Chapter 23
Deliveries were the most stressful part of the job for Gabri.
The pressure of a wedding wasn’t his favourite, but he’d discovered he could tolerate it because the task was literally in his hands.
He had a lot of work to do? Just picking up the satin ribbon and binding a delicate bouquet for a bridesmaid would drive away the stress.
Submerging his thoughts in the colours and textures of his work was part of the solution.
But the deliveries – occasionally unpredictable on the island – were out of his control and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d lost hair over missing ranunculus or wilted lilies, and dealing with suppliers was worse than cleaning the toilet or doing his tax return.
This time around, he was missing a dozen heads of hydrangea – unfortunately necessary for the table centrepieces – and two boxes of filler flowers.
To make matters worse, the air conditioner in his cool room had switched off at some point during the night and the hydrangeas he did have might look worse for wear by the time he got them to Innamorata.
He was up a ladder with the air conditioner in pieces when the bell over the door jangled – in tune with his nerves.
‘Arrivo, un attimo,’ he called out as he climbed down the ladder. Walk-in customers were rare and—
He came to a stop when he saw who was standing at the counter. He should have known it wasn’t a customer.
She had her hair pulled back today and instead of the linen dress, she wore black cropped trousers and a patterned shirt.
She had a swipe of pink lipstick on her mouth and he longed to take her on a date – somewhere nice.
By the water. He could soak up the way she stared out to sea, luminous evening light on her skin.
Christ, he’d missed her.
She was clutching the leather-bound tablet to her chest protectively, her brow pinched. She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off.
‘I’m sorry I spoke to Cillian,’ he blurted out.
Her mouth snapped closed again.
‘It wasn’t on purpose. I know you didn’t want me to meet him. At first I didn’t realise who he was. The nest… I just wanted to ask him to stop digging there and then…’
She prompted him with a lift of her eyebrows. ‘This is the part I didn’t understand when he was telling me about it.’
Gabri wished he could have been there while the boy explained what had happened. He could still see echoes of Cillian’s features in his memory, was lining them up alongside Toni’s familiar face. What were they like together? Part of him was afraid of knowing how it would feel to see that.
‘He looked so much like you.’ It wasn’t an explanation, but it was the only one he could give.
Her breath escaped her lips slowly. ‘He doesn’t. He looks like Miro.’
‘I can see that too.’
‘You told him your name. My mother could have—’ She sighed in frustration. ‘We talked about this.’
‘I’m sorry. I thought about lying, but that seemed worse. I was hoping your mother wouldn’t work it out.’
‘She didn’t, thankfully.’ She just stared at him for a moment, her lips pressed tightly together. ‘Why did you tell him the story about the pirates? The woman flinging herself into the sea? He’s nine years old!’
‘I’m not used to speaking to children,’ was all he could say in his defence.
Coming around the workbench to face her properly, he continued, ‘I realised part way through that it wasn’t the best story for him, but it was too late.
I didn’t go against what you asked on purpose.
I’m happy to stay away from all of you—’
That didn’t come out right.
‘I mean—’
‘I know what you mean,’ she insisted, even though Gabri wasn’t too sure himself. ‘I just got worried you’d developed ideas about… being a role model or something.’
‘Pfft,’ was the only way he could react to that statement. ‘I thought I was clear, I’m not good around children.’
‘Yes, but—’ The frustration in her body was obvious – and he was helplessly drawn in by the flickering distress on her features, even though he’d caused it.
‘You keep saying that, Gabri, but the way you act says something else. You have your carefree life and your safe place on the island, but you patched up my leg when I could have done it myself. You listened to me going on about my son and my husband and you looked after me for the week. Those are not the actions of a person escaping responsibility! Telling a kid a heap of stories, coming down to his level – those are not the actions of someone who’s not good with kids. I’m not worried for noth—’
She cut herself off, some kind of realisation rippling over her features, but she didn’t share what it was.
‘He doesn’t need male role models,’ she finally blurted out. ‘I know it’s tragic that his father’s dead, but he doesn’t know any differently. We’re not a charity case for you to take care of.’
‘That’s not why I spoke to him,’ he insisted immediately.
‘The wedding is Friday and we’re leaving the island on Saturday. You and I might have… had a good time together, but he’s my family – my life. My own heart is a mess anyway, but I don’t want him to have to protect his.’
