One Winter Weekend

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“ S he is beautiful, no?”

“What?” Max shook himself out of his daze. He was huddled uncomfortably at the back of a Venetian water taxi, trying to ignore the swaying of the little boat and the lapping water of the canal only inches away.

“The city, Venice. She is beautiful?” The driver gestured with both hands to the wintry scenery around them, seemingly unperturbed about steering the vessel.

“Oh. Yes—of course.”

The Italian man beamed and went back to zooming along the canal. Max tightened his grip on the wooden seat and tried not to show his extreme discomfort at being forced to ride in this treacherous little bucket.

Instead, he focused his attention on his wife Naomi, who was gazing around in pure delight.

If this makes her happy, then it will be worth it. Max tried to keep that thought in the forefront of his mind. It would be worth the long flight, the chilly December air, and yes even the endless network of canals, if only his wife enjoyed their trip.

It was a much-needed getaway for both of them. They hadn’t had a moment to themselves, let alone a whole weekend, since the birth of their daughter eight months before. Max loved baby Julia and adored being a father—he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world—but in truth, the craziness of having a newborn in the house was taking its toll on their marriage.

Julia had only just begun to sleep through the night, and Naomi’s constant fussing over the baby was hard to take. She was reluctant to leave her alone with a babysitter for more than a few hours; the fact that he’d convinced her to leave her with her parents for a whole weekend was a minor miracle.

But she’d agreed—reluctantly, but even so—and Max had put together a romantic weekend getaway as an early Christmas present for her. He knew she’d dreamed of visiting Venice all her life.

As for himself, he had no love of the water, no taste for Italian food, and no knowledge whatsoever of the language or history of this odd little place. But if the break could help them reconnect as a couple—no demanding infant in the background, no baby paraphernalia to cart around everywhere—then it would be well worth the discomfort.

He snuck another glance at his wife. So far, so good.

She’d nearly had a change of heart at the last minute, fretting over how Julia would do on a full weekend without her. Luckily, Naomi’s mother had all but shoved her out the door of their home. “You need a break.” she’d said firmly. “You have a husband, remember? Spend some time with him. Try and remember what your relationship was like before the baby came along.”

“But what if she misses me?” Naomi protested feebly, and her mother waved a hand in dismissal.

“There’s such a thing as being too attached, darling. She’ll be fine. She has to learn to spend a little time away from you sooner or later. What will you do when she goes to preschool? When she has friends and wants to go to a sleepover? Do you want her to be so attached to you that she can’t function on her own?”

Naomi hadn’t liked that very much, Max could tell, but she didn’t really have a reply. And so, taking wheeled suitcases packed with warm clothing and rain gear—Max had read that Venice could be rainy this time of year—they took a taxi to Gatwick and set off for Italy, Naomi fretting about what she was leaving behind, and Max thinking warily about everything that lay ahead.

Their hotel was on the water— right on the water, as was everything in Venice, with guests stepping out of water taxis onto a dock with an awning and large double doors welcoming them into the lobby.

The concierge checked Max and Naomi in quickly and summoned another employee to help them carry their luggage up the stairs; apparently there was no lift in the building.

Their room was small but cosy, and there was a little kitchenette with a coffee maker and a microwave. The wooden headboard and dresser were ornately carved and there was a vase of perky fresh flowers on the nightstand.

Max stowed their suitcases and checked his watch; they’d arrived in the late afternoon, and there was still some weak winter sunshine outside as the sunset. “Well. We’re here. Dominic we head out for a bite of dinner?” Travel always made him hungry.

But Naomi was already on the phone. “I’m just going to call Mum and Dad quickly and check in on Julia,” she explained, covering the mouthpiece with one hand. “It’ll only take a minute.”

Max nodded and stifled a sigh. She’s going to be calling multiple times a day , he thought gloomily. I’m going to have to work hard to keep her distracted.

Naomi was making cooing noises into the phone, talking to their daughter.

He could tell when her mother came back on the line because the cooing stopped and his wife said reluctantly: “Well, I know it’s still early but I just wanted to—oh, the flight was fine. Did she sleep through her afternoon nap? Oh, that’s good.” Max thought his wife almost sounded a little disappointed to hear that Julia seemed to be doing fine without her.

When Naomi finally put down the phone he suggested brightly that they find a place to eat lunch but she still seemed worried and distracted.

“Mum says she slept this afternoon but I can’t help worrying—I mean, we’ll be gone for three nights, and what if she doesn’t sleep through the night for any of them? Maybe a full weekend was too much too soon, Max. Maybe we should have stuck to just a night in London in case something goes wrong and she needs us…”

He stifled a groan and wrapped his wife in a hug. “Look, you’re an amazing mother, and it’s brilliant that you love our daughter so much. I do too. But your mum will take great care of her! I’m sure she’s thrilled to get some grandma-granddaughter time in. In the meantime, let me spoil you, okay? A night in London is nothing out of the ordinary. You’ve always wanted to visit Venice and I want us to really make the most of this weekend.”

“Well, okay.” Naomi melted a little in his arms, returning his hug. She smelled like vanilla and pears—the perfume she’d worn since they first started dating over six years ago.

Max breathed deeply of her scent and promised himself that he would make sure she enjoyed herself with the most perfect, romantic vacation possible. Even if we do have to go everywhere in a bloody boat.

