Chapter16 June 1st
The first thing I see when I open my eyes is a huge pink bow. Tied to a humongous photo album.
‘Happy birthday to you!’ Mother sings, thrusting the thing in my face. ‘Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear chickie! Happy birthday to… you!’
I sit up, groaning inwardly. It’s a miracle in itself that I’ve made it to this age with my sanity intact, but this would throw anyone over the edge.
‘Open it!’ she chimes, clapping her hands. ‘It’s a photo album’—no kidding?—‘full of all the years together that we’ve missed out on! This way there will be no gaps in the years!’
I stare at her. She’s all happy and chirpy as if she had just said something tremendously clever and thoughtful.
I’m supposed to be okay for all the years spent without a mother because now I have past pictures of her?
What could I possibly say to someone who is so self-centred she doesn’t understand what an utter insult this gift is?
‘Err, thank you, Mother. I’ll have a look at it after I’ve got some caffeine in me.’
I hadn’t known, in fairness, when I accepted the invite to the wellness clinic that I would, in fact, be spending my thirty-fifth birthday with my mother, only to be reminded of the other twenty-one birthdays that she hadn’t been there.
And now, despite many years having gone by, I don’t want to think about it because it hurts too much, on this day in particular.
A re-run of all this festiveness is performed by her friends in the dining hall over breakfast, followed by a huge applause as if I’d done something really, really special, like discover the cure for cancer.
Everyone is crowding me so I can’t even have my breakfast in peace without having to stand up to return the hugs or handshakes and slobbery kisses from the elderly men.
Not to mention the offers of lunch down in town, or a ride on the Ferris wheel or an ice cream or dinner with these over-zealous people who are all my mother’s friends and not actually mine.
It’s not even ten o’clock and I’m already wondering how I am going to get through this day.
An hour later, I’m summoned to retrieve a huge bouquet from Interflora that has arrived at the main desk and I’m all smiles on the way there. The card is signed by the kids, Simon and my father.
I’m somewhat disappointed that I haven’t received even a measly card from Markus, seeing that we design the bloody things.
Did I offend him in any way when we last spoke? I know I can be a real pain sometimes. Why am I like this? Why can’t I forgive and forget? Why can’t I let things go? In any case, I can’t recall pissing him off.
No. Today’s my birthday and I am going to enjoy it.
No regrets or remorse or grudges. I’m going to hike back upstairs, have a shower and put on my prettiest dress, be extremely polite to my mother and enjoy my time here with all the other guests who, actually, are quite friendly and certainly mean no harm.
Luckily my mother is busy all morning with her physiotherapy, her shrink, etc., and has had to delay all the celebratory stuff to the evening, which gives me ample time to come up with an escape route. Perhaps I could hitch a ride into town with one of the waitresses?
With the day completely open to me now, I could go for a walk but I’ve already changed, even put on make-up and a nice pair of heels I never thought I’d wear.
Even my hair is making an effort today. Tonight, when the kids are back from school, I’ll call home and thank everyone for the beautiful flowers.
Even Simon and Cassie will have to be nice to me on my birthday, right?
All in all, I can earnestly say that today, the Gods are smiling down on me…
And speaking of… my Scandinavian God is finally calling me.
‘Hello?’
‘Happy birthday, skat,’ comes his deep, warm voice over the phone.
‘Thank you. Did you know I almost ended up in tomorrow’s papers?’ I say to Markus.
‘Really? What did you do?’
‘I was doing this obstacle course thing in the gym with the doors wide open onto a natural terraced cliff. I was running so fast that inertia kicked in and I couldn’t stop.
The panic doors leading outside were open because it was hot and I ran through them and almost off the cliff.
I swear I thought I was going to die. Imagine the titles in the papers: Crazy Brit throws herself off the cliff to get back at her suddenly needy mother. ’
‘Jesus, Liv. You want to be careful.’
‘Gotcha!’
‘What?’
‘I’m just kidding!’
‘Jesus, Liv, you scared the crap out of me. What the hell would we do without you?’
Quite the opposite stance to the one Simon would take. I swallow a whole world of words back and instead recite a Danish proverb Markus once taught me:
‘Ingen ko p ? isen!’ Meaning, literally, ‘no cow on the ice’ as in, everything’s okay, don’t worry.
‘You have a very good memory for languages,’ he says, pleased with me.
‘Tak,’ I thank him in Danish, just as he taught the kids and me. Even if Simon thinks it’s a ridiculous waste of time and effort because we’re not actually going to Denmark, are we?
‘So what are you doing today?’ he asks.
