Chapter 4 #3
I feel as if another sack of weights has been added to my shoulders. ‘You’re telling me that if this house isn’t “fit for the market” by a certain time I have to find a sum of money to pay?’
He nods. ‘It is a local project. Some towns and villages are selling houses for one euro with all sorts of restrictions and clauses. Others are paying people to move there. We are selling houses where the owner has died and has no family to pass it on to. We sell for a nominal fee and, if nothing is done to the house to renovate it within two years, the owner must pay the market value. Bit like the one-euro houses, but,’ he shrugs, ‘this house is habitable … just.’
I take in the enormity of what needs to be done to get the house ‘fit for the market’. ‘How long have I got?’
‘It’s in the paperwork,’ he says, handing it to me.
I look at the page and try to focus my eyes.
Just six weeks, the end of August. The day before Marco died.
And then I look at the amount I’ll have to pay if it’s not done.
I don’t have that sort of money. I have only enough for us to live on until this house can be sold.
I look back at the mayor, who gives a slightly apologetic shrug.
‘It’s for the good of the community,’ he says. ‘We are in need of all the help we can get right now. Many people would like to come here, I’m sure. I just need to find them.’
I don’t trust myself to say anything.
Then I hear voices. I recognize Luca’s. He is strolling down the cobbled street, arms swinging, with another figure I recognize. I stand and stare as they walk up to the front door.
‘Giovanni, ciao ,’ says the mayor.
He and Giovanni shake hands and Giovanni smiles at the police officer. ‘ Buongiorno ,’ he says to the mayor, and then to me.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ says the mayor, and walks away.
I’m still staring at his back when Giovanni, the man from the not-restaurant, says, ‘ Ciao .’
This is like some hideous nightmare. He raises his hand in the hot afternoon sun. ‘Luca tells me you’ve been let down by your electrician.’
I look at Luca, not knowing whether to hug him or be cross with him for disappearing without telling me. But I’m desperately relieved he’s back, even if he’s with the one person I was trying to avoid.
‘We’re fine,’ I hear myself say, and I’m even irritating myself now. Things are clearly not fine. ‘I’m sure he’ll be here at some point.’ I raise my eyebrows. Then, without thinking, ‘Luca, I’ve been so worried!’ I say, and hate myself for telling him off.
‘Sorry, Mum.’
‘Don’t be.’ I’m getting this all wrong. ‘I drifted off in the peace of the back garden.’
‘I’m sure it’s lovely,’ says Giovanni. ‘The views from this house are great.’
‘Yes,’ I say stiffly, hoping it will be a good selling point when I’ve got the house ready – in just six weeks! I need to get it renovated and sold. My panic returns.
‘I’m Giovanni,’ says the man, cutting in and diverting the conversation.
I think I should be grateful to him. ‘You are Thea, yes? Your son told me.’ He smiles politely.
‘I’m a handyman, you could say. A bit of this, a bit of that.
I can take a look at your electrics, no problem.
I’m used to the electrics around here. I’ve been in this house a few times. ’
I put up my hands. ‘No, it—’
‘No, Mum,’ Luca shouts. ‘It’s not fine. We’re living here in the dark. Mr Fluffy hates the dark!’ Even my son is using that rabbit to make a point. I can’t be cross with him. He’s just trying to help.
I step forward and try to hug him, but he’s upset and moves away from me.
I don’t want to embarrass him further, so I slide back, giving him the space he wants.
I feel completely useless, as I often do these days, and wish I wasn’t trying to navigate parenthood on my own, that I was doing this with Marco.
I still don’t really know why he bought a house here and not where he came from in Le Marche.
But, knowing Marco, it was just too good a bargain.
He saw it online, flew out and bought it.
That was Marco all over. He lived life to the full.
He laughed and loved with passion. He argued with me and we made up just as passionately.
It still seems unreal that he isn’t here now, to help sort this place out.
The house will be beautiful when it’s done up.
If only he’d told me about that clause. I suppose he thought he wouldn’t have to.
He’d probably have told me once we hit the two-year mark and the house was finished.
I can see him now – telling me life was for taking risks!
Well, this one hasn’t paid off. Because either I get it done up and on the market or, instead of making money from it, I’ll be in debt.
‘I can help here,’ says Giovanni, gently, breaking into my thoughts.
‘See?’ says Luca, straightening.
Giovanni smiles at him. ‘Luca explained you only arrived yesterday, just before I met you, and that the electrics have gone and the electrician you called hasn’t turned up.’
