Chapter 30
And suddenly I’m not this Thea, aged forty-three and widowed with two children, her only money in a holiday home that was in need of repair.
All of a sudden I’m twenty-five-year-old Thea, living life in the fast lane.
Working in London, drinking in pubs after work, eating in Michelin-starred restaurants, and enjoying weekends away with friends in the country.
‘Seb!’ I manage to say, as if it was only yesterday we were working hard and playing hard. ‘What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were coming too.’
Pietro, Luca and Aimee follow him in from outside and stare at me.
The man, in a colourful, Hawaiian shirt, knee-length shorts, a Panama and boating shoes, smiles back at me. It’s a very familiar smile.
‘I couldn’t not come. Once I got the pitch through on my phone!’
I look at Luca who grins back at me.
‘I thought it couldn’t be you at first, but a team-building event in Tuscany?
Brilliant! I passed it on to HR, got the go-ahead, and thought I should try a bit of team-building myself.
Haven’t done one in years. Couldn’t resist a jolly, especially when you said you were running it.
Never could resist a fun trip away, as you know!
Nothing changes!’ He flings out his arms. ‘How are you?’ He kisses me on both cheeks, knocking off his Panama.
We laugh, as the rest of the group is peering around.
‘This is so cool!’
‘Literally!’
‘Rustic and authentic!’
‘Too early for a drink?’
I hear the general chatter but am staring at one person. ‘I …’ I’m in shock. Sebastian Thornberry is here, in Italy. ‘I’m fine. This is so weird!’ I laugh.
‘Isn’t it? It’s been a while.’
I see Giovanni arrive at the back of the group and make his way towards me.
‘ Buongiorno, ciao ,’ he greets everyone. ‘Hey,’ he says, ‘just thought I’d check on how you’re doing. That you don’t need me.’
‘Checking I’m up to the job.’ I smile back, still flustered by Sebastian’s arrival in rural Italy.
‘Bit different from our trip to Venice, eh?’
‘Yes.’ Then, facing Giovanni, I draw a deep breath to calm myself.
‘You’ve got this,’ he says. ‘I know you have.’ And his eyes tell me he really thinks I have. Just for a moment, I want to stay there, with him looking at me, believing in me.
Then I remember what I’m supposed to be doing rather than admiring Giovanni’s soft green eyes, or staring at Sebastian’s familiar face.
Despite the extra lines, the thinner hair, it’s still the same Sebastian.
The man I met by the photocopier. The same Sebastian who wined and dined me, took me to his family home in the countryside and to Paris to propose. All of this BM, Before Marco.
I try to refocus on the rest of the group, but my eyes are drawn back to Sebastian, who is looking around the dining room.
‘I’ll leave you to it and get back to Casa Luna. I have painting to get done,’ Giovanni says, and surprises me by kissing me gently on the cheek. ‘Thank you, Thea.’ He makes his way out of the dining room and I watch him go.
‘So, is this your and Marco’s new place?’ Sebastian interrupts my thoughts.
I swallow. ‘Marco died, just over two years ago now.’
His face falls. ‘Oh, Theally.’ It’s his nickname for me – and I’m right back there, twenty-something with life stretching ahead of me.
Sebastian and I had had so many plans – buying our first home, a family home in Wimbledon or Wandsworth, wedding in his parents’ village, honeymoon in the Maldives, three children, a black Labrador and a golden retriever.
We’d spend Sundays on the common and have lunch at a gastro pub.
Private schools for the children, early retirement to the family home and weekends by the sea. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he says.
I gather myself and try to slow down the images scrolling through my mind, like a flip book we made at school on the corners of our workbook pages, making the images move.
‘It’s okay. I’m fine, really. I’m fine.’ I focus on my customers and put myself back in hospitality mode.
I know where I am there. The same can’t be said of me outside it.
I don’t know where I fit any more. Here and back home, I’m not Marco’s wife now, but I’m not the Thea from Before Marco either.
But front of house, with food, I know where I am and it feels good.
‘Come in, please. Help yourselves to water.’ I point to the glasses and jugs on the table and pick up a glass with shaking hands, pour for myself and down it.
‘So, you’re living out here?’ I hear Sebastian ask.
I shake my head. ‘Just here until the end of the summer. A couple more weeks. Helping out …’ I can’t think how to describe Giovanni: a stranger who helped me when I needed it, ‘… a friend,’ I say finally. ‘And you?’
‘Happily divorced. Paying out shedloads in the settlement. See the kids every other weekend and alternate holidays.’
My heart twists. None of this is where we thought we’d end up back then. We had it all mapped out. And then I met Marco and everything changed.
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Ah, it could’ve been so different.’ He laughs, still the jovial good-natured Sebastian, but I think I detect a real tinge of regret in him. I turn back to the gathered group, all taking selfies. I put my hands together and the room quietens.
‘Okay, when do we open the wine?’ one of the younger members of the group pipes up. ‘I’ve come to Tuscany to eat and drink!’
‘And bond. That’s what we’re supposed to be doing,’ says Sebastian.
‘I could bond better with a drink!’
‘This place is so quaint,’ says one of the women, making me wince. But I pull back my hospitality smile.
