The Tuscan Sister

Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

CASALTA, 28 APRIL 1985

LUCREZIA

I woke as the sun was rising, the sky half rosy, half the colour of ash. After the rain, a chilly spring wind had swept the clouds away and left a smattering of blinking stars…

My mother has come back.

Still sleepy, struggling to keep up with all that had happened, I felt like I was in between worlds: maybe reality and imagination were mixing in my mind; maybe she hadn’t returned at all. Maybe I’d seen her once again, like I had in the rose garden and in Paris, among the crowd…

My mother has come back.

I made my way to the guest room, opened the door as quietly as I could, and peeped inside. The bed was empty: she wasn’t there. For a moment I thought that yes, I’d dreamed it all: but the unmade bed, the bag on the floor, the clothes hung in the wardrobe to dry. It was real.

She’d returned from the dead.

‘Lucrezia?’

My mother.

Has.

Come back.

The sweetest voice of all resounded in my ears, the voice I’d dreamed of for so long: my mother’s. She was with Bianca; they stood side by side in long nightdresses, holding hands. She looked almost as I remembered her, although there were grey streaks in her hair and her face was a little lined. Typical Mum, not to dye her hair but let it grow long and natural. Her eyes were still that startling blue none of us had inherited. There were freckles on the bridge of her nose and on her arms, and she had northern features: you couldn’t have mistaken her for Italian.

I noticed that her hands were stained with paint, and that detail almost made me burst into tears again. That was her. She always had her hands stained with paint… the hands that had stroked my hair, tied my laces, washed me, fed me apple puree with a little spoon. My mum’s hands were always a rainbow.

She and Bianca stood close. And it was clear that my twin, with her simple kindness, the gentleness of her nature, had put reconciliation before resentment.

‘ Mother? ’ I said, with a rancour I knew I couldn’t sustain for much longer. I wanted to throw myself in her arms like Mia had done, like Bianca was doing, but I couldn’t find my way to forgiveness.

She said nothing, but took my hand with her paint-stained one, and in silent agreement we did what we used to do all those years ago: we climbed out and sat on the ancient stairs, watching dawn break. Nobody could hear us, there, and we could speak in private.

We squeezed ourselves onto one step, our bare feet in a row.

‘Why did you leave us?’ Bianca asked. Five words, one simple question.

‘Because I had no choice,’ Mum replied in her accented Italian, and her voice was full of sadness. But she still kept her head high; she didn’t grovel for our forgiveness. I didn’t need her grovelling, but I certainly needed an explanation.

‘You had no choice but running away?’ The bitterness was eating me alive, but I had to give her a chance. I had to listen.

Bianca’s voice was a whisper. ‘How did it come to this, Mum? You leaving us? Pretending you were dead? Why?’

‘How did it come to this?’ she said, and inhaled deeply, her eyes to the sky. ‘I’m going to try and find the words to tell you my story and the story of our family, even though, as you know, drawing is easier than words, for me. I hope I can do justice to everyone involved… However…’

‘However?’ I snapped.

‘However, even if I turn it all round and round in my head, there will always be a missing piece. A transition that I can’t quite understand or put in words. I will never be able to understand, and therefore explain, how the man I loved with all my heart, and married, became my tormentor.’

I heard Bianca sucking her breath in. The way Mum spoke those words was so matter-of-fact, so devoid of self-pity, that it seemed even more horrific. I’d been afraid of my father for as long as I could remember, but I didn’t consider that for my mother there must have been a before . There must have been a time when she’d loved him and trusted him enough to marry him. The picture of their wedding displayed in my father’s study said it all, with Mum in her lovely dress and her flaming hair down, crowned with a flower garland. I remembered Matilde’s comment one day, while dusting the photograph: how the dress and hairstyle were the subject of gossip, because they were so informal and unusual… like my mum.

‘The first time I saw your father, he had a confidence I’d never seen before, in anyone. Like the world was his birthright . I think I fell in love with him there and then. If anyone tells you that love at first sight doesn’t exist, don’t believe them. It does. Oh, God, if it does. Where was my gift, then? How did I not know what would happen? I swear, I didn’t see any signs, or feel the shadow of a doubt. Gift or not, millions of women throughout history could tell you the same.’

