmless, I wasn’t hurting anyone by indulging in it. So, why did I still get a pang of guilt whenever I thought about Laney? I really should read the emails she sent. I knew I was being unprofessional, which wasn’t like me at all. I sighed. Maybe I’d read them when I get home. Make sure you do, said Jiminy. “Oh shut up cricket!” I shot back.

  ***

  ‘I stood in the deafening silence. The air around me felt alive, as if it held its breath, watching and waiting. My skin alerted me to his nearness as the hairs on the back of my neck rose in greeting for his much-anticipated touch. I closed my eyes and focused my attention on the sizzling heat that radiated at my back. He was close. The space between us thick with wanting. This was it, the moment had finally come. Joe would make me his at last. His cool breath caressed my skin like a whisper of promise. I ached for him. My whole body cried out with need, desire coursed through me lighting fires at my core, begging to be sated. The heat of his fingers left scorching trails on my skin as he ran them teasingly down my spine. I arched my back and gasped in response. In the next second his arm had slid around my stomach and he pulled me backwards into him. My knees crumbled when I felt the first touch of his lips at my neck. I was instantly ready for him and he knew it. My stomach muscles trembled as his free hand glided over my belly towards the lace trim of my underwear. I parted my legs and felt liquid heat pool in the soft fabric. Drawn to it like a beacon, he moved his hand down further. I cried out when he dipped a finger inside of me. The sound prompted an immediate response from him and he uttered a guttural cry of his own.