Chapter 11
11
I thought about this a lot as I lay in bed that night.
Circumstances change; people alter.
Greg had been increasingly predictable over the years. In charge of everything, the one who would sulk if he didn’t get his own way or the biggest cake in the box. He was the one who had control of our finances and occasionally, under pressure, the little maintenance jobs around the house. He’d had an impressive collection of tools and gadgets to help too, and a special shed where they were all kept which he liked to call his man cave, and I wasn’t supposed to go in in case I broke something or put a screwdriver back in the wrong place.
And actually, he had been pretty clueless. I’d had more luck putting up roller blinds in my cottage than he ever had, and I was better at decorating too. In the years since we had divorced, I’d had to learn. And none of it was that complicated, even though Greg had liked to pretend things like pressure washing the patio or putting oil in the car were difficult.
Susie’s long-term partner Simon had been much the same. Making a big fuss about the smallest of tasks and expecting effusive praise when he did anything.
I wondered what sort of husband Paulo had been. Had he been like that too? Or were he and Ellen more of an equal partnership? He’d always seemed pretty capable to me, and when the kitchen in our student house had flooded because the drains were blocked, he had been unflappable. He hadn’t needed lavish praise or special equipment; he’d just gone outside, pulled his sleeve up and stuck his hand down the drain to clear the leaves.
After that night when we had kissed each other, holding each other as though we never wanted to let go, he had kept unexpectedly cool and shown none of the passionate Latin temperament I had expected. And at the time I had found this rather disappointing. I would have liked him to show some emotion. Explain how he felt. But then it was my fault. He had tried to say something and I had shut him down, unwilling to find out what could have happened next. I must have been mad. But Ellen had been my friend, hadn’t she?
* * *
I slept badly that night, and in the morning I woke late to the sound of Susie tapping on the glass door out onto the balcony.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘It’s nine fifteen. If you want some breakfast you’d better hurry up.’
She was looking very bright-eyed and cheerful this morning, dressed in some smart trousers and a jaunty striped T-shirt. This contrasted badly with my bleary appearance. For two pins I would have gone back to bed, but I was starving and there was an exciting day ahead.
We had a quick breakfast of more delicious pastries and coffee while I grilled her some more about Raimondo. He was apparently very nice, attentive and polite and had driven them all over the island in Paulo’s sports car. She didn’t know what sort, only that it was blue with leather seats.
There were staff everywhere that morning. The doors to the huge ballroom were thrown open and in there we could see an array of round tables covered with white cloths, and people putting out place settings and glasses. As we watched, some florists appeared with the most ravishing displays of white flowers. Roses and lilies, peonies and dahlias. The scent was intoxicating.
This was what Ceci had wanted, wasn’t it? White flowers.
I was aware Susie was edging away from me.
‘See you later,’ she said as she made for the stairs.
I wondered what she was up to. And then I realised.
‘Good morning.’
It was Paulo, and despite everything, my spirits raised at the sight of him. I shouldn’t have been feeling such things; after all, today wasn’t just to celebrate Ceci’s birthday, it was also the celebration of Ellen’s life, her relationship with this man and this place. But somehow I couldn’t help myself.
He was carrying a box filled with table napkins, snowy white and crisply ironed.
‘We are all busy today,’ he said with a little smile, ‘but I think we will be ready very soon.’
‘Can I help?’ I said, wondering what sort of task I was imagining I could do.
‘No, not at all. I think my staff have everything under control. They know exactly what to do. I should hope so anyway.’
‘If there is anything, I’d love to help,’ I said. ‘There must be something?’
For heaven’s sake, what was I thinking? Why couldn’t I just take no for an answer? Leave the poor man alone with his memories and his tasks.
He shifted the box in his arms and looked at me properly for the first time.
‘Well, there is always Eric. But perhaps later, we could talk?’ he said.
I was silent for a moment. What did he want to talk to me about? And how much later was ‘later’?
Perhaps all those years ago we could have had a good talk and cleared the air, but we never had. We had just retreated from each other for a while, and then after I had shut him down that day, we’d sunk into an unspoken agreement that while we were still sharing the student house, we made it work. Over the following weeks and months, we had developed a rather prickly relationship where each of us seemed to annoy the other all the time. Nothing more. And it had seemed okay; well, it had worked.
‘I’d like that,’ I said, and he smiled, and for a moment it was as though the years fell away, and I had a warm, fleeting memory of when we were young, when just about every problem could be cured by a good night out at the student union. And then I felt odd inside, a peculiar mixture of emotions. Happy but at the same time sort of anxious and sick.
‘We have left it too long. We need to say things which were left unspoken,’ he said, and the feeling intensified. ‘I need to explain.’
My mind was racing. No, I needed to explain. I would apologise; in fact, there was really no reason why…
‘Where have you been?’ said an accusing little voice at my elbow, and there was Eric, in yet another designer outfit of check shirt and mini chinos. ‘I’ve been waiting ages and ages.’