‘Yes,’ Bianca whispered. I wondered if she recognised herself in our mother’s words.

‘Your father came into the shop I was working in to buy a ring. He scoured the most expensive ones, diamonds and yellow gold. I said to him, I think they are a little … I tried to say appariscente , gaudy, but the word was too difficult for me to pronounce!’ She laughed in recollection. How could she laugh? But already I could see how joy and sorrow were mixed up in her story, and she couldn’t delete the good memories any more than she could delete the bad ones.

‘My Italian was still wonky, and I know he noticed – but he didn’t ask any questions about my accent or the way I spoke. I showed him an amethyst mounted on a simple silver band. It was intended for another woman, one his family approved of. You might recognise it, because it turned out to be my engagement ring. We got married six months later. He went against his parents to marry me.’

‘I remember how they refused to speak to you,’ Bianca said.

‘We didn’t really know why, though. It was just the way things were,’ I intervened. ‘Nonno and Nonna didn’t want to see Mum; they wanted to see us alone with Father.’

Mum nodded. ‘They died when you were little, so no one ever gave you an explanation. Your grandparents hated me. For real. Not just dislike or disapproval, it was proper hate . It upset me so much, but I thought they’d come round. They never did, of course. At the time I had no idea what I was marrying into. The Falconeri weren’t just wealthy, they were powerful, ingrained in Casalta and these surroundings. They had a whole web of alliances and deals and friendships and business relationships, and Fosco’s marriage was supposed to be part of all that.’

Bianca was aghast. ‘Did they think you married him for their money?’

‘Oh, of course. To them, I was a gold digger through and through. They didn’t see… they didn’t understand…’

‘What?’ I asked.

‘How much we loved each other, back then. They were so angry. Their precious son broke his engagement, decided by the family, of course, and went and got himself a Scottish girl from who knows where. They forgave him eventually; he was their only son. But they never forgave me. I was all wrong, I had no family, I couldn’t offer an alliance or money, I wanted to paint instead of exclusively playing hostess and running the house.’

‘I understand,’ Bianca whispered.

‘I wanted to be loved by them. When I realised it wasn’t possible, I tried at least to be liked by them. I failed, obviously.’

‘Who was he engaged to? A woman from around here?’ I asked.

‘Anna Orafi. Gherardo’s sister.’

‘So that’s how the feud began!’ Bianca exclaimed.

‘Not just that. But I’ll get to it.’ Mum breathed in again – I could feel the effort it took her to recall some aspects of her story, I could feel her pain on my skin, in my bones… but the question why did you not take us with you? burned too hot and painful.

‘At the beginning he stood up to his parents, but soon he began resenting me for the rift. It turned out that the Falconeri men had very… efficient ways to get whatever they wanted. I… I don’t think I even have the words to describe what happened. One day he adored me, the next day nothing I ever did was good enough for him. In the meanwhile, you two came along, and I was so enthralled with you… He seemed to come round a little. He was proud of you both. He wanted a male child, of course, but he was proud of the new little Falconeri girls. His parents died, and I can’t say I was devastated. I received nothing but contempt from them. And then… the reprieve I had when you girls came along ended. There were days of complete silence, days and days. If I spoke to him, he pretended he didn’t hear. He looked through me. It was torture.’

‘I can’t even imagine!’ Bianca said. ‘You must have felt like a ghost…’

‘Yes. I felt like I’d died, but didn’t know it. Everyone around me depended on him, of course, so they followed his example. It was like a conspiracy of silence.’

‘What about Matilde?’ I asked.

‘Oh, Matilde was my only friend. She was terrified of your father, but her family had been part of the Falconeri entourage for so long, she couldn’t leave. She wouldn’t leave anyway, because she loved… she loves you girls so much. Matilde had this silent, quiet way of defying your father. She wasn’t supposed to talk to me either, but she did, every time we were alone.’

