Chapter 4
‘But, Mum,’ Luca sounds as frustrated as I feel, ‘the man back there said he could help.’ He throws his arms into the air, just like Marco did. ‘Why don’t we ask him?’
I’m holding my torch in one hand and staring at the fuse-box, my eyes starting to blur with tiredness.
I’ve tried every different combination I can think of to get the electricity back on.
Outside, the sun is setting and I know that evening will soon be here and it’ll get darker.
From what I can see, there are no streetlights to ease the situation.
‘Mum, we need help,’ he says. Aimee is clutching Mr Fluffy and telling him not to be scared because Mum’ll sort it.
‘I’ve phoned someone I found online. Left a message.
I’m sure they’ll be here soon. Hopefully they’ll understand my garbled message in English with the odd Italian word thrown in,’ I say, trying to reassure him and still hoping I can fix it myself: there’s no way I’m going back to ask the man whose home I’d sat outside to help sort my electrics.
He’d done more than enough already. I couldn’t have been more embarrassed.
That night, the electricity still isn’t on. As night falls, we close the windows downstairs and climb up to where we’re going to share the one double bed in the largest bedroom – Mr Fluffy insisted on it. I make the bed, pulling a sheet over the heavy mattress as dusk starts to fall.
The room is full of cases of clothes, but the bed is lovely and the windows are open to amazing views of fields stretching from the house down the hillside. I can smell the warm air as it creeps in through the open window, earthy scents from the ground below, and hear the whirring of cicadas.
‘But Dad always left a light on at night.’
‘I know.’ I wonder how to do this. ‘Tell you what, we’ll leave the torch on my phone on. It’ll be like camping! Like when we set up the tent in the garden.’
‘Yes, and never went anywhere, like other kids in school, because summers were too busy in the restaurant, and winter was office Christmas parties, and January and February were too cold and we were back in school,’ says Luca.
I flinch, the mistakes of the past coming back to haunt me again.
If only we had made the time, for all our sakes.
But, then, we didn’t know how hard it would be to keep the restaurant going, or that I’d be doing it on my own after Marco had gone, like a fish trying to swim upstream.
It had been a losing battle, with everything becoming so expensive and the chance of making any profit practically non-existent.
It was like drowning in quicksand, every day, with more and more bills that I just couldn’t pay.
‘But we’re here now. Like Dad planned. A place for holidays and for us to enjoy being together. This’ll be fun. We’re in Italy. The sun is shining and we’re here for a whole six weeks! Just like a summer of camping.’
I can tell they’re not convinced, as we climb up onto the high dark-wood bed and the children fall asleep after the three-day journey in the car.
It’s hot, sticky and still. I toss the covers aside and lie there listening to their regular breathing and watching the bats flit to and fro outside the window, eventually dropping off myself.
I’ve left the window and shutters open, and between bouts of light sleep, I wait for dawn to come, my only accompaniment the sound of cicadas and mosquitoes.
The following morning my legs itch. They’re red and soon raw from my scratching where the mosquitoes feasted on me last night. They didn’t bother with the children, which is a good thing.
I stare at my phone. I can’t ring the electrician to find out if he’s coming, because the battery’s died after we used it as a torch last night. I don’t say anything. It’s no one’s fault. We made it through our first night and that’s what matters.
‘There’s no Wi-Fi here anyway,’ Luca says, with obvious disappointment. ‘I can’t get the iPad to work. What are we going to do all summer?’
‘Mr Fluffy is hungry,’ says Aimee.
‘Let’s find a shop and get some bits for breakfast,’ I say, shoving my dead phone into my bag and pulling it up onto my shoulder. ‘We could all do with something to eat.’
‘Perhaps we could stop at that man’s house again,’ Luca says, making me cringe and laugh at the same time. My stomach gives a treacherous rumble at the memory of yesterday’s glorious cacio e pepe while my cheeks burn all over again.
I pull the door closed behind us as we step out into the already scalding hot day and lock it with the giant key that is the only one I have for the house. I must think about getting the locks changed and new keys.
Another cat wanders up the slope at the side of the house. I look down to the view over the fields with the sun already baking the soil.
‘Me and Aimee could go and find the shop on our own,’ says Luca. ‘You could wait for the electrician.’