‘I’ve had a go myself, but I can’t fix it.’
‘I would suggest it could be some time before the man appears. Work doesn’t always happen to a schedule around here.’
Luca tugs crossly at the hem of my T-shirt. ‘Mum!’ he hisses.
‘Okay, okay.’ I look back at Giovanni. ‘Sorry. Thank you for coming. Grazie .’ I stand aside to let him in, feeling a little uneasy about allowing this stranger into our house.
A stranger whose home I invaded yesterday.
I’ve found it’s just easier not to let people help, having to explain why I’m on my own, what happened to Marco and our home.
But I need the electricity so that I can start work on this place.
‘As I say, I’ve done everything I can think of already.
’ I hate feeling I might have missed something simple, that I have to lean on other people.
I could do this, if I had some time, but clearly that is something I lack.
He dips his head and steps into the cool, dark house.
I can smell him as he passes me, freshly showered, with a hint of lemon, making me think of lemon meringue pie, a restaurant favourite, with caramelized peaks.
It was one of Marco’s specialities and regular customers always requested it.
It was never the same after he died and I had to take it off the menu, replacing it with lemon cheesecake.
Giovanni puts his tool-bag on the kitchen table.
Suddenly I can imagine Marco standing in this house, just as he dreamed.
It was what he talked about after a tough day at work while he waited for all the paperwork for the sale to go through.
I see him watching with interest, arms folded across his chest, smiling, reminding me why he’d brought me here.
I’ve heard his voice before, but not imagined him like this.
It’s as if I could reach out and touch him.
But I know I can’t. It’s just my mind playing tricks.
‘He’s good-looking!’ I imagine him saying about Giovanni. ‘He’d better not try anything funny!’ I give a sudden laugh, to Luca and Giovanni’s surprise.
‘She does that sometimes,’ says Luca to Giovanni.
‘When she remembers one of Papa’s jokes,’ Aimee says, startling me.
‘Or something he used to do,’ Luca adds. ‘Then she usually cries, when she thinks we can’t hear.’
Giovanni says nothing, puts on a head torch and switches it on.
I cough and take a breath, trying to block out the sound of Marco’s voice in my head. ‘Is this the guy whose house you sat outside and ordered food from?’ I hear him laughing.
I bite my lip, trying to stop the nervous laughter bubbling up. I’m embarrassed, but in comparison with what we’ve been through in the last couple of years, it’s not the worst.
‘Look, erm, about yesterday.’ I decide to address this head on. Giovanni turns to me, practically blinding me with his head torch. I put my hand up against the light, making Aimee laugh.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ he says, switching it off. ‘What were you saying?’
I clear my throat. ‘About yesterday …’
Giovanni grabs a chair, climbs onto it, then switches on the head torch again. With his back to me, I notice his wide shoulders and muscular behind …
‘I want to apologize. I didn’t realize you weren’t a restaurant.’ I try to focus and hurry on with my apology. ‘We were tired, hot … a little confused. I saw an old man.’
‘Giuseppe, I expect,’ he says, reaching up to take off the cover to the fuse-box. ‘Did he have goats?’
‘Yes! Hairy ones!’ says Aimee, surprising me again by talking. She only speaks to strangers when absolutely necessary these days, and usually from Mr Fluffy’s perspective.
‘Yes, hairy ones!’ I agree.
‘Bit smelly too!’ Luca waves a hand and we all manage a laugh, to my relief, including Giovanni.
I’m feeling bad that I wanted to send him away when he’s trying to help.
I must let people help me more. Since Marco died I seem to feel I have to do it all on my own, and usually I believe I can.
But clearly I can’t or we wouldn’t have been without life insurance, lost the restaurant and our home.
If Marco was here, he’d be feeling bad too.
And I know I’ll never replace him. He’ll always be here, part of the children’s lives and mine, by my side.
‘The man with the goats, Giuseppe, pointed me in the direction of your house. I just assumed. I should have kept walking up the road,’ I explain quickly. ‘I would have found the shop. Sorry.’
‘Luca, pass me a screwdriver, will you?’ Giovanni points to it on the table and, again, I see Marco standing there, arms folded, a slight frown on his forehead.
Luca steps forward and does as he’s asked. I stand and stare but I’m not hopeful. I’ve been over and over the fuse-box with Google and YouTube before my phone battery died.
Giovanni turns off the torch and jumps down from the chair to stand in front of us.