‘I can’t believe he did that to you…’ I whispered. The more I spoke to my mother, the more compassion I felt for her. The more I opened up to my sisters and my family, the more I realised how the whole story had been defined by my pain, my loneliness, so much so that I’d been blinded to what they’d gone through.

‘That was supposed to break me, so I would leave. Divorce was impossible, for a Falconeri, so this was the only solution. Your little sisters were born, but Fosco wasn’t as taken by them as he’d been by you. He tolerated them, but that was all. Eleonora was the one who suffered the most about this; she was desperate to be loved by her father… poor little mite. And then there were the other women, of course. I didn’t resent them; I was grateful that your father had them, so he left me alone. But the shame… the looks of pity when I went to the village… that was hard. I looked after you girls, I painted, I survived the best I could. I was a shell of a person. I don’t even want to remember…’ She shivered, and both Bianca and I shimmied closer to her.

‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ Bianca whispered.

‘And so you left?’ I asked.

‘Not yet. I had nowhere to go, and four children I couldn’t leave behind.’

‘You couldn’t, but you did,’ I said mutinously. I couldn’t help it. Mum stopped for a moment to absorb my cruel words, and then began the story again.

‘Also, I was afraid for my life. I was sure that if I tried to leave, he’d kill me.’

‘I was sure that he did!’ Bianca exclaimed.

‘I did see you, that night, didn’t I? But they convinced me I was crazy. Hallucinating.’

‘I was there, yes. Oh, Lulu, please don’t make me cry before I finish my story! That was so awful. My heart broke for you…’

‘Not enough to stay.’ I had to say that, even though I knew it hurt her.

‘You’ll soon find out why,’ she said. I was silent, my eyes on the rising sun and the sweet, golden light illuminating the sky. ‘Fosco had tried the silent treatment; he’d tried to make me feel like I didn’t exist, like I wasn’t worthy of life. He’d humiliated me by taking lovers. But I was still there. Looking after my girls, painting, doing my best. One night he came into my room – because, you know, we’d slept separately for a long time – he stood there and looked at me. He didn’t speak, he just looked. There was something in his eyes that terrified me. I knew what he was capable of. In the years I’d spent with him, he didn’t really make me part of his business, the family’s business… and I’m not talking about the vineyards and the olive trees. But although he didn’t speak to me, it would have been impossible not to overhear certain things. I was well aware of how ruthless he could be. Maybe I wasn’t even surprised when the first slaps came. Being pushed and shoved…’

I felt ill. That odious man hit my mother .

‘How come we never knew, Mum?’ Bianca asked. She was drying her tears with her fingers. Mum touched Bianca’s cheek.

‘You were only little. And he was careful. Having lovers wasn’t a stain on his reputation, just the opposite. More honour to him.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘But hitting his wife… You see, he was supposed to be the victim, in our marriage.’

I was outraged. ‘The victim ?’

‘Oh, yes. He was supposed to be the man who was trapped by a gold digger inside an unhappy marriage. A foreign seductress who took him away from his fiancée, a good local girl, and his family. I was supposed to be the villain, a stranger who inserted herself in this web of ancient alliances and friendships. And an artist, which for his family and friends was pretty much equivalent to a…’

‘A witch!’ Bianca finished the sentence.

‘Yes,’ Mum breathed out. ‘I made a huge mistake. Huge . I told him about my gift; I told him about knowing I would have the four of you, and why I painted your rooms the way I did. About my premonitory dreams. How this ran in the family, in the women of my family.’ She shrugged. ‘I never told anyone before. I didn’t even talk about it with my father. But I trusted him completely. More fool me, I believed with all my heart and soul he would never, ever leave me, or betray me, or stop loving me. Where was my gift then? I don’t know. Of course when things started falling apart he used it all against me. He told me that around here witches would not be burned, but tied up somewhere to die of hunger and thirst.’

‘He was mad!’ I said. ‘Not just evil, but… mad !’

