Chapter 23
I am twisting and turning in my bed, my head full of the notion of freedom on a double level. Freedom from my loveless marriage, and freedom from my anger towards my mother.
After all these years, I don’t have to pretend for the kids’ benefit that everything is okay with Simon. I’m finally, finally free. So then why do I feel like sobbing my eyes out? I should be relieved, not… derelict. But once again, I have failed.
Because I have tried and tried, all these years, to fix things. To make it all work despite everything. But his negative attitude today after a long day made it difficult for me to feel close to him. To feel that oneness that I have always craved since I was a child and my mother left.
I had always told myself that I would be different, that I would be a better wife and dedicate myself heart and soul to my husband and cater to his needs, and all those unrealistic goals we set ourselves at the beginning of a relationship.
If you have children, or financial problems, or meddling in-laws or anything at all that could possibly disturb your relationship, it will happen.
Love isn’t, nor should it be, a vacuum where you and your partner live an all-exclusive, all-consuming, symbiotic existence where you annihilate yourself just to see them smile.
It doesn’t work that way, and women are becoming more and more conscious (thank God) of this since their grandmothers stopped pretending they liked to bake in full skirts and high heels.
Life is not a TV commercial where everything is perfect and where the soufflé always rises to perfection. Most soufflés sink, while others stay downright flat from the beginning, no matter what you do. We have no control, and the sooner we realise that not everything is our fault, the better.
So what if we can’t be there every night to greet him at the door with his favourite slippers and the paper?
We’re not his pet dog, trained to focus solely on him and his needs.
We have a right to live our lives as well, despite our behaviour being disturbing or annoying to him.
So what if I wear my eyeliner a little thicker than usual, or not at all.
So bloody what! We are going to continue being who we are, and the sooner that they (and our judgemental children) realise it, the better.
I am angry. I am angry with Simon, but more so with myself for letting him peg me into that hole that I don’t fit in and never will! And I’m angry with Cassie for not trusting me enough all these years to be her mother the way I could be.
And no, the irony of the fact that my daughter and I are a repeat of my mother and myself is not lost on me.
I can see the similarities there, of course.
And all the time I have been telling myself that it was just a coincidence, that we were different because I really loved my daughter and that it wasn’t going to happen to us, like a drunk person driving against motorway traffic and reassuring his passengers that he is fine and that everything is okay. How wrong I’ve been!
How many sleepless nights I had, battling with myself, wishing I had the courage to do what my mother did and get out of this nightmare of a marriage, while on the other hand knowing that if I did, it would have an effect on my kids.
I’d told myself I would wait until they were older, but every year that went by and his attitude worsened, I knew I was just faking it.
Until just now, when faking it was no longer an option.
For whose benefit anyway? The kids have seen our interactions, or rather, lack thereof.
So what am I going to tell them? How is Joe going to react with his father leaving?
And Cassie! I’ve barely just got back into her good books. She is not going to be happy to learn that her parents are divorcing.
So it’s pointless to try and hide it, or worse, pretend everything is okay. That would be the worst betrayal. Like my parents. Up until my mother had left, I had no idea that things were really bad. None at all. It had happened out of the blue, like lightning on a clear day.
Unable to sleep, I grab the silk shawl Markus bought me in Stresa, wrap it around my shoulders and tiptoe down the marble staircase to the kitchen where I grab a bottle of white wine from the wine cooler.
Aldo won’t mind. I push the French doors open and climb into one of the plush outdoor armchairs, drinking directly from the bottle.
‘Couldn’t sleep either, huh?’ comes Markus’s voice from the dark corner opposite me.
‘Jesus, I didn’t see you,’ I hiss. ‘What are you doing up?’
‘Same as you,’ he whispers, clinking my bottle with his bottle of beer. ‘Hot night, isn’t it?’
‘Stifling,’ I answer, breathing in the heat coming off the still sea. Not even a wave to send a flitter of air our way.
‘The garden smells nice, though,’ he says. ‘I love the jasmine. It’s so pungent at night. You hardly notice it during the day.’
Like my inner voice. During the day, I suffocate it. But at night, all the truths come out. ‘I just got off the phone with Simon,’ I say as I take another swig of wine.
I can hear him turn towards me in his chair. ‘And?’
‘It’s over. When we get back we’ll discuss the T&Cs. But he said he’s not going to fight me. I think he’s going to Florida with someone else.’
‘So soon?’ Markus asks nonchalantly.
I put my bottle down on the table and shrug. ‘Who knows? It may have been going on for ever. It would certainly explain a lot of things.’
‘You mean between you and Simon?’
‘What else? Even this patio table knows that we were never a good fit, and that we are doing the right thing by separating.’
‘Are you convinced of that?’ he wants to know.
‘That I’ve done the right thing? Absolutely. I was unhappy, Markus. You know it.’
‘Good for you, Livvie,’ he says, getting to his feet. ‘Well, I’m going to hit the sack now. I’ve been out here for a while already. Good night.’
‘Oh? Okay. I thought you might want to hang.’
His hand comes down on my shoulder. ‘You need to do some hard thinking now. Ask yourself what you really want to do with the rest of your life.’
I want to spend it with you, Markus. If I could only say it.
But I can’t. I can’t lose him just because I have a big mouth.
If I still want him in my life, even in the form of texts from Denmark, I have to stay quiet about my feelings for him.
Because it would be awkward. Even if he hasn’t got the heart to tell me because of Mum’s condition.
But he can’t stay here for ever, can he?
He has a life to live, a new relationship and a new business to start, so— Wait a minute.
Has he got a new business to start? Or is he going to want to keep this one and buy me out?
