By: Neil Randall

Over the last few weeks Luka had been having the strangest dreams about Arthur, his mother Darjia’s fiancé. In one dream, Arthur had gone off to fight in the war in Ukraine. In another, he was killed in a car accident. Then there was the dream where Arthur was an evil character in one of Luka’s computer games.

      When Darija mentioned this to her therapist, she didn’t seem particularly alarmed.

     “I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s just symbolic of the changes that’ve taken place ever since you introduced Arthur into Luka’s life.”

    “I understand that. I’m just a bit concerned that Arthur always dies or gets hurt in these dreams. I’d hate for Luka to be unconsciously wishing that he was no longer around.”

     “Dreams can mean a lot of different things – often not what you’d readily interpret. From what you’ve told me, Luka has accepted the situation in a mature and responsive way. I wouldn’t be looking for problems where there aren’t any.”

     Regardless, Darija wanted to find out if something was troubling her son.

     “Why don’t you take him to that new aqua park for the weekend?” Arthur suggested. “In a more relaxed environment, it might be easier to talk about things.”

     “Yeah. Great idea. He’ll absolutely love it there.”

      When they arrived on the Friday evening, they dropped their bags off at the hotel and decided to go and have a meal at a nearby restaurant. Darija had googled the small town and found a nice-looking Italian place that served excellent food at reasonable prices.

      Having not booked in advance, they were lucky to get a small table tucked away in a corner at the back of the packed establishment, right next to a swarthy-looking foreigner, a tanned, handsome man with hair greying at the sides, who was savouring an espresso and smoking a cigarette.

      “Good evening, signora and signore,” he said to them in English. “Do not worry. I will be leaving soon. You can spread out your things and not be crammed in like sardines, no.”

     He smiled good-naturedly, pulled a funny face, and hunched his shoulders, imitating the small fish encased in a tin. All of which reduced Luka to a fit of laughter.

      “Thank you,” said Darija. “That’s very kind.”

      “Not at all.” He scrunched out his cigarette into the ashtray and signalled to the waiter. “Enjoy your meal. If you want one tip. The cannelloni and crème brûlée are to die for here. And that is coming from an Italian.”

     Once the kindly stranger had gone, Luka insisted that they take his advice.

     “After all, it’s not every day that you get tips from a genuine Italian about food in an Italian restaurant.”

     “Why not,” said Darija. “You can have whatever you want.”

      Next day at the aqua park, they rented two loungers right in front of the main pool, changed into their bathing suits, and went off to explore the complex. Luka was in his element, so excited he literally hopped from one foot to the other as he saw the different slides on offer. Grabbing giant inflatables, they waited patiently in line (or not so patiently in Luka’s case), before jettisoning themselves down one slide after another, Luka at the front and Darija hanging on for dear life at the rear. It was so much fun, being spun around and pitched and tossed into a pool of water at the end. Luka couldn’t stop giggling and clapping his hands. It’d been years since she’d seen him so happy and carefree.

      “No more for me,” panted Darija. “I must rest for a little while now. Why don’t you go and have a swim? We can get a bite to eat in an hour or so. Okay?”

     “Yes, but rest well,” he said over his shoulder as he dashed off into the water. “We have many more slides to try later.”

     Darija went back to their sun-loungers, stretched out and relaxed. It felt good to be out of the city for a change, away from the bad air, constant traffic, and daily work grind. More importantly, she knew this was likely to be the last time she and Luka would go away on their own ever again. And she told herself to enjoy every moment. In a few months, after she married Arthur, they’d take holidays together, the three of them, and everything would be different.

     As she mulled this over in her mind, she was aware of a presence blocking out the light. Opening her eyes, she saw the same man they’d met at the restaurant last night, the Italian, looking down at her with a disarmingly effusive smile on his face. His lean, tanned body was dripping with water, he wore a pair of brilliant-white trunks, and a had a towel wedged under his arm.

      “We meet again.”

     As if they were old friends, he perched himself on the edge of Luka’s lounger.