‘Oh, not much. No plans whatsoever. My mother, for some crazy reason, has all morning booked, so she says we can’t celebrate until the evening.’
‘Good. So maybe you can spend some time with me, then.’
‘Have you got all this time to chat?’ I ask.
‘I’ve got all the time in the world,’ he says, and the line goes dead.
Great, just great. ‘Markus? Markus, are you there?’
‘I’m here,’ he says, but his voice sounds less tinny. Almost as if—
‘Hello, you,’ he says. But the line is still dead. I turn around and there he is, his jacket over his shoulder.
‘Markus?! What… what are you doing here?’
‘You didn’t think I was going to let you spend your birthday without me, did you?
’ he says, giving me a great big bear hug.
I hug him back, inhaling his familiar scent.
It’s his real smell because he doesn’t wear cologne.
I can’t describe it, but it’s delicious.
Something between soap and freshly cut grass and loads of testosterone. My oestrogen recognises it instantly.
‘How long can you stay?’ I ask, breathless with surprise and elation.
‘Just the twenty-four hours, unfortunately. I need to be back.’
‘Is my dad okay?’ I ask. ‘The kids?’
He looks down at me. Finally he says, ‘Your family is fine. Relax, Livvie.’
‘Of course, sorry. You’d tell me. How silly of me. You wouldn’t be here, right?’
‘I can only stay a short while because I’ve got a huge shipment to get out next week. So what do you want to do?’
Stresa is an almost three-hour journey by car, but totally worth it.
Resting on the Western bank of Lake Maggiore, it is one of the most beautiful and elegant places I’ve ever seen, with stunning views of the lake and the Alps, while elegant period and historical villas dot the lake promenade from where you can almost touch the Borromean Islands.
It’s famous for, among other reasons, the Stresa music festival, for Villa Pallavicino which is a beautiful historic mansion with a zoo and luscious gardens.
In Stresa, there’s also a cable car running up to Monte Mottarone with gorgeous views of the Alps and the old town with charming narrow streets, hotels, sidewalk cafés and restaurants, not to mention sophisticated and elegant palazzi ranging in colours from cream to mustard to ochre all the way to pink, topped by the typical Italian terracotta pantiles.
Throw in the balmy breeze and you have everything you could ever want on a day out.
I’d heard all of my mother’s friends boasting about having spent some torrid nights in the most exclusive hotels there. I might not be getting a hotel room but I sure as hell can get lunch with Markus, who’s come all the way just to see me.
We spend the morning hiking up and down all the cobbled lanes, stopping for a meal in a narrow side-street café that only has three tables.
We both order fried polenta topped with a ragout sauce made with minced meat, mushrooms and onion, a true luxury.
All this washed down with a bottle of Nebbiolo wine.
‘I miss everyone,’ I confess.
‘They miss you, too.’
I snort. ‘Even Cassie?’
‘Especially Cassie. She hasn’t been the same since you left.’
‘You mean she’s kinder?’
He thinks about it. ‘She’s more… fragile.’
I sit up. ‘Should I come home?’
‘No, no,’ Markus assures me quickly. ‘I think the distance is doing you both some good. You get a respite from her attitude and she understands what it’s like without a mother.’
But I hardly think that Cassie’s suffering without me.
‘It’s not the same, Liv,’ he whispers.
‘What’s not the same?’
‘As you and your mother.’
The man knows what I’m thinking at every turn. ‘This is different,’ he says. ‘Cassie doesn’t know it yet but she respects you.’
‘I respected my mother. Until she showed me her true colours.’
‘You haven’t forgiven her yet?’
‘For ambushing me on this trip?’
‘For everything. Just open up your heart to her, Liv,’ he urges.
‘Oh, Markus. I wish I could. I mean, I can be civil and all, but truly, honestly forgive her? I just… can’t.’
‘For your family’s sake? For George’s sake?’
I narrow my eyes. ‘Why, what has Dad said to you?’
‘Only that he wishes you could forgive her.’
‘I don’t know how he even managed to do that. She literally walked out on him with no warning, whereas with Simon, I should win a medal for my staying power and—’
There. I’ve said it. Loud and clear so I can never go back on it. I am struggling to stay with Simon. Big time. Of course, I could have told someone else instead of Markus. Even if he knows me inside out, now that I’ve said it, I can’t pretend that I haven’t.
Silence.
‘I know you’re unhappy, Livvie.’
‘It’s fine,’ I insist, trying to claw back some shreds of my composure. ‘I love my life. I love my children. I love my home.’ But we both know that’s not enough.