The following evening, after work, Alan met Vittoria Vanzetti. However, first, he said ‘hello’ to Mac.
“How’s it going?” Alan asked. “How’s business?”
“Booming, until I met your better half.” Mac scowled at me. “Now I’m stuck in a financial rut.”
“You’ll get your cut,” I said patiently.
“Aye,” Mac sighed, “and the moon’s made of cheese.”
While Mac stood guard at the door, I led Alan into the living room. Vittoria was sitting on the sofa with a cushion in her lap, her eyes staring vacantly at the blank television screen.
“Hello,” Alan said. “I’m Sam’s fiancé.”
Vittoria glanced up. She squeezed her eyebrows together, knitted them into a sharp frown. “You’re Dr Storey?”
“Alan. I’m here as a friend, not as a psychologist; I’m not here in a professional capacity.”
Alan sat on an armchair, well away from Vittoria. He was dressed in jeans and a casual sweater. He leaned back, exuding a natural air, a sense of calm.
Through her hawk-like gaze, Vittoria studied Alan for close on a minute. Then she turned away, to reward the wall with her empty stare.
Leaning forward slightly, Alan noticed the textbooks, which sat next to the sofa. The textbooks tilted like the Tower of Pisa and threatened to topple over. However, like the tower, they retained their balance; like Vittoria, they were on edge, yet refused to fall down.
“Those books take me back,” Alan said, “to my student days. You’re studying to become a psychologist?”
“Child psychologist,” Vittoria said in a small, childlike voice.
“Are you enjoying the course?”
She shrugged, a minuscule movement of her left shoulder. “It’s okay.”
“And you enjoy music,” Alan said, noting the CDs, which littered the floor.
“Yes.”
Alan’s eyes wandered over the CDs. He spied a favourite and smiled. “Stereophonics, a great band.”
Vittoria turned sharply. She remained cautious, yet I sensed that Alan intrigued her to some degree. As she stared at him, I noticed that she wore no make-up on her face and no earrings, despite the piercings in her earlobes. With a hint of accusation, she said, “You’re too old to listen to the Stereophonics.”
“Why do you say that?” Alan smiled.
Vittoria scowled. She offered Alan a quick assessment then said, “You must be in your forties.”
“Why should age be a barrier to good music?” Alan asked reasonably. “Why should we impose artificial limitations on ourselves?” While Vittoria thought about that, he continued, “A teenager can love Beethoven; a pensioner can love rock music. I love music of all genres, all styles. It’s all there to be enjoyed.”
Vittoria stared at the CDs, her face sullen. Clearly, at some point in her life, those CDs had brought pleasure. But now everything seemed to bring pain.
“What else do you enjoy?” Alan asked.
Vittoria’s eyes flicked to a collection of shells, the shells she’d gathered from the beach. She’d moved those shells from the hall table on to a tray in the living room. They were there for a purpose, but Vittoria lacked the motivation to add rhyme to their reason.
“You made these?” Alan asked, referring to her shell necklace and bracelet, which she’d discarded from her person.
Vittoria hesitated. Then she nodded, slowly.
“Very pretty,” Alan smiled.
Vittoria shrugged. “I just string together stuff I pick up off the beach.”
“You like walking on the beach?”
She nodded.
“Will you make something for me?”
She frowned and almost smiled. Almost. “You want to wear a shell necklace?”
Alan nodded towards yours truly. “To give to Sam, as a present.”
“I don’t know about that,” Vittoria said, her frown now firmly in place.
Even though it had been a brief conversation, Vittoria looked tired. Indeed, Alan sensed that she was tired. He said, “I’ve taken up enough of your time. Maybe I could call in again tomorrow.”
Vittoria shuffled her feet. She stared down to the ground. Her feet were bare, her toenails painted, though the varnish was chipped on every toe.
“I have some books in the attic,” Alan said, “from my student days. They’re just gathering dust. You can have them; they might help you with your studies.”
I moved forward and studied Vittoria’s feet. As you might expect, her soles were dirty, but I also noticed a bruise, creeping up her instep on to her shinbone.
“I’ll drop the books in tomorrow. Is that okay with you, Vittoria?”
Finally, she dragged her gaze away from the ground. She stared at Alan then gave him a curt, resigned nod.
With Mac resuming his duties, Alan and I left the house.