    “I just had a swim and was looking for somewhere to rest when I set eyes upon you from afar. That, I said to myself, is the charming woman I had the pleasure of talking to briefly last night.”

     Darija didn’t know what to do or say. Clearly, this man was flirting with her.

     “And where is your son? A fine boy. I bet he can be quite a handful, though. They’re so full of energy at that age.”

      “He’s just over there in the pool.” Darija pointed, feeling it offered a layer of protection from his advances, if he knew that her son was in close proximity.

      “I hope you don’t mind me approaching you like this. I’m here alone, and like many of my countrymen, I’m a sociable soul. I like nothing more than to meet new interesting people from different parts of the world. I’m Paulo, by the way.”

      He offered his hand in such a gentle and unobtrusive manner, Darija couldn’t help but reach out and shake it.

     “And what is your name, signora?”

     “Darija. And my son is called Luka.”

     “Ah, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. And you, I see, are here alone, too. I will not ask about any husband or partner. Why ruin the illusion, eh? When people meet, like boats passing in the night, it’s always better to journey than to arrive.” He laughed. “But I did notice a certain something about you last night.”

     “About me?”

      “Yes, signora, you have a little sadness in your eyes. I know not why, of course. But I can tell it has been there for a long time. Often, in my experience, it can only be removed by a certain kind of man.”

     Fortunately, Luka came bounding out of the pool before the conversation became any more awkward.

    “Hello again, signore,” said Paulo, ruffling Luka’s wet hair. “I trust you enjoyed your swim. I will leave you and your mother alone now. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

    Both Darija and Luka looked on as Paulo disappeared amongst the crowds of people heading towards the site restaurant.

     “Was that the guy we met last night?”

    Darija nodded.

     “What a coincidence – seeing him again. This place is massive. It must’ve been fated, Mama. He is a smooth operator.”

     Daijia couldn’t help but laugh. “Smooth operator? Where did you pick up language like that?”

     “I have my sources. But he’s a nice person. I can tell. Kind, and with pots of money. The dream ticket.”

     That evening, they decided to eat at the same restaurant as yesterday. It’d been a long, tiring day and they didn’t feel energetic enough to venture further afield, even though they’d been provided with a long list of recommended eateries in the town. But when they arrived, it was clear that there weren’t any free tables, not even the cramped corner table they’d occupied last night. Resigned to having to try somewhere else, after all, they suddenly heard someone calling their names from the other side of the restaurant.

     “Darija, Luka!”

    It was Paulo, beckoning them over to a table in the smoking section with more than adequate space to accommodate them.

    “Join me, please. I’ve only just got here myself and haven’t ordered yet. We can eat together.”

    Darija hesitated. She didn’t really like the idea of sharing a table with a man who may have romantic designs on her. Although it would undoubtedly be innocent – she was with her young son rather than on her own – she felt it would display a certain disloyalty to Arthur that she didn’t even want to contemplate.

     “Can we, Mama?” Luka tugged her sleeve. “I want another of one those milkshakes. Please. We’ll never get a place anywhere else at this time of night.”

      “Erm, okay. I can’t see there being any harm in it.”

       Despite her reservations, it turned into a hugely enjoyable evening. Paulo was charming, witty, and attentive to their every need. Never did he try and dominate the conversation or make any flirtatious overtures towards Darija. It was only on encouragement from Luka that he showcased seriously impressive origami skills, making a whole flock of swans out of the napkins, or mentioned his thriving business interests and holiday home on the Amalfi coast.

      “To answer your question, young signore. Yes, I know it may look odd for me, a single man, to be alone at a water park. But in truth, I’m not here strictly for pleasure. Rather, I’m here on business. Believe it or not, but I’m one of the owners of the whole complex.”

      “You own the aqua park?” Luka nearly fell off his chair.

     Paulo chuckled. “Not quite. Let’s just say I have an interest in the chain, of which the aqua park is just one piece. Throughout my business career, I’ve always done things a little differently. I always visit the places I invest in, personally. I talk to the guests, the holidaymakers and day trippers. I ask them about their experiences. I swim in the pools. I try the food. I get on buses and trams and test out the public transport links. If any problems arise, if visitor numbers are down, or the catering side is haemorrhaging money, I will have a better understanding of why.”