‘Not yet you can’t,’ I say, terrified that something will happen to them. Maybe it’s irrational or maybe I’m being sensible. I’m scared of them not coming back, like Marco didn’t that day he left for work. I know I’ll have to start to let go, but not yet.
I write a quick note saying ‘Back soon’ in case the electrician turns up while we’re out, using a pen from my bag and the back of a fuel receipt.
I hope his English is better than my Italian.
I add presto because it’s all I can remember.
I leave it under a stone on the doorstep, and as I step back, I can hear voices from down the cobbled street.
The same voices from yesterday, I think.
My ear seems to be getting attuned to the language and I can just about make out what they’re saying.
‘Madam, please move your washing. I have no desire to look at your undergarments all day.’
‘Close your windows, then!’
‘Keep the noise down, you two. You’re hurting my ears.’
I raise my eyebrows and turn down my mouth at Luca and Aimee and we walk up the hill.
I hurry them past the wooden door with ‘La Tavola’ written on it, the gate ajar, just as it was yesterday.
I get a sneak peek at the table and chairs under the tree and embarrassment overcomes me again.
I chivvy us on up the street to where the road opens out into a small square.
We stand and look around. There seems to be little here. Houses that were once shops now look as if they’ve been closed for a long time. I notice a small corner shop with crates of vegetables outside. ‘This way,’ I tell the children and point. We cross the small square in the hot, bright sunlight.
We step into the shop, which is small, dark and quiet, but has everything we need. The owner greets me with a nod and watches me, clearly intrigued to see an outsider shopping there.
As I let my eyes become accustomed to the gloom and study the shelves, I realize that although the range of products might be minimal, it’s wonderful.
Home-made salami, bottles to buy and fill from a barrel of wine.
In a corner, I spot fresh lemons and oranges, piles of dark aubergines, fragrant tomatoes and misshapen peppers.
My spirits lift at just the smell of the place.
I fill a basket with ingredients: onions, big fat bulbs of garlic, a bottle of olive oil and salt and pepper, dried pasta, and lots of tomatoes, big, red and smelling like tomatoes should. I wish Marco was here to enjoy them.
I hear a little bell from another room and the shopkeeper excuses himself. We wait. He returns, smiles and apologizes. I tell him there’s no need, curious as to where he went, but it’s none of my business.
He adds up my bill on a pad, glancing between me and the pad, and shows me the figure.
When I pay, clearly a good customer for the day, he hands the children a lollipop each.
They smile widely. Then he gives another to Aimee for Mr Fluffy and tears prick my eyes at his kindness.
We thank him in Italian and say goodbye.
The children are much chirpier for the lollipops and I’m humbled to see the difference that such a small gesture can make.
We head down the hill with our bags, the children with their school rucksacks, which contain bread and cheese.
I’m carrying two baskets, which I’d found on the back of the kitchen door, old but serviceable, with a bottle of wine, the tomatoes, pancetta, pasta, milk and the rest of the ingredients we bought.
We pass the man with the goats who smiles at us and asks if we enjoyed the food …
‘ Noi mangiamo bene .’ I’m not sure if he’s heard about my mistake at La Tavola or is telling us to have a good meal. But I smile anyway. ‘ Buongiorno .’
The goats walk slowly but surefootedly up the hill, snatching at grass and leaves on the verges. One looks up at Aimee and Mr Fluffy, and she clutches him protectively to her chest.
I nod and smile and we move on.
‘Do you think the electrician has been?’ asks Luca. I realize I need to go down to the car to check on it and charge my phone.
At the house, the note is in the same place as I left it, under the stone on the doorstep. ‘No,’ I say, deflated.
Luca drops his smile and his head.
‘I’m sure he’ll be here soon,’ I say.
I turn the key in the door and push it open.
It squeaks – I must oil it, I think. The sun is making its way up the sky with fiery determination, but it’s lovely and cool inside and we fall into the dark room.
I navigate the big table and lots of stacked chairs and head for the kitchen.
I put a big bottle of water on the table, find glasses in the old dresser, pour the water and pass them round.
‘Help yourselves to a snack – you can tear off some bread from the loaf we bought. I’m going to charge my phone,’ I say. ‘And then I’ll be back to organize some proper lunch for us. Don’t answer the door to strangers.’
I walk down the hill, past the terraced houses with the washing on the lines that’s causing so many arguments.