‘He wasn’t either. He was weak, and he tried to make himself bigger. He’d been taught he was meant to have power over everyone – he had to. If someone escaped him, or defied him, there was the proof of his weakness. He couldn’t bear it. And he wasn’t mad at all. He was calculated. He hit me in a way that left no visible bruises. Only Matilde knew, because we spent so much time together. And then… someone else noticed.’

‘A friend?’ Bianca asked gently.

Mum nodded. ‘A friend. Who became so dear to me.’ Her voice broke. ‘He tried to set me free. And the four of you with me. But he had feelings for me, and I…’

‘You didn’t reciprocate?’

‘Oh, I did. But he was married. He couldn’t allow himself to come too close, and I couldn’t be the one to break up his family, even though his marriage was a loveless one. He didn’t ask anything of me. He just wanted to help me. To help us. He wanted to spirit us away, and help us so we could get back on our feet.’

‘What happened?’

‘The plan was discovered. I don’t know how. Fosco believed I had a relationship with my friend, he called me a whore and beat me, then he sent me to a hotel in Rome for a few days so that the bruises would heal. Please believe me that nothing happened between my friend and me. We had feelings for each other, but we never acted on them. Your father’s insults had no basis.’

‘I remember that,’ Bianca said in a soft voice. ‘Matilde told us you were at an art exhibition. We believed her…’

‘Apart from Mia,’ I intervened. ‘Mia always knew there was something wrong. She knew.’

‘My poor baby!’ Mum was telling her story so calmly, but with the mention of her youngest daughter, the tears came, and Bianca squeezed her hand. ‘I was desperate to leave, but I couldn’t go without the four of you. I had nowhere to go, no money of my own, no family I could return to. Even though it was dangerous, even though he knew it would get him into huge trouble, my friend offered to help us and asked for nothing in return. The plan was to take you to Florence, to the Uffizi, as we often did, remember? From there, we’d disappear. He’d set us up somewhere far enough away that your father couldn’t find us, and I’d get a job and return every penny to him.’

‘But it didn’t work.’

‘No. I tried and tried to find the courage to do this, but someone, somewhere, must have made your father suspicious: or maybe he simply guessed that something wasn’t right. The morning I’d planned to take you to Florence, he stopped me. I remember as if it happened yesterday! He didn’t shout or hit me that time, he just said, No, you’re not going anywhere. I’d waited too long.

‘From then on I had his men always watching me. Diego, mainly. He was a boy, not even twenty, but he was ruthless. He sneered at me, he whispered insults, he enjoyed terrorising us. I knew that Fosco wanted me to go and leave you there, but I couldn’t! I became sure he’d kill me. I was close to breaking point, but I held on with everything I had.

‘By then, I was a shadow of my former self. I was afraid all the time; I’d grown to believe all he said about me, that I was useless, that without him I would end up on the streets. I had to hide all this from you girls; I couldn’t have you end up like me… I learned to keep secrets. Your wellbeing depended on it.

‘I was allowed to go to the hills to paint, but even then Diego followed me. Not that I would have tried to escape, because I had to stay and protect you. I suppose Fosco figured out that the only way to get rid of me, aside from killing me, was to play on the one thing that I lived for: my daughters. And so he did.

‘I went to the hills to paint as usual, and as usual I had Diego at my heels. I didn’t notice that Fosco was following too. When we were out of earshot, they ambushed me.’ Mum’s voice broke. The horror she was describing was almost unspeakable. ‘Diego held me still while your father spoke. He said to choose there and then whether I wanted Diego to strangle me and leave me there, or if I’d leave of my own accord. Of my own accord! I couldn’t bring myself to say, Kill me . I wanted to live. He let an envelope fall at my feet. He said there was money inside, to go away and never come back. And then he said… he said…’

By then both Bianca and I were crying. We couldn’t speak, our hands entwined together, holding onto each other as if trying to stop ourselves from falling.

‘Mum…’

‘He said that if I showed my face anywhere near my daughters, he would punish all of you for it. That if I tried to take you with me, you’d pay for it. And if I turned to anyone for help, he would know and he would get them too.’

‘You couldn’t risk it,’ I murmured.