     “Very smart,” said Luka, while digging his spoon into a scoop of strawberry ice-cream. “Very wise.”

     “Thank you, signore.” Paulo smiled in the boy’s direction, but quickly redirected focus, shooting Darija a glance. “And if it doesn’t sound too invasive, may I ask you what you do for a living, signora?”

      “Well,” Luka felt it incumbent upon himself to explain, “to the outside world, it looks as if Mama is a lawyer. In reality, however, her main role in life is to look after me and make sure that I always have plenty of milkshakes and ice-cream.”

     “I see. And it looks like she is doing a fine job.”

     “Not bad,” said Luka. “But it’s an ongoing process. Her position is under constant review.”

     “You sound like you have everything under control.” Paulo took a cigarette from the packet on the table and lit it with an attractive gold-plated lighter. “But in all seriousness, Darija, I’m always in the need of reliable legal advice. As I’m sure you appreciate, I’m a very busy man. I travel a lot. Maybe you could assist me with my affairs.”

      “Don’t be so ridiculous,” she said, far more abruptly than intended. “Sorry. But you haven’t the first idea about my area of specialty. Besides, we live in different countries, subject, no doubt, to different laws. It would be absurd for you to ask for my advice.”

      Paulo didn’t reply in words; he simply shrugged, tilted his head slightly, and pursed his lips, as if conceding the point. Before he could add anything of substance, the waiter came over and asked if they would like anything else.

     “No, I don’t think so,” said Paulo. “Unless…?” He looked at Darija and Luka in turn.

     “No, nothing else, thank you,” she said. “We’re both stuffed.”

     When the waiter brought the bill over a few minutes later, Paulo insisted on paying for everything.

     “You were my guests. I invited you over to my table. In Italy, it would be hugely insulting for you to offer me any money.”

      “Please, really, Paulo. It’s too much. Let me pay for our share. We had dessert and you didn’t. Luka had two milkshakes.”

      “My word is final, signora. The only request I make is that you let me walk you back to your room. Unfortunately, this area isn’t the safest at night this time of year. Lots of pickpockets preying on holidaymakers.”

     They left the restaurant together and walked the short distance to the hotel. It was a lovely, cool, summer’s evening. Warm, but with the main heat having left the day many hours ago.

     “Well, goodnight, Luka, Darija. Sweet dreams. Who knows, maybe we’ll bump into each other tomorrow. If not, it has been a pleasure making your acquaintance.”

     “Don’t go yet,” said Luka. “Come up to our room for a moment. I want to show you my own origami creations.”

      “No, Luka,” said Darija, aghast at the mere thought of having another man in their room. “It’s getting late. I’m sure Paulo has to get back to his hotel. He probably has an early start in the morning.”

      “Oh, come on, Mama. Just five minutes, that’s all it’ll take.”

      Darija looked across at Paulo. In that one moment, out of the corner of her eye, she could’ve sworn that Luka signalled to the Italian in some way.

     “I’m in no rush, believe me. If I’m not intruding, I would be most interested in seeing Luka’s creations. It’s not often that I get to meet a fellow manipulator of the papery arts.”

      Once they entered the apartment, however, Luka did a disappearing act. He hid himself away in the bathroom and left the adults out on the balcony. At a loss, not knowing when her errant son would reappear, Darija could think of nothing else but to offer Paulo a glass of wine from the mini-bar.

      “An excellent idea. Thank you. It’s such a nice evening. It would be lovely to sit and relax with a drink.”

     While initially anxious, feeling that she was doing something badly wrong, the conversation flowed just as smoothly as it had in the restaurant. Paulo told her about his childhood in a small town in northern Italy, how his family were so poor, he had to sleep in a bed with four of his siblings.

      “Unfortunately, my older brother Guiseppe was a notorious bed-wetter. Not to be crude, but our family joke is that us younger ones could swim before we could walk.”

     More seriously, he told her about a failed marriage and the tragic death of his only child from leukaemia.

