My cousin Paul

That time Paul and I met in one of the cafés around the Duomo. I don't actually like the place for you can hardly have a quiet talk over a cup of coffee there with all the tourists rushing about. Thanks goodness it was not exactly the high season. But Paul is Paul. He adores luxury, he loves posh places and he absolutely despises the industrial outskirts of Milan. In my opinion Milan is far more theatrical than Venice even. It hardly exists behind the small coin of its very dramatic downtown.

One of Paul's favorite spots in the downtown is an elegant café in the Gallery of Vittorio Emmanuelle II – just across from an eloquent sign reading in looped silver letters “Fratelli Prada”.

“My God, Paul!” I exclaimed when he raised from his chair to greet me “have I just seen a McDonald's over the corner?!”

“You're desperate, sweetheart! But don't mock it straightaway! Seen its colors?!” Paul gave me a big kiss on each cheek, “You look fabulous!”

I was waiting for the proverbial “I haven't seen you for ages!” and was even ready to respond he is such a bastard being “that busy all the time”, but he was smart enough not to mention it.

“What shall I order you, darling?”

“Something nice. Actually, you should know better, you live here, don't you?”

“Due macchiati e due cornetti,” he said to the waiter.

“Con la crema o con la marmellata?” the guy must have not noticed how concentrated on each other we were to mind the fillings in the pastry.

“Okay, you tell me now what you are doing in Milan,” Paul began in his usual suave tone.

“Isn't it you who's supposed to begin?”

“I might well do that, if you wish. As you probably know, I bought a flat here. But I can't say I've already managed to figure out what for.”

“Do you really feel like settling down here?”

“Who knows? After all I found something I really like doing in the fashion industry. I tell you, it feels like something I fancy doing!”

“I fancy doing! You sound like a limey!”

“I was a limey once, wasn't I? In fact, we both were! Do you ever think about that time in Oxford?”

“I think a lot about it. It was not that bad at the end of the day.”

“You mean it? Don't you think we all tend to idealize the past no matter how miserable it was?”

“Could be so. The past always seems smoother than the tormented present.”

“Aren't you happy now?”

“Not as I used to be.”

“What happened? It's somehow connected with this escape to Europe, isn't it?”

“I lost a child, Paul.”

“Oh my God, Liz, I didn't know! When?”

“In the spring. I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

“What was the term?”

“Ten weeks. John was really depressed as well. We've been through such hard times. So we decided to take time off.”

“I see. How long are you planning to stay?”

“John's working on some research. Guess we're gonna stay for at least a year. I don't care about it.”

“Are you working on anything?”

“Yeah, I’m doing some writing. At least I’m trying as hard as I can, ‘cos it feels awful to do nothing, apart from leafing over and over my miserable experience. And I’m also working on some lectures, although I still can't bring myself to come back to the university.”

“I think you'd better not rush with that.”

“It's so good seeing you, Paul. I missed you awfully!”

“I missed you too! We should get together more often. Though I’m going away soon.”

“What? A business trip of some sort?”

“Yeah, I’m meeting up some guys in London.”

“Really? Say “hello” to my beloved Soho, will you? You travel a lot?”

“Seems so. Do drop in some time, will you? I'll leave you the address. It's within walking distance from here.”

“Everything is within walking distance in Milan we dwell in. Okay, I will. For sure. Is Thomas here with you? (I stressed letter “a” as usual)”

“Thomas (he stressed letter “o” as usual) is here with me! We're forever together!”

“I bet!” I paused. “Don't you think it feels strange? I mean, I've been here a couple of times before and we stayed at some hotel and now we're staying at that strange flat where I want to change every single thing because it's not mine! It's so not mine!”

“Even John?”

“John's not a thing, he cannot be changed! And why are you forever mocking him? Is it your jealousy speaking?”

“Who wouldn't be jealous of you?”

“C’mon, stop it, Paul!”

“Neither Jane nor I was ever so important for anyone in the family as you were and are and will always be!”

“Stop it, Paul! That's not true! That's not fair! And you shouldn't be telling me all this!”

“Maybe they are just deep-rooted childish frustrations. I should have probably overcome those bats long ago, but you know it's a damn hard thing to do!”

“Paul, have you ever thought what my life's really about? Have you ever put yourself in my shoes? There's nothing fabulously special about my life and you wouldn't be able to survive some of the things I live with! Do you really think that when a late child in the family is pampered by all the kin much to the jealousy of her brother and sister, do you really think it makes the child happy? No way, Paul! No fucking way!”

“Don't go so mad about it!”

“I try my best not to!”

“I’m sorry if I touched a raw nerve with this.”

“You did! Indeed you did!”

“Please,” he took my hand, “can I walk you home now? I really want to!”

I looked at him, at his clear blue eyes and wondered why, in spite of really loving each other we were never ever able to have normal, healthy brother-sister relationships; or, to be more exact, cousin-cousin relationship.

“Thank you, Paul. But I'd rather drop into a couple of places on Via Montenapoleone before going home. You don't fancy carrying my shopping bags, do you?”

“You always had enough money at your disposal to spend it elegantly!” he smiled one of his most charming smiles and I instantly got what he was driving at.

We both stood up and hugged.

“Take care of yourself, Lizzy. I'll see you when I come back from London.”

“Have a safe journey,” I replied somewhat dryly for I still couldn't bring myself to forget Paul's silly attack on me and to be my usual loving self with him.

Needless to say I didn't go shopping then. It was just an excuse not to walk home with Paul. I roamed about Duomo a bit. Had a drink at one of the bars (it was 4 p.m. already and I thought I did have the right to have a drink) and strolled home.

I strolled very slowly the too-short-for-thinking distance and once at home (John was still at work, naturally) I made myself a cup of coffee, settled on the sofa near the window in the so-called living-room, glanced at the neon “Geox” sign just opposite our home and began recollecting my “Oxford period”.