Chapter 26
‘Argh! Mamma! Quick! Mamma! ’ There’s a shriek from the garden.
I throw myself off the bed and out onto the landing, then take the stairs two at a time. ‘Luca! Aimee!’
‘ Mammaaaaa! ’ squeals Aimee.
I run to the back door, but can’t see them.
‘Where are you?’ I shout. ‘Luca? Aimee?’
‘Over here!’ says a stranger’s voice, from behind a clump of trees at the end of the garden, making my heart lurch.
‘Who’s that?’ But I know who it is. It’s as if I’ve conjured her up, some sort of spectre that’s been hiding in a corner of my mind since I first set eyes on her.
‘Brush! Brush!’ She’s giving out commands. I run to the clump where Stella is holding Aimee’s arm and slapping her shins! Luca is looking on, stamping his feet!
‘Hey!’ I rush forward, push Stella away and shout, ‘Leave them alone!’ I grab her arm and pull her further from the children. ‘Get away from my children!’
‘Mum, we’ve been stung,’ cries Luca, stamping and brushing at his legs.
‘Red ants,’ says Stella, pointing at their legs. ‘You have to brush them off quickly, or they will inflame.’
I follow her command.
‘ Spazzolata! Brush, brush!’ She waves her hands in downward sweeping motions.
And I do. I brush at their legs, as the children hop and yelp. And as they calm down, their shouts become sobs. I am out of breath, with exertion and emotion, as the children turn to me for a hug.
‘There is always a nest of them here.’ Stella is equally out of breath. ‘You have to be careful.’
I nod slowly.
‘Thank you.’ I nod some more. ‘I must get the children inside and give them some antihistamine.’ I know now is not the time to ask all the questions I want to fire at her, like who is she, how does she know my husband, did they have an affair, was he going to leave me, and what was she doing in my garden?
I walk towards the house, stop and turn back. ‘Have you been stung too?’
She shrugs. ‘Just a little. It’s fine.’ She waves a hand, and her bangles jingle on her wrist. She wears a little silver ring on each finger, including the thumb.
That word again. When everything is all but fine. I know now that fine is not fine.
‘Well, grazie ,’ I say to the young woman, her midriff showing and a tattoo twisting its way up from around her hip.
She has red flashes of dye in her hair, and a nose ring.
She looks like she did when I first saw her, as if she’s travelling, or just leaving, with a rucksack she picks up and slings over her shoulder.
She eyes me carefully. And I do the same to her.
‘I’d better get the children inside,’ I say again, with one hand on each shoulder and direct them towards the house.
‘So,’ she calls after me, ‘what happened to Marco?’
I turn back to her. ‘Marco?’
‘Yes. Did he tell you about me?’
I swallow the huge ball that has risen in my throat and finally say the words to which I’m dreading the answer. ‘How do you know him?’
‘Stella is Papa’s friend. She told me,’ says Aimee.
I look at Stella, panicked, terrified of what I might hear, of what it will do to my memories of the man I love. I try to speak, the words sticking in my throat, my mind whirring, and wishing I didn’t want to know. But I have to. ‘You’d better come in.’