     “Dying I can accept, but suffering of that kind, no. Never. I have not stepped foot in a church since.”

      At many points in the conversation, Darija was on the verge of telling Paulo about her own troubled marriage, the arguments and violence that Luka had witnessed, and about her fiancé, how she was very much in love now and planned to remarry in a few months. But the Italian moved quickly from one subject to the next, and she soon got distracted, not so much by his words, but the musical quality of his voice, something which drew you in and held you enrapt. Never once did she feel uncomfortable, as she had at the aqua park earlier that day. His words didn’t come across as a big seduction act, more that of a lonely person wishing to make a connection with another human being.

     “Ah, well, such is life.” He picked up his glass and drained the last of his wine. “But I fear I have kept you up talking far too late. And I didn’t get to see Luka’s creations. Ha! I suspect he had no intention of showing them to me, no? That he wanted the two of us to spend a little time together. He’s a crafty one, no doubt. But don’t be upset with him, signora. His intentions were good.”

     He stood up and gathered his cigarettes and lighter from the table. 

     “I will bid you a good night. And like I said earlier, if fate is kind, we may get the chance to talk again. Thank you for the wine and the company. I enjoyed both very much.”

      That night in bed, Darija thought long and hard about the situation. They’d had such a nice time in the restaurant and on the balcony later, that she missed three calls from Arthur and by the time she’d shown Paulo out, it was too late to call him back and explain.

    At breakfast, Luka was in high spirits. Despite it being their last day at the aqua park, she could tell that he’d had a great time, that he was happy and relaxed. To the extent that she thought now might be the perfect moment to broach the subject of Arthur and the three of them moving in together in the not-too-distant future.

     “Luka, I want to speak to you about something.”

    “Paulo is a great guy, isn’t he?” he said, smearing a thick layer of jam over a piece of toast. “I like him very much. He’s handsome and dresses stylishly. Like all Italians, I guess.”

      Darija was a little taken aback. Not only did Luka rarely if ever ignore her words, or not listen to what she had to say, he wasn’t the kind of boy who readily distributed compliments. He usually kept his thoughts to himself.

      “It’s a pity we’re going home today,” he went further. “I would like to talk to Paulo about his business. Imagine it. Knowing someone who owns an aqua park! This is a good friend to have, eh, Mama?”

   When they got to the main complex, Darija had a slight headache (no drinker, she could readily attribute this to the second glass of wine she’d foolishly consumed last night), and told Luka to play on his own for a while, to let her snooze and rest up.

      “Okay, Mama, I’ll go on the mega slide again. I’ll come and see if you’re all right later.”

      Whether she was merely dreaming, mixing up her unconscious thoughts with what was actually taking place around her, she jolted from a light slumber on at least four occasions and saw her son deep in conversation with Paulo. Only the dynamic between the man and boy appeared odd, unnatural, in the sense that the child was clearly dictating the terms of whatever was being discussed. He was the one doing most of the talking and making expansive gestures, short, abrupt hand signals, almost as he were delivering orders to a subordinate. But when she sat up, rubbed her eyes, and looked around the busy pool area, she could find no trace of her son anywhere, and convinced herself that she must’ve been imagining things, that her muddled, conflicting emotions from the last night were bleeding into the here and now.

      When she awoke in earnest, she found Paulo sitting opposite her. Like a faithful reconstruction of yesterday, he was perched on Luka’s lounger, as if he’d been sat there for some time, studying her intently.

     “A thousand apologies, signora, I was just passing. I thought I’d come and say hello but I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful.”

     Unnerved by his sudden appearance, especially as he’d been occupying her mind to distraction, she self-consciously patted her hair into place and dragged the towel over her legs, gestures, she quickly realised, that were at once coquettish and unnecessary, as if she were trying to bring attention to certain parts of her body rather than conceal them.

      “Don’t worry about Luka. I spoke to him a few minutes ago. He’s swimming in the pool.” Paulo gestured over his shoulder. “Happy as Larry. You’ll have a problem getting him to leave, no?”

     Darija laughed along a little nervously. She could see Luka splashing around in the water with some kids his own age.

