Chapter 5
So with everyone’s (well, almost everyone’s) blessing, I start packing for this well-being holiday that, at the end of the day, my mother has generously paid for, I can only assume, as a peace offering.
Perhaps it’s her way of saying that she does care after all.
And after twenty- odd years of radio silence on my behalf, I decide to call my mother to make it official.
Well, actually, my father decides it’s the right thing to do.
I put up a modicum of resistance but in the end capitulate for the sake of peace.
‘Hello, Livvie!’ comes her sing-song voice that hasn’t changed in nearly twenty-two years. ‘I’ve been waiting for your call! So you’ve decided to go to Villa dei Respiri after all!’
She knows I’m going. She’s known all along. Has Dad already told her, and how smug is she?
‘So, uhm, I’ve had a chat with my family,’ I say awkwardly. I know I could have said ‘our’ family, but she’s no longer part of it. ‘And we’ve decided I can be spared for a few weeks.’
‘I should bloody well hope so!’ she laughs. ‘It’s time for some you time!’
‘Yes, well, thank you for your… generosity.’
‘It’s the least I can do for my baby girl.’
I wish she wouldn’t call me that. I was indeed her baby girl once upon a time, but not anymore. But yes, to pay for a wellness clinic for me so I can rest is the least she could do for me.
‘I will pay you back, of course.’
‘Absolutely not! It’s a gift, Livvie.’
But why? I almost say but stop myself. I mean, I am curious, but perhaps it’s not such a good thing to keep voicing my past grievances, and especially not over the phone.
I am an adult now. Or at least trying to be.
And besides, it’s easier if we just gloss over that kind of stuff, or actually, never mention it, because if those gates open, I’m afraid I’ll never be able to close them again.
Our relationship was like that while I was growing up.
She was very temperamental so I always avoided saying anything that would hurt her feelings.
Any time I did, she would actually start sobbing like a baby, making me feel like a right monster.
But she wasn’t always that way, and Dad says she isn’t like that anymore.
I know better than to believe him. He always saw the best in her, and I guess he still does.
My mother is the kind of woman that you instantly like, but only because you don’t know her.
On the outside, my mother is welcoming, bubbly, warm and nothing is too much trouble.
She’s very difficult not to like. The kids adore her.
My father adores her, despite the divorce, and she adores him.
After all these years they’re still the best of friends.
It’s like they all speak a language that I don’t understand.
Go figure. I struggle to like my own husband more times than not.
But underneath all that, she is na?ve, vulnerable and prone to making her problems everyone else’s problems, too.
Of course, I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to her, but I can’t get over all the pain and hurt she’s caused me, all the while breezing through her own life choices as if we were a second thought.
She left us when I was just thirteen, and for what?
To go off to Italy and marry some rich nobleman. Just like that, out of the blue.
To be fair, Aldo has always been polite and very kind to the kids, inviting them over for the holidays for as long as they want to stay.
Of course, out of politeness, the invitation is always extended to Simon and me, but I can’t exactly say I’m a fan of his.
In truth, Aldo Amore is the root cause of my life going down the toilet.
And goodness me, did it, the minute my mum left.
What I never expected as a teenager was for my mother to say that she would be moving to Italy.
Italy? Who leaves their child to move abroad with another bloke?
I don’t care that she called every Sunday, or sent mountains of postcards.
You just don’t do that. You don’t give up your kid to be with someone else.
My dad has never said an ill word about my mother and it pisses me off royally. Because at least then I’d have an idea as to how Aldo came onto the scene. But nothing. Nada. Or, in this case, niente.
Luckily Susan lives all the way down south in Sicily, while I will be staying all the way up north in the Alps, so there is no chance of me accidentally running into her.
‘Now listen, my friends at Villa dei Respiri will take good care of you. I’ll call ahead and make sure you get everything you need.’
‘Thank you, Mother.’ All I need is not to have to work, cook and deal with Simon. Cassie’s strops, I can normally deal with, but lately even she is grating on my nerves.
‘Don’t thank me. Just relax and reboot.’
Relax and reboot. Actually, come to think of it, I’m really eager to go now. I’ll be all on my own, with no one demanding anything of me, for the first time in God knows how long.
*
April 10th
During the last weekend before my departure, I am in damage-control mode. Joe, as usual, is a dream, encouraging me to take a break and enjoy myself.
Cassie, on the other hand, is in a strop, almost as if I was pulling a Susan on her.
But I know she’s just trying to make me feel guilty for the sake of it, and secretly she’s glad to be rid of me.
Dad promises he is fine and that he doesn’t need any help with the kids and that he always has Markus to fall back on, just in case.
And then on Sunday night, the eve of my departure, as I am clearing up after dinner, I get a text from Simon:
I’m upstairs. How about a last one for the road…?
What? Is he effing kidding me? After years and years of absolute indifference to me in that respect, on the very eve of what is supposed to be my eight-week window of freedom, now he wants to…
? Just like that, as if it was a last-minute forgotten packet of crisps that you snatch up at the till on your way out?