Because our business is flourishing. It would be stupid to leave this partnership just now that things are going fantastically well.
So that’s it. He wants me to leave. But he hasn’t got the heart to ask me right now.
Well, maybe I should make it easy for him, like he has done for me, all these years. Because his half of the business has done wonders for mine. And it’s only right for me to acknowledge that much and let him have it back. Tomorrow. I’ll tell him tomorrow.
‘Uh, okay. Good night.’
‘Night, Livvie.’
And that’s the end of that. No talk-athon through the night like in the chapel, or endless shooting the breeze with him.
None of that. I have to say I’m pretty miffed about it, but what right do I have over his time?
He’s changed and it’s probably because of Whatshername, who’s threatening to move to Canterbury, if she hasn’t already.
Of course, it would have been a great story if I’d come right out and told him that I’ve left my husband for him.
That would’ve been a real corker. But life doesn’t always go the way we want it to.
Markus isn’t there to solve my problems or to make my life better, no matter how much I actually may think that he does.
Markus is my wingman, no doubt. My rock. But there is a huge difference between being buddies, amazing buddies, and… soulmates. I mean, he is my soulmate. Always has been. But I’m not his. And when he does marry Lilja, I will positively die of heartbreak.
*
The next morning, Dad and Aldo walk down to the village café and return with granita e brioche, a breakfast whim for Sicilians.
It is basically an antique custom, to dip your brioche into a freezing glass of granita, which is basically like a lemon slush.
Lemon is the original flavour, but there are also others, such as coffee, chocolate, almond, any kind of fruit, pistachio, etc.
‘Everyone, gather round before it melts!’ Aldo calls from the dining patio overlooking the sea as a maid is busy setting the table for all of us.
‘Ooh, looks yummyyyy!’ Markus says while fake-wrestling Joe for the best seat.
‘Here you go, cara,’ Aldo says, handing Cassie a glass heaped with lemon granita which she takes with a huge smile.
‘Thank you, Nonno!’
Nonno. Grandpa. It feels so strange to hear her call him that.
All these years my children have been coming here, they have built a rapport.
They are, in effect, family, Aldo and the kids.
Even the staff have been doting on them for years, with laughter and memories of every single visit.
There are pictures all over the house to testify to the happy times: Mum in a swimsuit on the beach, her hair drenched and happy while she holds each of my children under an arm in a warrior pose. They look so young and carefree.
Or the photo from Aldo’s nephew’s wedding, my kids dressed in the most adorable clothes, Cassie with pink little roses in her hair.
Things I hadn’t bought. I’m sure Dad would have told me they would have been going to a wedding in Sicily.
But in those days all I could concentrate on was how much I missed them while they were abroad with their grandmother.
I had had all sorts of nightmares and it had been Markus who’d convinced me that letting them go away for a couple of weeks in the summer was good for them.
But not so much for me, because, apart from missing them, when they returned they were always so full of stories about where they’d been, what they’d seen, and all the people they’d met.
Not to mention how much fun they’d had with Nonna and Nonno, and how much they loved them and were looking forward to going back, year after year.
And I suddenly realise that perhaps one day their grandmother might no longer be around to play with them. Sooner or later, her body might let her down, and it could eventually be the beginning of the end.
This morning the kids, tanned and relaxed from playing on the beach the day before, have reverted to a more solemn version of themselves. They understand that things aren’t going too well with their grandmother.
‘Can we see Nonna?’ Cassie says, eyeing me.
‘Of course you can, darling,’ I answer. ‘Just as soon as you finish your breakfast.’
‘Is she going to die?’ Joe blurts out and all eyes swing to his face.
‘We all die eventually, Joe,’ Aldo says slowly, putting down his spoon while trying to hide his hurt. ‘It’s part of life. But if your life has been good, you leave a good memory and people think about you long after you are gone. That’s why it’s so important to be happy as much as you can.’
‘Absolutely,’ Dad agrees. ‘So let’s remember to love our friends and family even when they hurt us without meaning to. In the end, love is the most important thing in the world. Right, Markus?’
Markus, who has been watching me the entire time, puts his spoon down and wipes his mouth. ‘Absolutely, George. You are both right. Love is the most important thing.’
And that’s when I just know it. He’s going to tell me about Whatsherface later. I can see it in his eyes. But I’ll be cool. I knew this moment was coming. He couldn’t be an un-catchable bachelor for ever, could he? Even George Clooney eventually married. And look how happy he is.
Silliness aside, I am trying to prepare myself for it. We’ll have to dissolve the company, of course. Because there’s no way I’m letting her dictate what I’m doing, despite Markus and I’s promise to each other about excluding partners from our business decisions.
*
In the afternoon Mum wants to sit on the terrace facing the sea again.
She is also expecting Aldo’s side of the family to visit.
They come in dribs and drabs so as not to tire her out.
They don’t stay too long, and although I can’t understand what they’re saying in Italian, they are all laughing, Mum the hardest of them all.
‘You take care of yourself and we’ll see you next week, Susan,’ Aldo’s cousin, or at least I think that’s what she is, says (in English, presumably for my benefit) as she delicately kisses Mum on both cheeks. ‘If you’re lucky, I’ll have some more gossip for you!’
Mum chuckles and pretend-shoos them all away.
It is so evident that she is well-loved by his family. Throughout the years she has forged friendships and bonds with his people who consider her to be one of them.
Now I finally see my Mum for what she is: a loveable, sociable person whom, once you get to know, you can’t help but love.
Every laugh or look or hug that’s she’s received this afternoon is filled with love and I can’t help but chastise myself for how I’ve treated her.
As bad as she’d been, she was still my mother.