‘No. I couldn’t. I left. I didn’t take that damn envelope, of course. All that I had with me were painting materials and a canvas. I walked away with nothing, not even a change of clothes, nothing. I was desperate. I had nowhere to turn. I was too afraid your father would hurt anyone I asked for help. I walked to Florence, and when I got there I had no idea what to do. I was in shock; I couldn’t even cry.

‘I wandered around for a while… my feet took me to the Uffizi. They remembered the red-haired woman with the four daughters, so I made up an excuse for not being able to buy a ticket, and they let me in. I went to see our paintings… And just sat there. When closing time came, I hid in a cupboard and came out when everyone was gone. I slept on the floor among the paintings. Lucrezia, Bianca, Eleonora and Maria were there with me…

‘I know that if I tell you that they stepped out of the frames and came to lie beside me, you’ll believe me. The next morning, I slipped out of the museum and went to the river. I was desperate. I missed you all so much, I couldn’t bear to have left you. Jumping in the water seemed a good idea.’

‘Oh, Mum! No!’ we both cried out.

‘Well, I’m here to tell the tale. I didn’t jump. But someone saw me looking at the water, an old lady called Maddalena, with an empty house and a warm heart. She took me home with her, she fed me and she let me cry. I was petrified that your father would find me and take it out on Maddalena, but she laughed and said that your father wasn’t God and that she wasn’t afraid. I tried not to worry, but I couldn’t help it. She left me to get washed and changed and went to the shop to do some groceries. I kept asking myself how I could get you back…

‘Oh, I’ll never forget what happened next! I went to have a shower, and when I came out Diego was there, sitting in the living room as if he were in his own home. I only had a towel around me, I was terrified… I realised at that moment that there was something wrong with Diego. He was enjoying that moment; he enjoyed terrifying me. He played with me like a cat with a mouse. The horror of it… I can’t describe it. He said that if I didn’t disappear, he’d make me disappear. That he’d hunt me down every step of the way. And that it was just like his master said, your father: you four were better off without their crazy mother.’

‘He’s a psychopath,’ I blurted out in horror, recalling the look in his eyes when we’d met after Father’s funeral.

‘What did you do?’ Bianca said, drying a tear. There were tears on Mum’s face, and on mine too… mixing like drops of rain.

‘He threw the envelope with money at me again. This time I took it. I bought a change of clothes and a plane ticket to London. I left.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘And never really saw you again. Or should I say, I tried not to see you again. Being away from you was torture. I knew that your father cherished his bloodline…’

‘Did he?’ I whispered. ‘I beg to differ.’

‘In his own twisted way. But I was scared of Diego. And my heart was broken, thinking of you growing up without me. I couldn’t help it; even if I was terrified of the consequences, I came home to Casalta. And I did more damage than good.’

‘It was the night I saw you, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. I…’ She shook her head. ‘I was desperate to just catch a glimpse of my daughters… My poor Lulu…’ She took a moment to compose herself. ‘Children think their parents are little gods and goddesses, all-powerful and all-knowing. But parents are only human. We don’t always know what’s best and we certainly aren’t all-powerful. I didn’t know what was best. I didn’t know what the consequences of my choices might be. I left and never came back. I implored the only friend I had left here to watch over you…’

‘You were in Paris, weren’t you? I saw you in the crowd, when we were filming. How did you find me?’

My mother looked down. ‘So much time had passed. I paid someone to find you. I knew that you… and all my daughters… thought I was dead. I should have come forward, but I was still afraid of the repercussions. And afraid that… afraid that you’d hate me. I just didn’t know what to do. And then I was told that Fosco was dead! There was a battle inside me. I was desperate to see you all again, but how could I show my face when you thought I’d died? When I’d left you alone all these years? But the pull to you was too strong. And here I am.’

‘You made the right decision,’ Bianca said and wrapped her arms around Mum’s waist, laying her head on Mum’s chest like she used to when she was a little girl. I held them both, the three of us together in body and in heart.