He couldn’t actually understand why he feared the water so much. When people asked, he usually told them that as a toddler he fell off a dock into a deep lake while at a family reunion. Unable to swim, he would have drowned if an older cousin hadn’t quickly pulled him out.

In truth, though, the story was a lie. Max had never fallen off a dock and never even come close to drowning; in fact, he’d taken swimming lessons and learned to swim perfectly well.

He just didn’t like water, or boats or being piloted everywhere in one of these low-riding gondola things that Venetian tourists seemed to view as so romantic. All the same, there was no way to get from their hotel to the restaurant he’d selected from the guidebook unless they went via water, so again they climbed into a water taxi and set off.

The driver chatted to them in a mix of English and Italian. Max truly only grasped every other word the guy was saying, so he tried to smile and pretend he was too wrapped up in the city sights to talk.

Naomi leaned forward to talk to the driver, asking him about sights as they glided down the Grand Canal and asking him how to say basic words and phrases in Italian.

Finally, they reached the area of the restaurant and disembarked from the water taxi.

There were only a few other diners—apparently a Thursday evening in December was not the busiest time in Venice for tourists—and Max and Naomi were given a quiet table with a nice view of the canal.

Nice if you enjoyed looking at the water, Max thought bleakly and turned his attention to the menu.

Once again his lack of Italian was flustering him. He read through the dishes suspiciously. Culinary exploration was not one of his strong points; in fact, when he and Naomi had first started going out, it had been a bit of an inside joke between them.

After a while, though, it turned into a slight sore spot. Naomi loved ethnic foods, trying new recipes, and sampling new cuisine at new restaurants. For Max, the definition of “trying a new food” meant using a different brand of ketchup on his burger. He preferred good old English cooking—burgers, meat-and-potatoes dishes, that sort of thing—and tried new stuff only with the greatest of reluctance.

As far as Italian food, spaghetti and meatballs were about as familiar as he got with the cuisine. Antipasto ? That sounded like something that would require an antacid later on. Secondi ? He didn’t know what it was, but it sounded like a side effect of a bad illness. Brioches ? Were they made of shoe leather? There were plenty of other items on the menu that he couldn’t even pronounce.

When the waiter finally appeared to take their order, Max explained haltingly his trouble with the choices. The waiter smiled and explained several of the dishes.

Finally, Max settled on polenta with grilled meat and vegetables. The way the waiter explained it, the polenta sounded like a kind of cornmeal porridge, which seemed like a weird choice for a dinner item, but he supposed it was better than pumpkin ravioli or calf liver and onions, both of which the waiter explained were Venetian specialities and seemed to think were very fine dishes.

Max ordered a bottle of red wine for the table while Naomi picked out her own meal—some type of fried sardine and onion dish, risotto, and vegetables. It didn’t sound in the least bit appetising to Max, but he wasn’t about to admit that.

The food arrived quickly and they dug in. Max decided the polenta wasn’t half bad; at least there was a generous helping of meat to be had, though he couldn’t help wishing for a bottle of ketchup to smother it in. He poked through the vegetables and wondered idly if Italian supermarkets sold anything like Heinz; he could buy a bottle and carry it around with him.

Dessert was at least a touch more familiar; Naomi ordered tiramisu, that strange, spongy creation which looked like cake but was soaked in espresso and a dark cocoa powder that made his nose feel itchy.

For himself, he managed to order, of all things, a small plate of fried doughnuts and a cup of coffee. The doughnuts were suspiciously filled with raisins and bits of orange, and the coffee was extremely strong, but at least it somewhat resembled something he might find back at home in England.

He was pleased at least to see that Naomi was enjoying the meal though. She’d ooh ed and aah ed at every dish the waiter presented and blissfully downed two glasses of wine.

They’d lingered over their meal for over two hours; now she seemed quite ready to return to the hotel for an early bedtime.

“Great food,” Max exclaimed, more enthusiastically than he felt, as he paid the bill and then hailed yet another water taxi. How many more of these meals will I have to eat? Not to mention get water taxis…. Let’s see, tomorrow is Friday and our flight leaves Monday morning…

The driver helped them into the boat and they sat down at the back, Max somewhat awkwardly, Naomi leaning her head on his shoulder.

“This was a good idea,” she surprised him by saying. He put one arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently, forgetting momentarily the uncomfortable rocking of the boat.

The sun had set, leaving Venice dark and quiet for the night. City lights reflected on the canal and lent the scene a sort of peace that even Max could appreciate. Bright lights twinkled here and there; the city was getting ready for the Christmas season.

Back at the hotel they hung up their coats, scarves and gloves and turned down the bed. After the earlier flight and the heavy dinner, Max was ready for an early bedtime.

Naomi’s hand wavered momentarily over the phone, and Max hesitated, holding a spare blanket. Then she let out a massive yawn, covering her mouth in surprise. “Oh my goodness! I don’t know where that came from.”

“I do,” he said smiling. “You’re just worn out from the journey and all the excitement of finally being here.”

“I suppose that is it,” she agreed.

Max duly spread the extra blanket over the bed for added warmth and watched with relief as Naomi switched off the lamp and curled up in bed, phone call forgotten.

He switched off his own bedside lamp and curled up next to her, breathing in her vanilla-pear perfume and stroking her hair as she snored softly.

Maybe Venice can work its magic on us yet, he thought sleepily, before he too drifted off to sleep.