Page 32 of A Place in the Sun
I hear a loud noise.
My eyes spring open, just in time to see a large crackopening across the ceiling, over the stairwell, where the bulge in the plaster had been, then another crack and another, as plaster start to fall, an avalanche gathering pace. All I can do is hold my arms over my head and wait for the lumps raining down on me to stop.
14
What seems like for-ever later, the room is finally quiet. I lift my hands from my head and look around. White dust covers everything. There’s rubble everywhere. It’s like a volcano’s erupted. Marco is sitting in the kitchen, his dark curly hair covered with white dust.
‘What the hell happened?’ I rasp. Then, as the dust settles, the storm inside me begins to rage. ‘Marco! What the hell is going on?’
But he doesn’t answer.
15
I’m not sure how long I’ve been crouched here. I seem unable to move so I stay there because I can’t see a way forward. Not even to standing. The only thing I had left has crumbled to dust. The house is ruined. And my mind is as messed up as the house. Who was that young woman? How did she know Marco? Was it an affair? Was he leaving me? Was any of this true, or was it just a fantasy?
Well after the dust has stopped falling, I’m still sitting, leaning with my back to the front door among the rubble. I feel as if my whole world has come crashing down. I’m in a daze. Suddenly I hear footsteps and shouts coming down the road. There’s a bang on the door, jolting me out of trance.
‘Mum! Mum!’ It’s Luca. I try to pull myself together.‘Giuseppe says the roof has fallen in! Mum!’ He bangs on the door again.
I scrabble to my feet. ‘Yes, yes, coming. I’m okay!’ I hang onto the door handle to help me to my feet, then try to turn it. It’s temperamental at the best of times, but try as I may to open the door, I can’t. There’s plaster everywhere.
‘Stand back from the door.’ Giovanni is clearly with them. I do as I’m told without question. He clearly takes a run at the door and shoves it open with his shoulder, pushing back with sheer force the lumps of plaster that were jamming it shut.
The children stare at me as if they’ve seen a ghost.
‘It’s all right, I’m fine,’ I say, and they rush forward to hug me.
‘Mum!’
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Giovanni asks, concern all over his face.
‘Giuseppe came to find us. He was walking the goats! He saw it happening through the windows.’ Aimee starts to cry.
‘I’m fine.’ I crouch down to her. As I run my fingers through my hair, lumps of plaster fall from it. I realize I must look dreadful. I stand and peer into the dust-covered mirror by the door. I look like a ghost of the woman I was for all those years when life was great and Marco and I planned our life together. Our plans for coming here to live. All of my hopes and dreams inruins. I can’t do this any more! I can’t keep going! My knees buckle.
‘Whoa,’ says Giovanni, and I feel myself caught round my waist. ‘Let’s get you to bed. You’ve had quite a shock,’ he says. ‘It’s just the plaster that’s come down, so the floor upstairs will still be fine.’
A shock. That’s exactly right.
He and Luca guide me upstairs, over the rubble. ‘Watch the fourth step down,’ I tell them despite my haze. ‘It needs fixing.’
‘That’s the least of your worries right now,’ I hear Giovanni say softly.
I flop onto the bed, and although the ceiling is still intact in here, dust particles fly up in little clouds as I land on the covers.
I stare upwards, feeling as if I’m in a parallel universe: I’m in Italy without my husband, and a young woman I’ve never met has just come to the door looking for him, as if he’s still here, no time has passed, and as if she’s known him all her life. Maybe she has. What do I know? None of this seems very real any more.
I turn my head towards the window, which Luca is pushing open, and then at the empty pillow with the indentation in it and feel wetness on my pillow. It’s tears.
‘Luca, get some water for your mum. It’s just shock. She’ll be all right.’ I hear Giovanni reassuring Luca and wish I could too, but I feel as if I’ve been hit by a bus.I can’t move. ‘She just needs a rest. She’s taken on a lot to get you all here.’
Suddenly it’s all there, rolling around like an Instagram video, the last few years of my life. Marco just back from Italy having signed for the house. The celebrations and plans. ‘You will love it,cara, as much as I love you!’ And then, the very next day, Marco having the heart attack, the ambulance, having to tell the children before social-media gossips spread the news and the children found out from someone else. Trying to keep the restaurant going, remortgaging the house and, finally, losing them both. And now, when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, the ceiling has collapsed and I don’t think I am fine any more.
‘Don’t worry, the children will stay with Caterina tonight. If that’s okay with you. A sleepover. They’ll be fine. Get some rest,’ I hear Giovanni saying, but his voice is in the distance, just like when I had to call time on the restaurant. My mind couldn’t take any more. It was on overload, like a too-full washing-machine, stuck, whirring, just like now.
‘I …’ is all I manage to say. I need to get up, sort out the children. But my body feels like a collection of lead weights.
‘It’s okay not to be fine, Thea. The children are safe. Get some rest. It’s absolutely okay not to be fine,’ he repeats.