My poor mother. She’d been through hell and back. It was certainly easier to judge, to condemn her for having left us, when we hadn’t known the whole story. The statement that had enraged me so – There are things you don’t know – was more meaningful now than I could ever have imagined. I didn’t know what she’d had to do all that time in order to survive, but she seemed destitute to me, the way she arrived with that little rucksack and soaking clothes. She’d been battered by life.

‘Lucrezia. Can you forgive me? Maybe not now, but… maybe in the future?’

‘Yes, Mum. I forgive you,’ I said, and held her to me, and Bianca too, and the three of us cried together and then laughed with the joy of having found each other again.

Later that morning, we gathered outside for breakfast, a new, tentative family tradition we were building, day by day.

Gabriella was there, placid, immaculate in a plaid skirt and shirt and smelling of soap and lily of the valley. She was confident in her quiet way. ‘We haven’t met properly,’ she said, calmly, and offered her hand. ‘I’m your husband’s wife. I’m a bigamist, it seems.’

The hand that my mum extended to take Gabriella’s was stained with paint. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry for whatever it was you had to go through.’

‘Well, judging other people’s actions is easy, and it has the pleasant side effect of making one feel smug about one’s choices, don’t you think? Sometimes though, wrong choices are the only right ones.’

Mum’s eyes widened a little.

What did that even mean? I looked from one to the other. Gabriella was talking like a fortune cookie written by someone who’d run out of ideas, but Mum seemed to be drinking in those words. She was staring at Gabriella – it was a look of recognition , and I simply could not explain it.

Breakfast was a quick affair, with Nora grabbing a coffee and going, Mia and Mum disappearing into Mia’s studio to compare notes on painting, and Bianca and me tense about what lay ahead. Today we’d be back at Cavalli’s to sign our home away, and this time there would be no reprieve. I wondered if Mum knew how dire the situation was.

I caught Bianca in the kitchen, shining copper pans and pots with nervous energy. ‘Wrong choices are the right ones, Bianca,’ I said solemnly.

‘Apparently,’ she said, rubbing even harder.

‘Is this really the moment to shine pots?’

‘I have to do something. I’m too nervous about today… Let’s just go. I can’t linger around here any longer,’ she said, and began taking her gloves off.

‘Yes. Let’s get it over and done with. And this time, I will sign. I think we should tell Mum.’

‘Should we? She’d worry about us… and she’s been through so much already. She seems destitute herself. It breaks my heart.’

‘No more secrets, Bianca. She should know.’

‘Know what?’

Mum’s slender figure appeared in the door that opened on the courtyard, the glare of the sun behind her. For a second, I thought back to the day when she disappeared, how we were all staring at the door, hoping to see her, hour after hour, any second now… Maybe we’d gone full circle.

Bianca and I looked at each other.

‘It’s hard to explain, Mum, we don’t want to worry you, and…’ Bianca began.

‘Father left the estate to me. He’s bankrupt. I’m in over my head in debt, and we’re selling Casalta to the Orafi. Bianca, Nora and Mia are about to be homeless. But we’ll sort it. We’ll be fine.’

‘ What? ’

Bianca sighed. ‘All true.’

‘Casalta is going to be sold?’

‘Yes. To the Orafi brothers, Lorenzo and Vanni.’ I felt a little pang of pain as I pronounced that name.

Mum leaned against the wall. ‘Your father lost everything?’

I nodded. ‘An old friend of his told me that after you… after all that happened, he wasn’t the same. The business fell apart.’

Mum looked from me to Bianca and back. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said simply. What else was there to say?

‘We have you back.’ Bianca smiled. ‘And we have Lulu back. Anything else, we can face.’

Later on that day I was at the Orafi’s again. This time, I’d managed to avoid Bruno and his ambitions to look like the bodyguard in a film, and I rang the bell like any normal person would. The gate and then the door opened: in front of me was Lorenzo.

‘Please no more changing of your mind.’ He opened his arms. He wore jeans and a casual shirt, and looked slightly more human and less intimidating than usual.

‘I’m here to see Vanni,’ I said. I wanted to shake Lorenzo off and make my way to the terrace, but I wanted to avoid being thrown out by wannabe bodyguards.

