Page 59 of A Place in the Sun
‘Oh, I don’t know about that. I didn’t really know him. We’d only just met.’
‘So, how would you describe yourself? As his lover?’ I practically spit the words.
‘No! We were still getting to know each other. It was more like friends.’
‘Well, that’s something.’ A sense of relief washes over me. ‘A one-night stand?’
‘No, I promise. Nothing like that. I swear.’ She’s looking less self-assured now. She stands quickly to leave. ‘I swear …’
‘Then why were you messaging my husband? What did you want him to tell me? Were you blackmailing him?’ Now I’m feeling angry again, as if molten lava is rising within me.
We glare at each other.
‘He didn’t tell you … He said he’d tell you! He said everything would be okay when the house was sold to him. And then I hear nothing. For two years!’
‘Tell me what?’ I shout.
She glares at me. ‘I’m his daughter. I’m Marco’s daughter!’ We stare wide-eyed at each other. I can’t think of a single word to say. She can’t be more than about eighteen or maybe nineteen. And then she gets up and rushes out of the front door, slamming it behind her. This time, the ceiling stays put. It’s just my world that comes crashing down all over again.
I feel the knife being moved from beside me. And the onion. It’s Luca. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask him.
‘I’m making us pasta, like Dad used to,’ says Luca. ‘With Parmigiano,’ he adds, and somehow among this tsunami, it’s the most natural and comforting thing in the world. Because the new knowledge hurts as if Marco’s died all over again.
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I’m cleaning the kitchen surfaces again after a night of no sleep. I tossed and turned and tried to conjure up the image of Marco to ask him everything that is running around my head, tormenting me. How, when, where? Why didn’t he tell me? How long had he known?’
I look for signs of Marco, but he’s not here. It’s not the same house. It’s different, with a new beginning ahead of it, not one with me in it.
‘Buongiorno,’ Giovanni calls as he arrives, opening the front door with a cursory knock, as he has most mornings. It’s pattern of familiarity I’ve come to enjoy, but even this will end soon. Bello comes galloping in to say good morning too.
‘Buongiorno,’ I say, and try not to look him in the eye.
‘Everything okay?’ he asks.
‘Uh-huh,’ I say, still not looking at him, not wanting him to see my red eyes from the crying I’ve done all night. Not wanting to feel as I do when I see him, which lifts me. And I can’t let myself have feelings for him. Because that would mean … Well, I don’t know what it would mean but it would certainly mean Marco and I were in the past. But maybe, having found out what I did last night, that’s exactly where we are, in a big sorry mess in the past, without the glorious memories of our life together, no matter how tough it got.
‘Caffè?’ I say, putting the cafetière on the hob, knowing the answer already.
A silence hangs in the air, as usual these days.
‘You doing okay?’ he says.
‘I am.Grazie.’
‘Okay … Well, we’ll finish the plastering today and then we can start painting. Maybe we should have a painting party, get everyone to help.’
‘Yay,’ says Luca, coming down the stairs. ‘I can help. So can Pietro,’
‘And me.’ Aimee has followed him.
Giovanni smiles and turns to me, but when he sees I’m not smiling he frowns. ‘Thea, what’s happened?’
For a moment I say nothing. Then, ‘I spoke to Stella last night.’
‘Ah,’ he says. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Not really. There’s a lot to get my head around,’ I say, turning my forefinger at my temple.
