Orvieto

This is the last but one chapter from my novella ”Orvieto”. What do you think?

Allesandra tapped the steering wheel, as the droplets drummed on the car roof. They ran across the windscreen. Wipers swiped across, as she turned into the hospital carpark. Even though the heater was on the highest setting, damp clung to the hem of her trousers and sleeves. Her freezing toes curled at the edges of her damp socks.

The rain seeped through tiny gaps between her soles.

The car park was full to the rafters, and it took twenty minutes before a bay became available. She switched the indicator on. Allesandra looked around for Barbara’s rusty Ford Focus, but it was nowhere in sight.

As she removed the keys, the engine stuttered to a stop and the heater with it.  

Through a make-up powder, napkin, and old receipts, she fumbled for change for the parking meter. Where were her door keys? She had a horrible feeling they were left in the door. No. They were  hidden at the bottom, alongside a myriad of forgotten receipts.

She pulled out Antonio’s most recent letter, taken from the door mat a few days after she returned from Orvieto. The cream paper inside, revealed feelings she couldn’t afford to share. She read it so many times, it crinkled at the edges. A text she could delete, but his smooth handwriting seeped into her skin.

The door flung open, she grabbed her umbrella from the front seat, and braved the onslaught of rain. Pound coins dug into her palm. Three coins inserted, in the meter, she took out the parking ticket. She ran across the concrete, and slipped the paper by the windscreen.

Hopefully, four hours would be enough time. Hospital appointments never went to plan, especially during the afternoon.

She rushed to the entrance, keen to get out of the rain.

An old man, wearing a blue hospital gown, smoked a forbidden cigarette, with a computer announcement about the hospital being a no smoking area. A young mother was holding on to a toddlers squirming hand. A constant struggle to stop him from running in front of the number seven bus.

She bumped into a man, with his coat collar pulled up to his neck.

‘Sorry,’ she said.

‘Allesandra . . . ’

‘Antonio . . . What are you doing here?’

‘Not taking no for an answer. Your mama told me about the letter, and your appointment. You worry about Mama, and her dementia, but that’s not your fault. ’ Antonio’s forthright manner took Allesandra by surprise. ‘She has good days and bad days, we both know that.’

‘It wasn’t . . .’ Allesandra tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. ‘Please don’t think I was afraid of looking after her.’

‘No, you worry about Cancer, and how I will cope. Your mama spoke to me when you write the letter. I keep calling, but you never answer. I wanted to tell you that we face it together, just like you did with Mama. We are not alone in this world, we have family, friends. That is the reason you came to Orvieto, to connect with them. Do not let your fears pull that apart. I know you love me Allesandra.’

‘It was just a holiday romance.’ Allesandra couldn’t let him suffer, ‘I don’t . . . ’

‘You are worried for me,’ Antonio ignored her words. They were lies to protect him, ‘you have no need to be, without you my life is nothing, surely you must know this? Please, let us get out of this rain, you are soaked through.’

Antonio held her hand. ‘Please, Allesandra, do not tell me to go.’

‘I won’t, It’s just, I need to sit down. There is a restaurant . . . well not quite that, but I could do with a coffee.’

Allesandra couldn’t let go of his hand. She led him through an open door, and into a small seated room, with round tables. Busy this time of day, most of the tables were taken.

‘Two latte’s please, and a packet of Ginger biscuits.’

She cleared the only empty table, and they both sat down.

Antonio took one sip of his coffee, before he wrinkled his face. ‘I don’t know what this is, but it is not a latte. No wonder the cups are so tiny, nobody would want to drink this.’

Allesandra’s lips rose into the first smile in weeks.

‘I agree, but as my dad would have said, it’s wet and warm, that’s all that matters.’

‘Your papa, I would have loved to meet him.’

‘He would have called me foolish, for what I did to you, and myself. But you must see, I had no choice. I don’t want to be a burden.’ Allesandra took one sip of her latte, before she pushed it away. She unwrapped the plastic of her biscuits, and nibbled at the edges.

‘Allesandra, we love each other; would you leave me if I became ill?’

‘No . . . but I come with a lot of baggage. Cancer steals everything, and you just think you are free of it, before the symptoms start again. That day, when your mama hit you, I saw you cry. What if you have to look after me too? Feed me, if I can’t feed myself? Take me to the toilet because I . . .’

‘I would do all of that, and more . . . I love you Allesandra.’

‘I suppose Barbara isn’t turning up.’

‘No, she said to tell you, this one’s a keeper.’   

Allesandra smiled; could nobody keep secrets?  

‘We’d better go, I don’t want to miss my appointment. We can talk later, at home.’

Allesandra stood up, and her arm slipped into his. Around the corner was a long corridor. On the left was a receptionist, surrounded by files and a curved desk. On the right rows of chairs, with very few seats left to be filled.

Her yellow hospital card, placed in the slot at the front of the reception desk, she got ready for the long haul. They found a comfortable corner, where they could chat with some degree of privacy.

It was like they had never been apart, and they slotted together, like the gears of a well-oiled clock. They hardly noticed the hours. One by one name’s were called until the empty chairs were filled up with later appointments.

‘I have heard much about your National Health Service,’ Antonio mused, ‘I thought it was the best in the world.’

‘Be patient,’ Allesandra relaxed against the plastic chair, ‘we shouldn’t be too much longer.’

‘Miss Allesandra Walters,’ a young nurse came out carrying her notes, ‘Miss Allesandra Walters.’

‘See,’ her heart suddenly lurched and she leant against Antonio, letting him take all the fear.

‘It will be buona,’ Antonio assured her, ‘I am with you, whatever happens.’

The consultant studied his notes, and the results of Allesandra’s latest tests were on the desk in front of him. His face was set in stone, and it was hard to read his emotions.

‘As you know, we called you into today to discuss your last blood test. How have you been feeling?’ he finally asked, ‘since our last meeting.’

‘I am constantly tired and feeling very sick, but I’m sure it’s just a virus . . .‘

‘Under the circumstances,’ he looked at the file once more, ‘that is to be expected.’

Allesandra was glad she wasn’t alone, ‘please doctor. I need to know.’

It was only through Antonio’s strength; she managed to stay upright in the chair.

‘Your white blood count has resumed to normal. Something else has shown on your recent blood test.’

‘It’s okay Allesandra, ‘Antonio said.

‘The tests confirm that you are in the early stages of pregnancy.’

‘But I can’t be,’ Allesandra stared at the consultant and then to a beaming Antonio, ‘the chemotherapy, I was told . . . I mean I thought it wasn’t possible.’

‘It is true, the chemotherapy can cause infertility, but not in every case.’

Allesandra let the news sink in. Antonio wasn’t speaking. Despite his initial shock, it was good news and Allesandra felt the same. At the age of thirty-eight she was carrying Antonio’s baby. She knew the risks and couldn’t think about the future until the doctor gave all clear.

‘How does this affect my remission?’

‘I will not say it will be easy, you will need constant monitoring and blood tests must continue, but there is no reason why you cannot go full term.’

‘I may decide . . .’ Allesandra felt her heart quicken, ‘to move to Italy. Will I be able to be monitored there?’

‘That shouldn’t be a problem; we will have to be in contact with the hospital concerned.’

Allesandra felt a light; fluffy sensation pour through her entire body. She was going to be a mum.

‘Ma Belle,’ Antonio placed a protective hand on her stomach. ‘A bambino . . . ma bambino.’