Page 28 of A Place in the Sun
‘It wasn’t funny,’ I say tartly, and find myself laughingwith them. ‘Don’t make me laugh – it hurts.’ And we laugh some more, as if I’ve known these people for years.
‘Believe me, it is never just about the recipe,’ Giovanni says sagely, offering me more limoncello.
‘No, thank you. I have to get to bed.’ I stand up as if I might give birth at any moment.
‘Would you like a biscuit, Mum?’ asks Aimee. I can see Giovanni trying not to laugh.
‘I would,’ I say, ‘but I’d love to have it in the morning.’
‘Withcaffè?’ she says.
‘Withcaffè.’
‘Okay.’
Luca bids Pietro ‘Buonanotte’.
Pietro grins and waves.
‘See you tomorrow,’ Luca adds. And then, suddenly serious, ‘If that’s all right, Mum?’
‘Yes, of course.’ And then I say quietly, ‘It’s okay to have fun, you know. We don’t have to feel sad about Dad all the time. He wouldn’t want that.’
I head back to the house, along the moonlit lane, with two tired children, and a soft stuffed rabbit.
With the children in bed, no complaints about washing or cleaning their teeth and fast asleep in no time, I kiss them lightly. Coming here may have been good for them: they’re away from all the memories and constant reminders of Marco. A summer of beingthemselves with other children. Maybe Marco knew exactly what he was doing when he bought this place. Maybe it wasn’t just a moment of madness.
I go downstairs, where I see him sitting at the table, arms folded, smiling up at me, telling me he knew I’d love it. I join him there, putting down the cookies, knowing he would have eaten the lot if he could. It’s like when things were hard at the restaurant: we’d come home tired, sit at the table with a glass of wine and hope tomorrow would be a better day.
‘Maybe tomorrow will be a better day,’ I say, ‘but you’ll still be dead. So, really, it can’t get any worse.’ I sip the water I’ve poured.
‘But I am still here,cara,’ I hear him say.
‘I know. And I’m grateful for that.’
I look at my notebook. ‘Tomorrow I need to tackle some jobs … A couple of weeks’ cleaning and painting and this place could be looking half decent. I have to do it. I can’t miss the deadline, because I don’t have any money to pay to the mayor. It has to be done.’
A small memory scratches at the back of my brain. What was Marco going to tell me about this place? Why he fell in love with it? Was it just the views? Why here?
‘You’ll understand. There is a little piece of me left behind,’ he’d told me after his trip here. And I feel it too. Maybe that’s why I see him sitting at the table, and why I’m talking to him: because there’s a bit of him here. I don’t want that ever to leave me.
I finish my water. ‘Night, Marco,’ I say, feeling his presence and warmth, and wondering how I’ll feel when we have to leave. For now, though, I’m just taking comfort from him being here.
‘Goodnight,cara,’ he says, as I turn out the lights and climb the stairs. I check on the sleeping children, then get into bed. Once more, I push the indentation into the pillow beside me for where his head should be, enjoying him being in the house. How sad it is that the threenonnas I met tonight, living their own lives, have ended up alone and lonely. I wonder what happened to allow the quarrel to go on. Surely letting go of the past is a good thing. As I will one day, just not yet.
12
The following morning, after a night of mad dreams about giant cakes, I wake in a hot sweat, only to remember where I am and why I’m here. It’s my only chance to get family life on an even keel and back to something like it was.
I push back the damp covers, cursing the heat of the Tuscan summer, and open the windows wider to let in the early morning sunshine. I’m determined to get the house cleared today, start working out what needs fixing and get on with painting it.
It’s hot and humid. I pull on an old T-shirt and long shorts, then head to the kitchen.
Marco is sitting there, waiting for me, arms crossed, espresso in front of him.
I move to the old cooker and the cafetière, which is cold. I wish it was still warm from him having madecoffee. But it isn’t. He isn’t real. But it doesn’t stop me imagining him there.
I consider my plans for the house. ‘I’m going to keep it plain and simple. I just need to sell it and get home. And make sure I hit the deadline you never told me about.’
