Paolo was silent a moment. The background noise came and went, and Dante wondered if he was in the kitchen of the London caff he and Luis still ran in the ends where they’d all grown up. The thought of it made his stomach growl. Lunch with Sid seemed a long time ago.
“Actually,” Paolo said, “I called because I wanted to know how you were doing. Luis hates talking on the phone, so he won’t call your PO, and your PO won’t talk tome, so I thought, fuck it. Horse’s mouth and all that.”
“I can tell Rami to talk to you if you want. Then you can avoid the horse altogether.”
“Or you can just tell me. It’s not like we have a beautiful friendship to ruin if you’re a massive fuck-up, is it?”
It was Dante’s turn to snort out a laugh. “Your expectations are pretty low then?”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you? But you threw me a curveball the other day when you asked me how to cook someone dinner. That’s why I wanted a photo, so it was real.”
“Maybe it wasn’t.” Dante tilted his face to the sky, studying the clouds. The weather was so changeable he couldn’t tell if it was going to rain or not, and unbidden, Sid invaded his mind, shirtless and dripping wet from an early morning downpour that had made him laugh as if he’d never stop. “Maybe Luis was right, and I was manipulating you to get to him.”
“Because pasta is my weak spot? Man, I’d have made a shit road boy.”
Dante was inclined to agree. Paolo was too honest and emotional to hurt people for money. “Luis was a shit road boy too. I’m sorry it took us a lifetime to figure that out.”
More silence. Then Paolo blew out a breath. “It’s easy to believe you’re the same cold bastard you’ve always been until you say stuff like that.”
“I’ve never said anything like that to you before.”
“No, but you wrote it in your parole application, so when you told your PO he could share everything with Luis, we saw it.”
Dante crossed the road, heading for the village bus stop where he could catch a ride to the big supermarket Sid needed him to go to. It was still a mile away, but he was enjoying the walk, though he hadn’t expected company. “I don’t remember what I wrote.”
“Shame. It was quite sweet.”
“Yeah, well. That’s me.”
Paolo laughed again, brittle and dry, like the cynical Londoner he was. “Whatever, man. Maybe we should stick to the pasta. Why haven’t you made it yet? Did you bottle it?”
“I was going to do it last night, but Sid fell asleep.”
“Stood you up, eh?”
“No. He was right there, just not awake.” Paolo’s confusion laced another beat of silence. Dante took a breath, and more words tumbled out before his brain caught up with his heart. “He has MS, so he gets tired sometimes.”
“MS? I thought he was your boss? The head gardener bloke?”
“He is.”
Paolo whistled. “That’s a lot.”
“I know.”
“Well... at least he’s got you around to, uh, help, I guess?”
Dante smirked. “Have you run out of nice things to say to me?”
“Ten minutes ago, but I’m blagging it pretty well, so fuck all the way off with your bullshit.”
Paolo’s harsh words were tempered by his caustic humour, and Dante found comfort in the familiar. He missed Luis as much as he always had, but knowing how much Paolo loved him made it hurt less.
“Um...” Dante wished he had a cigarette. “Thanks for calling. You don’t have to pretend to like me.”
“I’m not pretending anything. I love your brother, and he worries about you.”
“Does he?”