In the silence after her heavy words, Gabri felt a number of things, each less pleasant than the last. She was right; he’d taken up his sympathy for her loss and turned it into the burden of responsibility – which he admitted to himself was something of a habit.
But there wasn’t only sympathy churning in him when he looked at her.
There was a wallop of frustration – that he’d met her now, when both of them were too trampled by love, when she’d grown such thick scars over her heart that she’d never return his feelings.
‘Toni,’ was all he managed to reply at first. How odd that her name had sounded like a man’s when those two syllables were treasured on his lips now. ‘You’re his strong, warrior mother, scarred and fierce and incredibly beautif—’
‘Stop,’ she insisted, her forehead falling to his shoulder. He lifted a hand to the back of her neck, wanting to bury his fingers in her hair, but too considerate of her hairstyle.
‘I just want you to understand that if circumstances were different—’
She cut him off. ‘They’re not different.’
‘I know,’ he said emphatically. ‘Because you’re right. There was a time in my life when I took too much responsibility for too many things and… I had a breakdown.’
Her head came up again. He was wary of what he’d see in her eyes, but too curious not to look. Of course her gaze was clear. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Stress, anxiety, depression,’ he listed casually, ‘causing insomnia, stomach problems and eventually… I ended up in hospital, thinking I was having a heart attack. A “major depressive disturbance”, the doctors called it – or that’s how I would translate it.
My wife was terrified – horrified. The last five years have been about ensuring it doesn’t happen again.
I’m well aware that I could never be a role model for anyone, least of all your son. ’
He let that sink in, stepping back around to the other side of his workbench and pretending he didn’t care about her reaction. Apparently, she was struggling to come up with any words.
‘He’s a nice kid,’ Gabri couldn’t hold in as she remained silent.
‘I know that,’ she snapped in reply. She sighed and her entire body drooped. ‘This makes a lot more sense now. You could have told me earlier.’
‘My pride prevented it,’ he answered in a clipped tone, absently rearranging a twig of eucalyptus in the centrepiece.
She nodded, accepting the flippant answer. ‘I’m sorry it was so difficult… your experience with…’
He looked up sharply. ‘I think you misunderstand. It was my work, not my wife – well, that was not easy either. I had responsibility – too much – for the company.’
‘But that’s not something you love.’
He’d thought at one stage that he loved that company. Perhaps that had been part of the problem.
‘I did love my wife,’ he blurted out. He felt uncomfortable saying that when he’d missed Toni in bed the last two nights.
‘I believe you,’ she responded immediately in a mumble.
‘It wasn’t enough,’ he insisted.
‘It really doesn’t work like that,’ she contradicted him with a huff.
‘No? I thought love was supposed to heal everything. That’s what they say, anyway.’
‘Love doesn’t heal anything.’ Her tone was sharp now. ‘You’re so proud you loved your wife – well, there were times I wished I didn’t still love my husband!’
He hurried out from behind the bench again, grasping her and pulling her tightly against him. ‘It’s okay.’ It wasn’t, but his lips formed the words anyway.
They were a matched pair – in the worst, least constructive way.
‘I wanted to be angry with you, you know,’ she spoke bitterly.
‘I need to be. This wedding – this island – there’s romance everywhere.
I didn’t want it – I don’t. I unfortunately know the many things that could go wrong for the bride and groom and it means that sometimes, I think their big dreams are so… na?ve.’
She released a long breath, as though those concerns had been churning inside her for a long time.
‘But it is what it is. I hope their wedding is something that makes them stronger in the years to come and not something that… hurts. Love just sucks, Gabri. It’s not restricted to you. It’s true for everyone.’
He had the strangest urge to laugh, but he knew this wasn’t one of her crooked jokes, so he just settled his cheek against her forehead and held on tight. ‘I suppose, I wish that weren’t true for you.’
In the quiet that followed, two voices from outside travelled clearly into the shop.
‘Will Mum’s shopping take a while? I want to show her the rock pool and my new net!’
Toni stiffened in his arms and alarm zipped up his spine. The voice was unmistakable, as was the one that replied.
‘When she’s finished, we might have to go back to the hotel, but you can play at the beach with the net. Oh, look. There’s a florist, like Mum’s friend! It looks a lot like the window she showed us…’
The hairs on the back of Gabri’s neck lifted as the sentence petered out. Toni took a ragged breath. He eased back from her, knowing it was too little, too late.
‘Toni? What are you doing here? And who is he?’