Page 57 of A Place in the Sun
‘Spazzolata!Brush, brush!’ She waves her hands in downward sweeping motions.
And I do. I brush at their legs, as the children hop and yelp. And as they calm down, their shouts become sobs. I am out of breath, with exertion and emotion, as the children turn to me for a hug.
‘There is always a nest of them here.’ Stella is equally out of breath. ‘You have to be careful.’
I nod slowly.
‘Thank you.’ I nod some more. ‘I must get the children inside and give them some antihistamine.’ I know now is not the time to ask all the questions I want to fire at her, like who is she, how does she know my husband, did they have an affair, was he going to leave me, and what was she doing in my garden? I walk towards the house, stop and turn back. ‘Have you been stung too?’
She shrugs. ‘Just a little. It’s fine.’ She waves a hand,and her bangles jingle on her wrist. She wears a little silver ring on each finger, including the thumb.
That word again. When everything is all but fine. I know now that fine is not fine.
‘Well,grazie,’ I say to the young woman, her midriff showing and a tattoo twisting its way up from around her hip. She has red flashes of dye in her hair, and a nose ring. She looks like she did when I first saw her, as if she’s travelling, or just leaving, with a rucksack she picks up and slings over her shoulder. She eyes me carefully. And I do the same to her.
‘I’d better get the children inside,’ I say again, with one hand on each shoulder and direct them towards the house.
‘So,’ she calls after me, ‘what happened to Marco?’
I turn back to her. ‘Marco?’
‘Yes. Did he tell you about me?’
I swallow the huge ball that has risen in my throat and finally say the words to which I’m dreading the answer. ‘How do you know him?’
‘Stella is Papa’s friend. She told me,’ says Aimee.
I look at Stella, panicked, terrified of what I might hear, of what it will do to my memories of the man I love. I try to speak, the words sticking in my throat, my mind whirring, and wishing I didn’t want to know. But I have to. ‘You’d better come in.’
27
The children are bathed, with cream on their stings, and are playing Happy Families on one of their beds.
I walk slowly down the stairs. Stella is wandering around the house, as if she’s inspecting the work. ‘This place is looking great. A big difference,’ she says approvingly.
‘You’ve been here before?’ I ask tentatively, heading towards the kitchen and pulling out an onion to start chopping, with no real idea of what I’m making for dinner.
‘Uh-huh. I lived here.’
I stop chopping, my thoughts racing, like an out-of-control horse, cantering and gathering speed into a gallop.
‘You lived here?’ I ask, hoping it will be astraightforward answer. ‘Grew up here? Was it your family’s home?’
She shakes her head. ‘No.’ She laughs. ‘My “family”,’ she uses two fingers to make inverted commas, ‘didn’t really do conventional living. My mother moved from place to place, with friends, wherever the next festival might be.’
‘Festival?’
She nods and shrugs at the same time. ‘Festivals, concerts. She was part of a band. I grew up on the road. I guess that’s where I still am.’
‘And when did you first meet my … Marco?’ I put down the onion and pour some wine into a small stubby glass. I should offer Stella a drink but, right now, this is not a social visit, and the wine is giving me the courage I need.
‘A couple of years ago.’
‘A couple of years ago?’ I’m trying to process the information. ‘You lived here a couple of years ago?’
‘A few months before he bought this place.’
‘He …’ I feel hot. ‘He bought this place after he met you?’
