Page 49 of The Dolce Vita Divas
A stout man with a disarming smile and a jaunty bow tie shook my hand and introduced himself as Ernesto, Paulo’s cousin.
‘So,tu sei Jo. You are Joanna. We have heard a lot about you.’
How? And what?
‘Meraviglioso,’I said. Marvellous. And then I tried to remember the other words Susie had said.
What had they heard? Nice things or the bits about my reckless behaviour when I was younger; my messy divorce? Did they know anything about the feelings I’d had for Paulo? Had he ever told anyone? No, of course he hadn’t.
The woman at his side who was resplendent in a purple cocktail dress was introduced as Ernesto’s wife Giulia, and she nodded.
‘Ellen spoke often of you. You were the clever one, withuna carriera entusiasmente– the exciting career.’
‘Bene!’ I said, smiling and wondering what the third word Susie had mentioned.
Then I thought back and wondered how my years in teaching could be construed as exciting. Worthwhile, yes, but exciting?
I’d retired when my little school had closed and been amalgamated with a new, glossy, bigger school where everything was colourful and state of the art. Not like Highfield Infants, where the windows were too high to see out of, the heating boiler was temperamental, and the roof had leaked in various places.
‘Direttrice.A headmistress,’ Giulia said. ‘So important. Not a job I could do.’
Her admiration made me relax a little and we chatted for a few moments about everyday things: the weather, the wonderful views, and of course Ellen.
‘Such a lovely person,’ Ernesto said sadly. ‘Kind. Generous and welcoming.’
‘Always in church every Sunday. And always helpful,’ Giulia added.
‘And everyone loved her,’ Ernesto said.
‘Everyone,’ Giulia said with a sad shake of her head. ‘And now she is no longer with us.’
‘Meraviglioso,’I said, which earned me an odd look from Giulia.
I began to feel rather strange at that point. Here we all were, celebrating Ellen’s life as what sounded like a living saint, and I had been remembering my envy of her, my own failed relationship with Ellen’s husband, thinking about him, recalling that night when we had kissed each other; not a friendly peck either, but a full-blown snog.
There was no doubt about it, I was a bad person.
I would make myself stop thinking about the way Paulo and I had occasionally spent Sunday mornings,notgoing to church but waiting for the others to wake up, huddled under the blue and grey blanket at either end of the sofa in the sitting room watching children’s programmes on television, eating toast and drinking endless cups of tea. Taking care not to touch each other. Complaining about the crumbs and the work we should be getting on with.
And then Ellen or someone else would appear and we would go to the pub where we would meet up with friends and we would start bickering again.Give it a rest, you two,someone would say.All you ever do is argue.
We would spread out the Sunday papers, drinking beer and eating toasted sandwiches until someone suggested doing something else. The something usually involved lounging around on the sofa again, watching old films and eating biscuits.
‘She was lovely,’ I said, hoping to make up for my previous comment. ‘Such a loss to us all.’
Then Ernesto and Giulia saw some old friends across the room, made their apologies and wandered off.
Susie appeared at my side looking cross.
‘I’ve just had a phone call from Simon,’ she said.
‘What the heck did he want?’
Susie pulled a face. ‘He said he’d gone back to my house to collect the last of his stuff and he couldn’t find the celebration tea towel from the coronation that he bought. I suppose I’m impressed he needs one. Where did I keep them? I mean, he lived in that house on and off for four years, and they have always been in the bottom drawer next to the sink. He says he is going to “have a sort out”, which means when I get back I won’t be able to find anything and he will have taken some of my things too. I’m only away for a flipping week. I should have changed the locks.’
‘Hardly worth phoning you about?’ I said.
Susie gave a wistful look. ‘I know what it is, he’s sorry now and he’s missing me. He sounds all grumpy and put upon, but I know. He would never come out and say it, but I can tell.’
