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reminiscence and put his hand out for his money. I handed over fifty.
    ‘Call me if you see Mori or the girl again and I’ll make it two hundred.’ I wrote down my number and gave it to him. He grunted and shuffled towards the door to let me out. As I went out into the cold air I heard him twisting the key in the lock.
    I walked to the other side of the street and looked back at the hotel. From the outside it looked a little less unattractive. There were plants cascading from one or two balconies. The awning over the entrance was lined by thin fairy lights. I couldn’t imagine the place full of A-listers and flowers, but it wasn’t as bad outside as it was in.
    The night was just beginning to give way to the day. The black was going grey, and there was a faint light in the sky back towards Rome. I could hear birds beginning to chirp and I felt suddenly very tired. Dawn usually has that effect on me. Makes me realise that I haven’t been to bed.
    I drove the short distance towards the sea with the windows down. The rich smell of salt and seaweed led me towards a wild sandy beach. Strong grasses were growing in the dunes and I parked up on a gravel clearing by a single lifebelt hanging from a wooden post. I reclined the seat and closed my eyes. The sound of the waves breaking on the sand was blissful. Even the squawk of the gulls was somehow soothing, a reminder of raw nature after a night in the city of ancient stones and asphalt. I fell asleep almost immediately. A deep, dreamless sleep.
    By the time I woke up it was already hot. It was only eight, but the heat was close. I was sweating. There was a dog barking somewhere on the beach, repeatedly yapping as if it had found something interesting and wanted to let the world know about it. I put my hand to the side of the seat and pulled up the lever, bringing the seat back up to vertical. I looked out at the sea, at the gentle waves as they caressed the sand. There were birds skipping along the shore trying to find food, others gliding on the morning breeze above them. I got out of the car and walked towards the sea, watching my long shadow as it bounced over the dunes and towards the birds. I could see the dog now, digging furiously at something in the sand. The air was reminiscent of those long summers I used to have with my grandparents years ago on the Adriatic: seaweed and salt and damp sand. I stood there for five minutes, thinking about everything and nothing.
    Then I turned round, got back in the car and headed towards Viterbo.

  
     
     
    It was a slow drive. The Rome rush hour was just starting and I sat in loud, slow traffic as I tried to head north. I put on the radio and listened to some station that was taking calls about a controversial derby match between Lazio and Roma. I couldn’t remember a derby that didn’t have controversy. Callers were offering each other colourful, raucous insults as they defended their partisan interpretations of last night’s game.
    Once I was off the ring-road I sped towards Viterbo. If Mori was there, I didn’t want to miss him. On the outskirts of town, I stopped at a bar and sank a coffee.
    ‘Via della Salute?’ The barman stared at the ceiling, shaking his head. He took out a local directory and found it in the index. ‘Ecco,’ he said, finding the right page and passing it over the counter.
    I got back in the car and found the place easily enough. It was a sad sort of street, lined on both sides by tall blocks from the 1960s. I couldn’t see any vegetation other than the weeds growing up through the cracked pavements. The odd balcony had plants and flowers, but there was mostly concrete as far as the eye could see. On all the rooftops there were aerials like bleak silhouetted saplings in winter. Some of the aerials had fallen over and become entangled in the rest of the forest while others looked like old scars, with short lines perpendicular to the main central vane.
    Number 34 was towards the far end. There was