     “And I hope you don’t think it presumptuous, but I brought a picnic along with me today. All in the hope that I might have the pleasure of spending some more time with you.”

      Paulo reached into the small wicker basket at his feet and pulled out a silver serving platter with some bagels covered in cream-cheese and smoked salmon, a dozen or more oysters on a bed of ice, an array of canapes, most of which appeared to be filled with caviar.

      “I also took the liberty of having the barman at my hotel mix us some champagne cocktails. Nothing too fancy, I assure you. Just a buck’s fizz, with freshly squeezed orange juice. The perfect tipple, if you have a headache and feel a little worse for the wear.”

      “How did you know I had a headache?”

      “Let’s just say a little birdie told me.” He grinned and handed her a glass. “Cheers. Your good health.”

      “Cheers.” She shifted uncomfortably and put her glass on the ground without taking a sip. “Look, Paulo, this is very good of you. But I really must tell you something about –” before she could finish, Luka came racing over.

     “Whoa! Look at this feast.” He skipped from one foot to the other and eyed the food greedily. “Can I try some? It looks delicious.”

     “Why, of course,” said Paulo. “There’s plenty for everyone.”

     Needing no further invitation, Luka grabbed a bagel and took a great big bite.

     “This is delicious. So fresh and flavoursome. We don’t ever eat luxury food like this, do we, Mama?”

     Darija was about to argue, to refute his claims, to say that they always had a treat once or twice a week. Be it creamy continental cheeses from the market, chocolate balls from one of the finest patisseries in the city, or a meal out with Arthur. But she sensed this was all part of her son’s ploy, making out that Paulo was a man capable of providing a much better life than her fiancé, just to show how inferior he was in comparison.

     “Yes, it’s wonderful, Luka. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

     Only her neutral, placatory tones did nothing to dampen her son’s enthusiasm. Sitting next to Paulo, he began to not only quiz the man on his many business interests (probing for information he’d already learned yesterday) but reel off questions regarding his hobbies and interests.

      “You look in incredibly good shape.” He prodded Paulo’s bicep. “You must work out regularly. And you look like you might’ve played sport at a high level.”

     “Funny you should say that” – as if amused, Paulo flashed a grin at Darija – “but I used to be a goalkeeper in Serie B, the second division of the Italian soccer league. If it weren’t for the family business, I would undoubtedly have pursued a sporting career. Unfortunately, my father fell ill and it was up to myself and my siblings to take over the running of things.”

      “And what kind of music do you like, Paulo?”

      “Oh, many different styles. Naturally, I have a love for opera, in particular Madame Butterly.”

      “What a coincidence! Madame Butterfly is Mama’s favourite opera, too. She often plays arias from the famous operas when she’s doing the housework. And I bet you like to travel, too. What’s your favourite destination and top city?”

     “Of course, I have travelled far and wide. I have a fondness for the Dalmatian coast and, at a push and being a proud Roman, I would have to say Rome is my favourite city.”

     “Incredible, eh, Mama?” Luka turned and stared at her, wide-eyed in astonishment, as if he’d just unearthed the most unlikely of coincidences. “You always used to holiday in Croatia as a little girl. And Rome is a city you’ve always dreamed of visiting.”

     But the longer this pseudo-interrogation went on, the more staged it appeared to Darija’s eyes, and the more forced and unnatural-sounding were Paulo’s answers. As ludicrous as it seemed, it looked like Luka had coached him on what to say to impress her.

      “Stop it now, Luka,” she said. “I’m sure Paulo has had quite enough of your questions.”

      “Not at all.” He smiled and lit a cigarette. “It’s fine, really it is. That said, I must leave you now.” He got to his feet. “I have a meeting scheduled for later this afternoon. Before we say our goodbyes, though, I wonder if I could pay you a short visit this evening? I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but I picked up a small gift for Luka this morning.”

      “What is it? What is it?” Luka almost leapt up at Paulo like an eager puppy pleased to see its owner.

      “All in good time. I will call round to your hotel at seven o’clock. It won’t take more than a minute or two to drop off your gift.”