‘I don’t think he wants to see you ,’ Lorenzo replied, and I was surprised to see a small flash of concern in his eyes. I was alarmed.

‘Is he unwell?’

‘He’s always unwell, Lucrezia.’

‘Can I see him?’

‘Like I said, he doesn’t want to see you. If you care for him, and I think you do, leave him alone.’

I blinked, trying to process what Lorenzo was saying. I wanted to protest, insist that I should see him – but with what right? Was I owed an explanation, if he’d decided, for whatever reason, that he didn’t want me back in his life?

Tears filled my eyes all of a sudden – they almost leaked out of me of their own accord. I was mortified. Not in front of Lorenzo Orafi.

To my surprise, Lorenzo’s tone was almost kind. ‘He’s not the person he used to be. And I’m not going to let him get hurt again.’

‘I don’t want to hurt him in any way. But the choice is his.’

I turned on my heels and was about to leave, when Vanni’s voice filled the hall and called me back.

‘Lucrezia?’

‘ Vanni! I…’ I didn’t finish the sentence because what I saw shocked me. Vanni was unkempt, unshaven and with blue shadows under his eyes. He was wearing a discoloured T-shirt and trousers that could have been a tracksuit or pyjamas.

He looked like someone who’d given up.

‘Come,’ he said, and turned the wheelchair around.

‘Vanni, this is stupid!’ Lorenzo almost shouted. He seemed… frightened.

Lorenzo was scared for his brother, just like Bianca had so often been scared for me.

I couldn’t quite believe that I did it, but I laid a hand on Lorenzo’s arm to calm him before following Vanni outside and to his apartment.

It was dark and stuffy, and the first thing I did was open a window.

‘I understand you don’t want to see me, but you certainly have no good reason to live like this! What happened to you?’ I almost shouted.

Light and air filled the place, illuminating the wooden floor and the empty, dark fireplace.

‘You need a shower and a shave. And a change of clothes. For God’s sake, Vanni!’

Vanni’s face had turned white. ‘Who do you think you are, to come and speak to me like this?’

I was bewildered. I let myself fall on one of his buttery leather sofas, and raked my fingers through my hair. ‘You were fine. When you came to my house, and in Florence. We had a great time, and then…’

‘We had a great time, and then I humiliated myself. I came home and it hit me again. I’ll never be able to walk side by side with my wife. I’ll never… I can never have children.’

I took a breath.

‘And you came to remind me of all this. I’d made peace with my condition. I wasn’t happy, of course, but I was resigned. Then you came. And I wanted more. I wanted to hold you, and kiss you, without you having to bend to me like the invalid that I am! I wanted to?—’

‘ Shut up! ’

Vanni looked shocked.

‘I said, shut up! Oh my God, you’re talking so much rubbish. So much rubbish!’

‘Easy for you to say! You can walk! You can have a family! You don’t need people to take you up and down stairs! I’m not a man any more. I’m not a real man, do you understand?’

‘So what do you think you should do? Keep the windows closed and the lights off and not wash and not change and wait to die? Is this what you want?’

‘It’s better than being reminded every day of what I’m missing.’

‘You can’t spend the rest of your life regretting what you can’t have. You can’t spend the rest of your life recriminating…’

‘Says the girl who disappeared . You couldn’t stand looking at your family, at Casalta… at me. Because you were too bitter. And now you tell me not to sit here recriminating. The irony.’

I was stunned. And then, as if I hadn’t cried enough since I came back, I burst into tears. I cried and cried, sobs and all.

‘Lucrezia! Oh, please, don’t cry. Please…’

‘My mum is back. She wasn’t dead. She abandoned us,’ I managed to drag out of myself, in between sobs.

‘What? ’

When I could finally take a hold of myself, I felt lighter.

‘It’s a long story. But I didn’t come here to tell you this. I came to say you must live your life, not throw it away feeling sorry for yourself. I’ll go away like you want me to, but embrace life. You must. And yes, that goes for me too.’

I left, without saying another word.