I mean, really? He must have hit his head hard when no one was looking.
How do I get out of this? Gosh, I don’t think I’d even recognise him, or it, anymore, it’s been so long!
And even for him, I’m sure it would be like something akin to, ‘Er, excuse me, madame, have you seen a young woman somewhere around here?’ To which I could only answer: ‘That young woman is gone. You missed out on her all these years when she was willing. Now, she hasn’t had a visitor in years, so I haven’t bothered with the maintenance— Oh, sorry about the cobwebs too, but this place has been shut down for quite a while now. ’
No. Absolutely not. I don’t want to. End of. And I can’t understand how he’d even think I would want to.
I don’t answer his text, instead taking my time scrubbing the bottoms of all my pots and pans, making sure that I get rid of those blackened oil streaks, the ones that have been there for months, and hoping desperately that he gets the hint.
I scrub the hell out of those pans. The last time they were this shiny was when we chose them off the display table in the shop.
Once those are dried and put away, in my desperation to bide my time, I turn to the grouting on the backsplash with an old toothbrush I keep under the sink, and some bleach. Not that it really needs doing. It could have waited a few more weeks. But, I cackle gleefully to myself, so can he.
He’s made sure all this time that nothing physical happened between us, meaning that, on an emotional level, everything has changed between us.
There has been a seismic shift in our relationship over the years while no one was looking.
And it has left a huge void where there should have been, oh, I don’t know, a proper marriage with emotional intimacy, knowing looks, secret couple codes, laughter in the dark during pillow talk and having each other’s back.
Basically anything that would cement a couple’s relationship.
Our marriage is held together by routine, cowardice (at least on my behalf) and insufficient funds to buy another home for the kids and me.
They would have to be shuffled back and forth between two new shitholes as neither of us would be able to afford to give our children any of the things they enjoy now.
No more school trips, no ballet or football, even McDonald’s would be a stretch at that point.
So a proper separation will have to wait until the kids are older, and can fend for themselves.
The cooker needs a deep clean, I decide, so I pull the burners out and start scrubbing them as well, fully aware that Simon is still waiting upstairs, probably in his boxers.
The sole idea makes me giggle louder and louder as I fill a basin with clean water and disinfectant to sanitise the inside of the kitchen cabinets that deserve my attention much more than Simon ever could.
And the sad thing is, I know the perfect man for me exists.
With Markus I already have the perfect relationship I should have with Simon, minus, the, well, you know.
It’s not like that between Markus and me.
We really are good, trusting friends or we’d never have gone into business together.
We have each other’s back and wouldn’t dream of it being any other way.
We’ve even agreed that our spouses (whenever he decides to get married and break my heart, that is) will have no say in our business decisions.
*
The next morning, the morning of my departure, Simon, who still has the hump from me not succumbing to his nocturnal wishes, shoves his hands into his pockets and says ‘Right, then. Keep in touch.’
‘Of course,’ I assure him as we both stand awkwardly as if on a first date, unsure of whether to kiss or not.
It seems odd. It seems dishonest. But for the kids’ sake I lean forward for him to kiss me.
Surprised, he gives me an awkward peck and moves away immediately, as if he’s afraid he’ll get the lurgy.
And now it must be blatantly obvious even to the birds in the trees that, after all these years, two kids and a home, we have reached stalemate.
I give my dad the longest hug in history as Simon walks down the front path, gets into his BMW and screeches off like it’s a hit and run. Just as Markus’s pick-up is pulling up to the kerb.
He gets out, his hand on his heart. ‘I saw Simon’s car leaving so I thought I’d missed you!’ he calls as he jogs up to the front door, wrapping me in his embrace.
‘Uncle Markus!’ the kids shout in unison, flinging themselves at him.
‘Hey, you’re back early,’ I sigh, pulling out of his embrace and pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. My heart starts to do that familiar boom-bada-boom thing.
‘I took an earlier flight,’ he explains, returning the kids’ hugs. ‘And I’ve got loads of pressies for you all. I thought Simon was taking you?’
‘Yeah,’ Cassie snorts. ‘Like that’s happening.’
‘Cassie, be nice,’ my father chides.
‘Uh, he has work,’ I say lamely. ‘So I called a taxi.’
‘Nonsense, I’ll take you,’ he offers.
That’s all I need: a romantic (at least on my side) two-hour drive and goodbye at the airport with him.
‘Uhm, no, that’s okay, Markus. My taxi is due any minute, I’m sure it’s too late to cancel.’
‘Well, okay, then,’ Markus says, wrapping me in a bear hug that I just want to stay in for ever and ever, but I make it quick for everyone else’s sake.
‘Try to relax and have fun. We’ve got your back here, haven’t we, champs?’
Joe loves being called that, and surprisingly, so does Cassie.
‘Of course, Uncle Markus!’ Joe chimes. ‘We’ve got it all covered.’
I laugh and ruffle his hair as I eye Cassie, who has made sure she’s too far away for me to reach out and hug her goodbye.