‘I was asleep, and then I had breakfast,’ I said, ‘and now I am watching as the ballroom is turned into a beautiful place.’
‘How are you today, Eric?’ Paulo said, smiling down at his grandson.
‘I’m bored.’ Eric grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me into the ballroom where he stood with his arms outstretched, getting in the way.
‘Do Mommy and Poppa know where you are?’
‘They said I could come and have a look, but I wasn’t to go outside. This is a party,’ he said, ‘for my nona . And my bisnonna .’
‘Yes, I know, that’s why we are all here.’
Paulo had taken his box of table linens and handed it over to one of the waiters.
‘I have a special suit to wear,’ Eric said, watching with interest as another waiter put out some glasses on the tables.
‘You are going to look very smart.’
‘I know,’ he said, ‘but I wish I could have some jeans.’
‘Don’t you have any?’
‘No. And I need some if I am going to be a cowboy.’
This was surprising; I thought all American children lived in blue denim. Perhaps Raleigh didn’t approve of them.
‘Maybe we could find some,’ Paulo said, ‘if we went shopping.’
Eric’s eyes widened. ‘For me?’
‘Why not?’
‘Oh.’
He went back to watching the waiters, his face a picture of concentration. Paulo had received another phone call and gone off through one of the service doors at the far end of the room.
‘How is Andrea today?’ I asked.
Eric slipped his hand into mine, and the gesture made me feel rather sentimental for a moment. He might have been badly behaved but he was only a little boy.
‘I don’t know.’
‘I hope she is feeling all right.’
A white rose had fallen out of one of the floral displays onto the floor and I picked it up.
‘You could take her this, and say you hope this makes her feel better.’
Eric looked puzzled. ‘Why would that make her headache go away?’
‘Well, it wouldn’t, but it would show you cared and had been thinking of her. And that would be kind, wouldn’t it? You should always be kind to people, especially those who look after you.’
‘Oh.’
The waiter he had been watching finished his task and walked out with his empty plastic crate, ruffling Eric’s hair as he passed us.
‘I think I’ll go now,’ Eric said, and he let go of my hand and hurried off.
I wondered yet again where Leo and Raleigh were. Perhaps they were still in bed, asleep. No, someone must have got Eric up and dressed.
* * *
I went back upstairs, checking that Susie was in her room. It was nearly midday, and the celebration was due to start at two o’clock. Which meant we had plenty of time to get ready and hopefully glammed up so that Ceci would not give us one of her disapproving looks.
I tried on the three dresses I had to choose from and made my choice. It wasn’t that difficult. The blue one was obviously from the sixties and rather short; the yellow one might have looked good on Ceci when she was younger, but the colour just made me look ill. Then I decided to start getting ready.
Why was it, I wondered, that when I was younger it took no time at all to slap on some makeup, run a brush through my hair and drag on some clothes and still look presentable? Now it took much longer, and the final effect was nowhere near as pleasing.
And why did I look reasonable when I looked at my face in the mirror, but every time someone took a picture of me from the side, my face looked as though it was sort of collapsing into my neck? When we were young, why didn’t we appreciate ourselves?
I showered and pulled on my robe and, sitting at the dressing table, I stared at my reflection for a few minutes more, trying and failing to see the younger me.
Suddenly, I just looked like my mother. Did we all end up looking like our mothers? Would my daughters one day discover the same thing?
Out of the blue, I had a mad wish that I could go back and do my life again properly. Work harder in school, not focus on being the class clown. Watch less television, read more books. Travel more.
Greg had once said during our divorce negotiations that I needed to work on my anger management. I didn’t think I did, I just needed other people to stop irritating me. Things like Greg’s mother, substitutions in supermarket deliveries, politicians lying, the way tubs of Christmas chocolates got smaller every year but cost the same.
Oh well. I brushed out my wet hair and dried it into its usual style. Perhaps I should have let Gina loose on my hair too. Which was rather depressingly looking like my mother’s too. Short enough to be manageable but not long enough to do anything with. Maybe I would have a pixie cut and pink highlights when I got back home? I sighed. Perhaps I wouldn’t.
I put on some makeup, wondering how old it was and whether I should have invested in some new stuff. All those fragrant counters in duty-free at the airport, staffed by glamorous assistants. And I hadn’t the faintest idea what to look for or what to buy. I’d just walked past them all, looking for somewhere to sit down.
I tried a smear of brown eyeshadow, a touch of mascara, and I took another look. It didn’t matter what sort of dress I wore; this wouldn’t work. I looked dull. Something needed to change. I had just been doing the same thing in the same way for years. If I didn’t do something different soon, it would be too late.
I washed it all off and rummaged at the bottom of my makeup bag, hoping to find some unexpected treasures. Which was unrealistic, as most of my things were sample sizes and things ripped off the pages of magazines. Heaven knows how old some of them were.
