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refreshed and invigorated. ‘Wow!’ he adds.
    ‘ Che ?’ says Strozzi as he slides a pizza in to bake.
    ‘Where?’ says Marco, standing in the pizzeria that bears his name.
    ‘Where what?’ says Strozzi.
    ‘Who?’ says Marco as Giuseppina, pizza-laden, sways past him. Coming back to himself in a flash, he affectionately squeezes her left buttock.
    ‘What’s this?’ she says. ‘You’ve just now rediscovered my natica sinistra ? I have one on the other side also. They’re a matched pair.’
    Marco bilaterally embraces her bottom and draws her to him.
    ‘ Piano , piano ,’ says Giuseppina, ‘the pizza’s getting cold. See me after closing time.’
    ‘Sweet Pina!’ cries Marco as the joy of life and the vital sap of the vernal season rise in him and he follows her into the dining room. ‘I feel as if I’ve been away for a long time but now I’m back, and only now do I realise all that you are to me! You are my basil and my oregano! You are my mozzarella!’
    The diners look up from their pizza classica and give the couple their full attention.
    ‘I’ve seen nothing of you and heard nothing from you for weeks,’ says Giuseppina with the colour mounting to her cheeks, ‘and do you mock me now?’
    ‘I do not mock, Giuseppina! I love you!’
    ‘You’re embarrassing me! Be serious, padrone !’
    ‘But I am serious!’
    Her eyes narrow as she serves the pizzas.
    ‘How serious?’
    Marco goes down on one knee and there is a collective intake of breath from the onlookers.
    ‘Go for it!’ urge the assembled upholders of traditional family values.
    Marco goes for it.
    ‘Marry me!’ he demands in ringing tones that make passers-by in the street turn their heads and smile.
    ‘You hear this?’ says Giuseppina to the breathless pizzagoers. ‘What answer shall I give the padrone ?’
    ‘Yes!’ they shout as one.
    Giuseppina raises Marco to his feet, kisses him soundly, places his hands firmly where they have been longing to go, and breathes softly into his ear, ‘What’s mine is yours.’
    Cheers and applause. It’s like something in a movie.

Chapter 12
    Figs with Cream!
     
    Vassily, his name is. A big man and no gentleman, reeking of Stolichnaya the same as on the night he attacked Doris. I knocked him out then, so why don’t I become my hippogriff self now and let him feel the weight of my talons?
    Right! Here I go. Nothing happens, I’m still an invisible idea. Only a little while ago I was seeing off unwelcome suitors with my full self but suddenly I don’t know how to do it. Was there a magic word? Meanwhile Angelica was breathing in his stinking breath and looking at him with desire in her eyes.
    All I could do was climb into his mind, and it was so swollen with his single intention that it was a tight squeeze.
    ‘Here I am,’ I gasped to Angelica. ‘Here is Volatore.’
    ‘What’s your name, handsome?’ she said playfully, as if sharing a joke with me.
    ‘Volatore, Volatore!’ I tried to say, but the name that came out was ‘Vassily’.
    ‘Sure you are, but you’re my Volatore, yes?’
    ‘Who’s Volatore?’ said Vassily.
    ‘ You are, aren’t you?’ said Angelica.
    ‘I’ll show you who I am pretty quick as soon as we get out of the weather,’ said Vassily.
    We, the three of us, went to where his red Mercedes was parked. It had doors that opened like wings.
    ‘Classy set of wheels,’ said Angelica. ‘This is a 300 SRL.’
    ‘You can depend on me for a good ride, golubchik ,’ he said (I was unable to make myself heard).
    ‘I believe you, Volatore.’
    ‘Vassily, baby.’
    ‘OK, Vassily Baby.’
    We got in and Vassily put his hand on her leg.
    She put her hand over his.
    ‘Don’t be shy, Vassily Baby,’ she said, and moved his hand further up her thigh (I could do nothing). ‘Have we got time for a kiss and a cuddle right here?’ she said.
    ‘For this there is always time,’ said Vassily, and she came into his arms (I, Volatore, felt that hot embrace.)