Page 16 of A Place in the Sun
We sit at the kitchen table, each grab a spoon and take a mouthful, chewing slowly.
‘Interesting. Different from the last,’ I say.
‘Meatier,’ says Luca.
‘Different kind of meat in the sauce, I think.’
‘Mr Fluffy’s full!’ Aimee sits back on her chair, holding her stomach.
‘That’s fine, lovely. We’ll put it in the fridge for tomorrow.’
‘With the rest of the other one,’ Luca says seriously, and grins.
‘Yes,’ I join in. ‘If only we had a freezer.’
‘Mr Fluffy is tired,’ says Aimee.
‘Well, in that case, he should go to bed. Why don’t you take him upstairs and show him the beds we madetoday in the other bedrooms, so you and Mr Fluffy can have your own room?’
‘Mr Fluffy would rather share with Luca. There’s two single beds in there.’
‘That’s fine too,’ I say. I don’t want to rush her. ‘Now off you go.’
I stand up and squeeze the dish into the now quite full fridge.
‘I’ll check on Aimee and Mr Fluffy,’ says Luca. ‘Read them a story.’
‘Thank you.’ I’m reminded that he’s taken on a more responsible role than other eleven-year-old boys.
I pour a glass of wine and stroll out to the garden. I sit down, with a pen and my refillable notebook that Marco gave me when we had the restaurant idea, and begin to write a list. What to do? Where to start? Just like I’ve always done when I’m at a crossroads, I make a priority list. I run my hand over the notebook that never left my side when I was running the restaurant, making orders for suppliers, lists of jobs to do, and in the pocket on the inside cover, the postcards Marco sent me from places he was visiting as a chef for touring bands and we hatched the plan for our own place, the dream.
In my mind, Marco has followed me into the garden and sat on the other side of the table I put there, gazing at the view. Just as he told me it would be: the two of us, either side of the table, in the candlelight. The evening is sultry and I can feel him, hear him.
‘Okay, let’s get this list sorted,’ I say to myself.
Clear out the rubbish.
Find the dump.
Clean.
Paint.
Get an estate agent to value it.
Sell and move home before school starts again.
Find a job.
I put down my pen, pick up my glass, take a sip of wine and stare at the sky, the slowly setting sun a huge ball of fire, streaking the horizon with orange and gold. I breathe in deeply.
‘Well, I think I know why you chose this place, Marco. This view … and the price, of course. It’s beautiful. I just wish you were really here to see it and enjoy it.’
A knock at the front door startles me, catapulting me out of my daydream. I stand up quickly, hoping Aimee hasn’t woken if she was asleep. I hurry in through the back door and run through the kitchen, past the clean lasagne dish on the table.
‘Let’s hope it’s not another!’ I say aloud, and laugh. Then, cautiously, I open the heavy front door.
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