I backtrack hastily. “I just meant…you know…let’s chill out. Enjoy ourselves.”
“Volunteer!” The busker’s amplified voice rises above the crowd. “I need a brave, even foolhardy volunteer….No takers?” he adds, as there’s a nervous giggle in the crowd. “Are you all cowards?”
“Me!” Matt shouts suddenly, raising his hand. “I’ll do it!”
“What?” I gasp.
“Live a little,” he says, and winks at me before marching forward to join the busker. I watch, flabbergasted, as they cheerfully exchange a few words. Volunteering at one of these things is my idea of the opposite of fun.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our very brave volunteer…Matt!” bellows the busker, and the crowd erupts. As Matt grins at me, I can’t help laughing. Maybe I’d hate this—but he looks delighted to be there, standing beside a guy in neon-pink shorts and a headset, who’s telling the audience to clap along and cracking jokes about health and safety.
I wasn’t paying attention to the show earlier on, so I don’t know what the act is. Some kind of acrobatics? Or comedy? I’m prepared for something quite cringeworthy, maybe involving hats. But then, as the busker starts issuing instructions to Matt and gets out his equipment, it becomes clear what the act is—and my smile freezes. Is this for real? Is this busker seriously intending to juggle flaming torches over Matt’s prone body? And Matt’s agreeing to it?
He’s not just agreeing, he’s laughing along. He’s joining in with the busker’s jokes about whether he’s made a will or funeral arrangements. He’s sitting on the ground and waving around. And the crowd is clapping and cheering.
I watch, petrified, as the busker lights the flames. He wasn’t joking: That’s real fire. My stomach is all twisted up; I can’t even watch. But I can’t not watch either. In the end I compromise by watching through my fingers, holding my breath. Oh God…
The buildup seems to go on forever. But at last, after an unbearable amount of banter, the actual stunt occurs—a blur of whirling, flaming torches to the sound of huge applause. And as soon as it’s over, it seems obvious: Of course the busker was never going to drop a flaming torch on Matt and set him alight. But even so, I feel weak with relief.
“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Matt!” thunders the busker, and, finally finding my voice, I cheer and whoop as loudly as I can.
As Matt rejoins me in the audience, he’s flushed and his smile is wider than I’ve seen it for weeks.
“Awesome!” I say, hugging him, my heart still thudding with adrenaline. “That was amazing!”
“Couldn’t resist.” He flashes a grin at me. “Your turn next.”
“No!” I recoil in genuine horror. “Never!”
“He’s juggling a chainsaw next, if you’re interested?” Matt deadpans, then laughs at my expression.
He seems somehow transformed, just by that one experience. There’s a light in his eye and a lift in his voice. He sounds teasing, not rocklike. I’ve got my playful, carefree Dutch back, I suddenly realize. And I hadn’t appreciated how much I’d missed him.
“Hey, look, gelato!” I exclaim, seeing a stall at the side of the piazza. “Proper Italian ice cream. Let’s get you a nocciola as a reward.”
“And let’s get you a stracciatella,” rejoins Matt cheerfully—and arm in arm we head in that direction.
As we walk, my mind can’t help whirring. Does Matt realize how much his personality changes? Does he realize how much less carefree he is in London than he was in Italy? I want to raise the issue—but how do I put it? I can’t say, “Sometimes you turn into a rock.” I need to phrase it positively.
“It’s really great when you relax and stop thinking about work,” I venture as we join the ice-cream queue.
“Yup.” Matt nods easily.
“Can I be honest, Matt?” I press on. “I think you should try to switch off more. Shed your worries.”
“I guess work gets everyone down,” says Matt, after a pause. “Sorry if I’m antisocial sometimes.”
There’s a tiny knot of frustration inside me. I want to retort, “It’s not just that you’re antisocial, it’s more than that,” but at the same time I don’t want to ruin the mood. It’s a gorgeous balmy evening and we had a lovely dinner and now we’re getting ice cream. Matt’s face is shining and animated; he looks supremely happy. I’m not going to rain on that parade.
As he hands me my stracciatella cone, I sigh contentedly. “Just so you know, ice cream is incredibly important in Ava-land.”