‘So, yes.’ I clear my throat. ‘As you might have realized, I used to work where you do.’
‘And you’re an old friend of Sebastian?’
‘More than friends by the sound of it.’
‘Enough,’ says Sebastian. ‘This is about team building, not insulting your boss and getting your P45!’
There’s a good-humoured ripple of laughter.
I blush and glance at Sebastian, who smiles fondly.
Same old Sebastian. Good-natured, and dependable.
Not like Marco! I mean, who comes home having bought a cheap house in Italy, in a village we don’t know?
The same man who wanted to buy a rabbit for Aimee’s first birthday so they could grow up together, but hasn’t thought through buying a hutch or looking after it.
The same Marco who took me out to dinner and his card was declined.
He was friends with the owner and went back to pay cash the next day.
Wild, impetuous, impulsive Marco. He was different from anyone I had ever met.
Until I met Giovanni, I think. And pull myself up.
What has Giovanni got to do with any of this?
‘Reminds me of myself,’ I hear Marco’s voice.
And I think of Stella … Suddenly the door opens and she’s standing there, in cut-off ripped jeans, her dark hair piled on top of her head, friendship bracelets around both wrists, and I wonder who gave them to her, where she’s been in life and who’s been there for her.
She’s so like Marco. Wild, impetuous, impulsive Stella.
‘Thought you might like some help,’ she says, without pleasantries. There’s a murmur among the young men, and a young woman executive.
‘ Grazie mille .’ I smile at her, and she walks through the group, coming to stand by me.
‘Welcome to La Tavola,’ I begin, and the room hushes.
‘Here at La Tavola, everyone is welcome. We treat everyone with respect, kindness and understanding. It’s where we gather to support each other, because eating is about so much more than just the food we put on the table.
It’s about the experience and the people we share it with. ’
‘No, no! You’ve taken my flour!’ I hear from the kitchen. ‘Yours is over there!’
‘You moved it!’
‘I didn’t move it, silly woman!’
Stella and I smile.
‘I think it’s time you met your tutors for the weekend,’ I say.
Stella and I lead them into the kitchen, where flour is flying everywhere.
‘This is la cucina , the kitchen, where you will cook with your tutors, work together and prepare dinner for each other. As I say’ – I try to keep a straight face, but struggle – ‘it’s all about working together. ’
‘ Buongiorno ,’ say the three nonna s politely, boldly riding out their appearance: they have flour all over themselves, their hair, over their aprons and on their bottoms, where they’ve wiped their hands.
‘Perhaps you should introduce yourselves and split into three teams,’ I suggest.
‘This is going to be amazing!’ Sebastian whispers, from where he’s standing behind me.
I can feel his breath on my neck. It’s not unpleasant.
In fact, it’s quite nice. ‘Good job, Theally. I knew this weekend would be the real deal with you behind it. You always did give a hundred and ten per cent! Real nonna s.’ He chortles. ‘Inspired!’
‘I’m Walt, here for the wine,’ says tall, blond, good-looking Walt. ‘And the ladies.’ He looks at Stella, who doesn’t return his smile, and gives him her resting bitch face, which seems to pour cold water on his over-confidence as intended.
‘You can be with me, Walt. We are making panzanella. With ripe tomatoes, cucumber and bread. Smell!’ Nonna Teresa thrusts a tomato under Walt’s nose. ‘It will be the best you’ve ever had.’
‘It will be the best if he makes it and not Teresa!’ says Nonna Rosa, and the room laughs. Walt goes to stand by Nonna Teresa.
‘I’m Daisy, also here for the ladies.’ She gives Stella a smile and gets the same resting bitch face. She gives Walt a look – there’s clearly rivalry between them.
‘I’m thinking you two should be together,’ I say.
‘No, no, not a good idea,’ they respond. ‘That’ll never work.’
‘I’d be better on desserts,’ says Daisy.
‘Okay, but tomorrow you’ll all be swapping around,’ I say, and make a note to put those two together and watch the flour fly between them. I glance at Sebastian, who clearly knows what I’m thinking and grins.
‘I’m Charlie, here for the eating.’ He’s in a T-shirt, long shorts, straw trilby and sunglasses. He rubs his wobbly tummy and the group laugh.
‘You come with me. I’ll make sure you are never hungry,’ says Nonna Lucia, pulling him into her team.
‘Glenda,’ says a woman with glasses, her hair tied back. She’s in a suit and smart trainers and is clearly hot. ‘Here because I was told to be! And I can’t afford the time away from my desk.’
Eventually each nonna has two team members. Just Sebastian is left.
‘You can work with Stella and me,’ I say. ‘We’re on antipasti .’
‘My favourite.’ He smiles and it feels nice. He rolls up his sleeves, and the rest of the groups are being given a flurry of instructions.
We’re standing side by side in the kitchen while Stella gets the antipasti ingredients from the pantry, the sunlight streaming in through the window and the sounds of the children in the courtyard. I suddenly feel completely at peace.
‘It’s nice to see you again, Seb,’ I find myself saying.
‘It’s nice to be here, Theally.’ I glance up in time to see the nonna s, no matter that they’re busy, give each other a look.