Triumphantly, I pulled out an eyeshadow palette I had been given for Christmas some years ago, and an eyeliner pencil. Flicky eyes, that was what women did. Perhaps I would give it a try. Then at the bottom of the bag and rather crumpled, I found a pair of false eyelashes and pounced on them with a cry of surprise. I’d tried them when I went to some work event with Greg a few years ago. He had laughed at me and said I looked ridiculous. Thinking back, he had said that a lot. Perhaps I was as bad as Susie, putting up with sarcastic comments for so many years.
I rinsed them under the tap and blotted them dry with a tissue. One of them was a bit creased so I weighted it down with a shampoo bottle. All I needed now was some eyelash glue. Perhaps Susie would have some? She was far more up on these things than I was.
I went out onto the balcony and tapped on her French windows. There was a bit of scuffling about going on in there, and I pressed my nose to the glass.
Susie and the dashing Raimondo were locked in a passionate clinch and broke apart when they realised I was there. I didn’t know who was more embarrassed, but at least they were fully dressed. It could have been a lot worse.
‘Eyelash glue,’ I whispered when she unlocked the door, ‘have you got any?’
Susie was looking a bit wild eyed and rumpled while Raimondo had composed himself elegantly into one of the armchairs and was pretending to read a magazine. Which was upside down, although I resisted the temptation to turn it round the right way.
‘Of course,’ Susie said, her hair even more tousled than it had been earlier. She closed the door and went off to fetch some, returning a few moments later and handing it over with an embarrassed smile.
‘Everything okay?’ I said, trying to peer over her shoulder.
‘Absolutely. Well, see you in a minute,’ she said, and closed the door. And then she locked it and closed the curtains.
Well, I never. Good for her.
I wondered for a moment what it would feel like at my age to have a man look at me with passion. To want to sweep me into his arms and kiss me. It was a long time since any of those things had happened.
I peeled back the tissues and stared at the false eyelashes. When I was in my teens I’d worn them almost every day.
‘Can’t be that difficult,’ I muttered.
I messed about with some travel-size cleanser, toner and moisturiser and started on my makeup again.
Susie knocked on my door just as I was massaging some overpriced gloop into my neck, in the hope that it would work a miracle, and came in without waiting.
‘What are you doing? Putting false eyelashes on. That’s a turn up for the books, isn’t it?’
‘I’m going to have a go. Have you told Raimondo to scarper, or is he recovering, panting in your bed?’
Susie pulled a face and stuck her tongue out at me.
‘Yes to the first question and no to the second. Go on then, I want to watch this.’
‘Don’t! You’ll put me off,’ I said.
Actually, I was pleased how easy it was, and I batted my eyelashes at Susie a few minutes later, rather pleased with the effect.
‘That was disappointing,’ Susie said. ‘I was hoping you might glue your eyes shut.’
‘Thank you so much. Next time I find you in an intimate situation with Raimondo, I shall burst in and sing ‘O Solé Mio’ to you.’
‘Very funny. Now then, which dress are you going to wear?’
‘The long, pale lavender-coloured one with the embroidery. It fits better than the others. I’ll have to wear the only smart shoes I’ve got which are black, which is a pity.’
‘Or those very pale blue trainers you bought? That would be chic.’
‘I’ll see,’ I said, testing out my eyelashes again. It felt very weird. As though I had, well, false eyelashes on. I would have to concentrate on blinking normally and not like one of those wooden puppets that had been popular on children’s television programmes when I was small. ‘You need to shoehorn yourself into that red dress. Go away and let me get ready.’
I spent the next half hour being a bit more creative with my makeup, trying with the eyeliner and wondering how on earth people did it right. Perhaps I should have sharpened the pencil first?
I used some of the different eyeshadows, and put on some blusher, which was so old it was cracking in the pot. And then a darker lipstick.
I took another look at myself. Well, I looked a bit more exciting anyway.
At two o’clock I was ready. The dress had a hand-embroidered label in the neckline from some designer I had never heard of. I ditched the smart black heels and put on the pale blue trainers. And then another layer of lipstick. Did I look chic? Or like an older woman playing dress up? Would I be better off ditching the lot and going back to my safe black outfit? I wasn’t sure. No, I looked fine. And really, as long as I didn’t do something foolish or say something controversial, what did it matter?
As I stood there dithering, there was a knock on my door and Susie was there looking radiant in her scarlet dress and some borrowed stilettos.
‘You look fantastic,’ I said, ‘and more than slightly pleased with yourself. What have you been doing?’
Susie giggled. ‘Nothing I want to tell you about. Although Raimondo has just sent up some flowers and a rather cheeky note. Are you ready? You look lovely. I went and leaned over the bannisters, and I can see people are arriving. It’s time we went downstairs.’