     Later that evening, around twenty minutes before Paulo was due to arrive, Luka walked out on to the balcony area.

      “Why aren’t you ready?”

      Darija looked up from the magazine she had been perusing and flashed her son a quick, confused look. “Ready for what?”

     “For Paulo, of course. He said he would be here at seven.”

     “That’s right.” Darija put the magazine aside. “He said he was only dropping off a gift. And I thought we agreed to go and get pizza later. Have an early night. We need to be at the train station before eight o’clock tomorrow.”

      “The pizza was for me, you idiot!”

     “I beg your pardon.” Darija leapt to her feet. “How dare you speak to your mother like that.”

     “I apologise.” He looked downcast for a moment. “But – but it’s for your own good, Mama. You must go through to the bathroom, quickly, shower, and put on your best dress and a make-up. It’s expected.”

     “Expected? What are you talking about?”

     “You know what I’m taking about. Tonight, you must give yourself to him.”

      “What? Don’t be so ridiculous.”

     “I’m not being ridiculous. I’m being serious. Don’t you understand? This is so, so important. It will be our secret – just mine and yours alone, something special, a bond of trust between us, something Arthur will never, ever know about.”

     It was then Darija understood that this was far more than adolescent histrionics, that this was something her son had planned out to the last detail.

    “You must do this for me, Mama. If not, there is no possible way that I will let you continue your relationship. I will make it impossible for you and Arthur to ever get married. I will make such an unpleasant scene whenever I’m in his company, he won’t be able to tolerate it. I will mock, deride, and offend him at every opportunity.”

     “Luka, no. What are you saying? This is crazy talk.”

      “No, it’s not, Mama. If I have to share your love then it has to be on my terms.” He frowned and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “How do you think I feel when I see you kiss and put your arm around him? How do you think I feel, knowing that you give him love that is rightly mine? I’m your flesh and blood, your creation. He’s a stranger. He isn’t one of us.”

    “But, Luka, surely you don’t want me to be all alone when I’m an old woman. In a few years, when you’re at high school and planning to go on to university, you won’t need me like you do today.”

     “Nonsense. I’ll always need you, Mama. And if you don’t do this one thing for me, I’ll go and live with father. And you’ll never see me again.”

     This open declaration, the one weapon Luka had never threatened to use before, and the one weapon they both knew could wound her the most, shook Darija to her core.

      “Imagine if I left and then you and Arthur broke up. Who would you have, then? No one. That’s who. Besides, Paulo doesn’t want anything serious. Just a one-night thing. ‘A little sadness in your eyes.’ The picnic and the champagne. Do you think he came up with that, the stupid, fading ladies’ man? No, of course not, it was me. And do you really believe that he owns the aqua park? Nonsense. I told him exactly what to say to get your interest. You’ve always been so obsessed with money. Think about it. Do you value your relationship with your son so little, you aren’t prepared to make such a small sacrifice?”

     Darija stood there crestfallen. Never would she have believed that her own son could be capable of such calculation and cruelty.

    “Don’t stand there and whimper.” He grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip and squeezed so hard, the sinews cracked. “Now, get into that bathroom, woman.”

      “No, Luka, get off. You’re hurting me.”

     She tried to battle back, to both shake herself free and push him away from her, but he was far too strong and determined, like a full-grown man, like his father when they had argued in the weeks and months before their marriage crumbled.

    “You’ll do as I say from now on.”

    Bundling her into the bathroom, he ripped the T-shirt from her body, revealing breasts that had once nurtured him, and tugged the sweat bottoms down from her waist, sending her tumbling, half-naked, to the floor. As she tried to scramble away from him, he ducked into the shower cubicle and turned on the water.

      “There’s no point fighting it, Mama. Do as I say, sleep with this man, or suffer the consequences.”

###

Neil Randall is a novelist and short story writer. His latest books The Professional Mourner (Dark Winter Press) and The Belgrade Shootings (Alien Buddha Press) were published in early May this year. His shorter fiction and poetry have been published in the U.K., U.S., India, Australia, and Canada.