The light turned green.
‘Pull over, please.’
But she kept on driving. Luckily there was a rubbish truck that slowed us down.
‘Mum! Pull over.’
‘Put your seatbelt back on.’
‘Please stop.’
‘But why?’
‘I want to get there on my own.’
‘I don’t understand . . .’
I raised my voice. ‘Stop, please.’
My mother pulled over, turned off the engine and pulled her hair back with her hand. ‘What’s going on? Lorenzo, please, let’s not start . . . You know I’m no good at this time of the morning.’
‘It’s just that . . .’ I squeezed my hands into a fist. ‘Everyone else is going there on their own. I can’t turn up with you. I’ll look like a loser.’
‘What are you saying?’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘I’m supposed to just leave you here?’
‘Yes.’
‘And I don’t even thank Alessia’s parents?’
I shrugged. ‘There’s no need. I’ll thank them for you.’
‘Not on your life.’ And she turned the key in the ignition.
I flung myself on her. ‘No . . . No . . . Please.’
She pushed me back. ‘Please, what?’
‘Let me go by myself. I can’t turn up with my mummy. They’ll make fun of me.’
‘That’s just silly . . . I want to make sure that everything is all right, if I have to do anything. It’s the least I can do. I’m not rude like you.’
‘I’m not rude. I’m just like all the others.’
She flicked the indicator on. ‘No. No way.’
I hadn’t counted on my mother caring this much about taking me there.
The anger was starting to build. I started banging my fists on my legs.
‘What are you doing now?’
‘Nothing.’ I squeezed the door handle until my knuckles were white. I could rip off the rear-view mirror and smash the car window.
‘Why do you have to act like a child?’
‘You’re the one who treats me like a . . . dickhead.’
She stared daggers at me. ‘Don’t swear. You know I can’t stand it. And there’s no need for you to make such a scene.’
I punched the dashboard. ‘Mum, I want to go there on my own, for Christ’s sake.’ The anger was pushing against my throat. ‘All right. I won’t go. Are you happy?’
‘Look, I am really getting cross, Lorenzo.’
I had one last card to play. ‘Everybody else said they were going there on their own. I’m the only one who always turns up with his mummy. That’s why I have these issues . . .’
‘Now don’t make me out to be the one who causes your problems.’
‘Dad said I have to be independent. That I have to have my own life. That I have to break away from you.’
My mother closed her eyes and pressed her thin lips together as if she were trying to stop herself from talking. She turned around and stared at the cars driving by.
‘This is the first time they’ve asked me along . . . what will they think of me?’ I added.
She looked around as if she was hoping someone would tell her what to do.
I squeezed her hand. ‘Mum, don’t worry . . .’
She shook her head. ‘No, I will worry.’
With my arm round the skis, the bag with the ski boots in my hand and the backpack on my shoulders I watched my mother do a U-turn. I waved and waited until the BMW had disappeared over the bridge.
I headed up Viale Mazzini. I went past the RAI building. About a metre before reaching via Col di Lana I slowed down. My heart beat faster. I had a bitter taste in my mouth like I’d been licking copper wire. All the stuff I was carrying made me clumsy. I felt like I was in a sauna inside my goose down jacket.
When I came to the intersection, I poked my head round the corner. At the end of the street, parked in front of a modern-style church, was a big Mercedes SUV. I could see Alessia Roncato, her mother, the Sumerian and Oscar Tommasi stuffing their luggage into the car boot. A Volvo with a pair of skis on the roof rack pulled up next to the SUV and Richard Dobosz got out and ran over to the others. Soon Dobosz’s father also got out.
I drew back behind the wall. I put the skis down, unzipped my jacket and took another look around the corner.
Now Alessia’s mother and Dobosz’s father were tying the skis to the roof rack. The Sumerian was hopping from side to side pretending to take a shot at Dobosz. Alessia and Oscar Tommasi were talking on their mobiles.
It took them ages to get ready. Alessia’s mother kept getting angry with her daughter for not lending a hand; the Sumerian climbed up onto the car roof to check the skis.
And eventually they left.
I felt like an idiot as I rode the tram, with my skis and ski boots, squashed in between office clerks in ties and suits, mums and kids heading off to school. If I closed my eyes it felt like I was on the cable car. With Alessia, Oscar Tommasi, Dobosz and the Sumerian. I could smell the lip balm, the suntan lotion. We would have got off the cable car, pushing each other and laughing, talking loudly regardless of the people around us, like all those people my mother and father call yobs. I would have said funny things and have made them all laugh while they put their skis on. I would have done impressions of people, cracked jokes. But I was never able to say funny things in public. You have to be very confident to make jokes in public.
‘Life is sad without a sense of humour,’ I said.
‘Amen,’ answered a lady standing next to me.
My father had said this thing about a sense of humour after my cousin Vittorio had thrown a cowpat at me during a walk in the country. I was so angry I grabbed a huge rock and threw it at a tree, while that retard rolled on the ground with laughter. Even my father and mother had laughed.
I loaded the skis on to my shoulders and got off the tram.
I looked at my watch. Seven fifty.
Too early to go back home. I was sure to run into Dad as he left for work.
I headed towards Villa Borghese, to the valley near the zoo where dogs are allowed to run off the lead.
