The Church of Lost Souls 11

I slumped onto the bed, my fingers loosely holding the note in a sort of dazed confusion. I wondered what she could possibly want. I was an art school dropout with no experience of kids. I didn’t know how to even talk to them. I knew hardly anything about the occult, I didn’t have a degree and besides all that, she’d categorically told me that I hadn’t got the job.

Could it be that she likes me? I thought. What if she wants to meet up? 100,000 lira didn’t buy a bottle of wine in the kind of restaurant she’d want to go to.

In the shower I replayed the day. Paolo had been marvelously understanding and he was a lot of fun to be around too. With Sofia the perfect partner in crime-smashing I felt grateful to have found such lovely people. She was hot too but I liked her too much as a person to spoil things with a fling. That always put a spanner in the works where girls were concerned. I’d had a few flings but we’d always been friends before and as soon as we had sex the friendship quavered and we quietly drifted apart.

I really didn’t want Sofia to be an ex-friend for the sake of a few joints and a few beers.

That said, she’d given me some pretty raunchy stares during our exploits in Rome. I’d felt my body shiver happily in response so I suppose it was on the cards. One thing about love, or at least sexual desire, is that urge to embrace it when it arrives without managing to think of the consequences afterwards, at which time it’s too late. As I thought about Sofia, though, a few excuses to satisfy that desire were popping off in my mind.

As far as I knew Paolo and I were heading up to Switzerland on Saturday, three days away. I didn’t know what Sofia’s plans were and she hadn’t said so I assumed she wouldn’t be coming, although I half wanted her to. With the taverna opening on Friday, would not a shag be the perfect way to consummate our friendship? If I was leaving the next day I wouldn’t need to screw things up afterwards and maybe we’d stay in touch. Maybe we could meet again. Maybe I’d finally found true love.

And then there was Maria. What if she’d fought tooth and nail with her husband over me? Maybe he’d relented on the degree thing. 300,000 lira a month with food and accommodation included, living in Rome with a veritable goddess. Maybe I could try the art again. I hadn’t picked up a brush for over a year.

Toweled down I grabbed some clothes, put them in a plastic bag and then got dressed into my least dirty shorts and t-shirt. Sofia had some detergent and she needed to do some washing as well so we’d planned on going after food.

‘New clothes, new man,’ I said into the slightly cracked mirror as I left the room.

I asked if I could use the phone at reception and was guided to the booth in the corner.

Mum picked up after a few rings and it was a delight to hear her voice.

With money and a plan of action I didn’t feel awkward in conversation. She asked if she should call back and I told her it was OK. I’d possibly found a very good job in Rome as au pair to a boy called Giovanni but if that didn’t work out I was off to pick grapes in Switzerland with a friend at the weekend. This pleased her immensely.

As she told me the news from home I detected sadness in her voice. She missed me, she said. ‘It’s been three weeks now, James. Don’t you think you should come home? I could buy you an aeroplane ticket.’

‘Well, no, Mum,’ I said, ‘I’m doing fine. Everything’s going well. Why would I want to come back now?’

After some cajoling it turned out she’d had a nasty dream a few days ago and since then she’d been fraught with worry after me.

‘Maybe the dream was just you worrying about me too much,’ I said.

Mum could be excused for that, I’d given her enough anxiety to kill an angel. Now I was out in the world she felt even more powerless to help. No words could console her.

‘You looked so lost, James,’ she said resignedly. ‘Just be good, that’s all I ask.’

‘I’m always good, Mum, at least I try to be,’ I said.

‘Don’t try, just be,’ she said. ‘And whenever you want to come home, call me and we’ll arrange a flight, OK?’

We said goodbye and I promised to call her in a week with more news.

The call cost 10,000 lira but it was worth it. I peeled off a note, handed it to the owner and walked over to Paolo and Sofia with my clothes. I’d call Maria in the morning.

As I approached their spot I noticed that Paolo’s tent had disappeared. He was sat on his rug with the feast but there was definitely no tent.

When I got there I discovered the tent had been flung on the grass in a haphazard mess.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘I’ve been robbed,’ he said.

Sofia stuck her head out of her tent. ‘He can sleep in my tent tonight,’ she said, disappearing inside again.

That was a curve ball. There was me thinking we were about to start doing the fire dance of love for Friday’s fireworks and now Paolo was in there.

‘What’s happened to the tent?’ I asked.

‘Oh, he kicked it around when we got back, didn’t you, Paolo,’ shouted Sofia.

I looked at Paolo with a disconsolate grimace. His eyes met mine and then he looked up to the sky, his hands in contorted prayer.

‘For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly grateful,’ he said.

We ate quickly, each of us as ravenous as the other. Paolo had bought a bottle of red wine and taken hearty solace.

The thieves had filched everything but the tent, having packed all his things into his backpack from within. They’d even taken his sleeping bag.

Sofia had had a lucky escape by placing her backpack for safekeeping in a locker at reception every morning.

Luckily for Paolo he had insurance. All his documents, passport, travelers’ cheques, money etc were in his wallet, which he always had on him.

‘So it’s simple,’ said Sofia. ‘You call the insurance company, they give you a value for your stuff, you try upping it and then you settle.’

‘They’re in Brazil. It’s going to cost a fortune just to call them,’ he said.

‘I’m sure they’ll have an Italian office,’ she said. ‘Let me see the paperwork.’

Handing over a piece of paper taken from his wallet, she read it quickly. ‘We’ll find it tomorrow, OK?’

Paolo was OK with that.

Shortly before sunset we all went to the place next to the taverna to wash our clothes. As Paolo had nothing other than what he wore I gave him my blue Psychedelic Furs t-shirt and a pair of orange shorts for the morning.

While we were there, I noticed that an unreasonable distance had developed between Sofia and I and I wondered whether I had responded well enough to her flirting earlier on in town. Maybe she’d gone off me. Maybe I’d only imagined it. Maybe she was just a bit flirty with everyone.

When I mentioned the call from Maria and the note asking me to call her, there was a mixed response

They thought it was great news at first, me possibly landing a cushy job with a yummy mummy in a Roman penthouse next door to the blinking Vatican, but then thoughts turned to Switzerland.

‘I think I’d rather go grape-picking if it came down to it,’ I said, but they knew I wasn’t sure.

‘This Maria is very interesting, you know,’ said Sofia, wringing out a pair of trousers. ‘Ever since you met her you’ve had all these strange things happen to you, The Church of Lost Souls, the old man, the missing woman we thought was dead..’

‘Ah yes, but that happened before I met Maria, not after,’ I said.

‘Yes, but you found her there, didn’t you, in The Church of Lost Souls, the place that apparently doesn’t even exist? You found her advert there and the old woman put it into your hand.’

It had been a long day and we’d spent the whole time together. Sofia had, however, struck a nerve.

‘And what’s her son doing occult classes for at his age?’ she asked. ‘You have to admit that’s very strange.’

‘She’s got a point,’ said Paolo.

On the way back we said goodnight and arranged to go into town the next day to find the insurance broker for Paolo.

‘I’d love to know what Maria’s surname is,’ said Sofia in parting. ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if it was linked to The Cult of Purgative Souls?’

'Yes Sofia,' I said, 'very funny.'