Chapter 6 April 13th
During my flight from Gatwick to Milano Malpensa, I sit back and enjoy my me-time.
I’m sitting next to a nice elderly gentleman who shows me pictures of his grandchildren.
He has a beautiful wife and family, and I find myself smiling.
Normally, I’d have shied away from this kind of personal interaction because I am an introvert at heart.
But I am already feeling so liberated. I’m in for Italian food, Italian wine and heavenly landscapes. What’s not to love?
But. I also feel a bit of lingering guilt for leaving the kids, even if I tell myself that I am a good mother and that there’s nothing wrong with taking a break. I work hard at being a parent and I bring home my fair share of the bacon. I do deserve this break.
Only… it’s quite a long break. It’s eight bloody weeks. In that space of time my daughter might grow a bra size or get her first boyfriend. And Joe? He might master a new level of Fortnite without me!
I grip the armrests, suddenly panicking.
What am I doing? I’m doing exactly what she did all those years ago.
I am abandoning my children and putting myself first by jetting off to Italy.
Mothers shouldn’t do that. Flashbacks of the day my mother left rush back to me, out of the blue. I remember every single detail.
The school auditorium had filled with the fragrance of popcorn from the stand, and the din spoke of a large audience. After a good speaking to from my dad, my mother finally rallied and managed, with his help, to get out of bed and have a shower and get ready for the talent show.
Behind the curtain, I stood on stage, next in line. I ran through my breathing exercises, rehearsing in my mind the song we’d practised a hundred times.
And then it was our turn. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, please welcome the mother–daughter duo, Susan and Olivia Foster, as they sing the world-famous song by Eric Carmen, “All By Myself”!’
As the curtains slowly parted, I felt afraid but blessed at the same time. I was doing what I loved, and I was good at it. My father was proud of me, and my mother would be with me every step of the way. What more could a girl ask for?
The stage lights were so bright I could barely see the end of the stage, let alone distinguish the faces in the crowd or see Mum at the piano below the stage.
I stepped forward, nodded to the crowd with all the grace I could muster, and, as agreed with Mum, I sang the first verse a cappella.
I sang it with excellent control, not rushing it at all, as she’d taught me, feeling the songwriter’s pain and loneliness while pacing myself until the second verse when Mum would join me on the piano.
I kept the beat by gently tapping my thigh with my fingers, ready for verse two, and dived straight into it with everything I had before my voice merged with Mum’s piano.
Only I realised I was still singing by myself, and that, in fact, there was no one accompanying me on the piano. But I couldn’t stop in the middle of the song!
I strained my eyes against the lights, trying to see her as my heart began to beat in panic.
Had the piano not been connected to the microphone?
Had Mum tried to warn me but I hadn’t heard?
There was nothing I could do but continue to sing as I felt myself sink down a deep, deep hole, alone and afraid.
I wanted to stop and ask to start again because obviously something had gone very wrong.
They normally allowed us to stop during rehearsals, but I doubted it would be possible during the real performance.
When the chorus came I gave it my all, shifting position so the lights wouldn’t blind me as I strained my eyes once again to see where she could have gone.
And then I saw it: the empty piano seat and my father’s drawn face squinting up at me in a mixture of pride and utter misery.
The song seemed to last for ever and every new verse or chorus became harder and harder to perform as I was now almost completely engulfed in panic and confusion.
I don’t know how I managed to finish the song, and when it ended, I took a bow amid the uproar. The audience gave me a standing ovation. I’d done a good job. Had the act not been called Olivia and Susan Foster, no one would have known there had been a problem and that I’d had to improvise.
‘Where is she?’ I sobbed when it was all over, grabbing my father’s hands when he came backstage, getting make-up and tears on both of us. ‘Where did she go?’
‘We’ll talk at home, sweetheart,’ he said, holding me tight. ‘Just enjoy your moment of glory for now. You were fantastic. I’m so, so proud of you!’
While balloons and streamers filled the stage, all I could focus on was the empty piano bench. Not even my father’s warm embrace could protect me from the pain.
The journey home was a blur.
‘Mum? Mum, where are you?’ I’d called, bursting through the front door of our home, hoping to find her on the settee watching the telly at least, if not up and about cooking a meal in the kitchen.
I knew she’d made an effort to get out of bed, so I didn’t understand why she couldn’t make the effort to sit at the piano and accompany me through one Goddam song!
‘Olivia, sweetheart,’ my father said softly, taking my hand and guiding me to the dining room table. ‘Calm down, now. I have something to tell you.’
‘Is she okay?’ I asked. ‘I’ve heard her crying a lot lately.’
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Yes, she has been quite sad lately. I’m sorry you had to hear that. Mummy wasn’t well so we decided she should go away for a bit.’
‘To a hospital?’ I asked, my brows furrowed in thought. That was the only place she could be, surely.
Daddy looked at me, halfway between stern and desperately miserable. ‘No, Livvie. She went to Italy for a while.’
‘Italy?’ I asked. ‘What’s in Italy?’
‘A… a friend.’
‘A friend?’ I repeated. And then I got it.
I wasn’t stupid. She had a boyfriend. How was I not surprised in the least?
She was a right flake, after all. Always had been.
We could never count on her to do anything, or be somewhere, even if she’d promised and crossed her heart.
She just didn’t care enough. Her feelings for us were clear.
She had a love, someone far more important than Dad and me. She loved him, and not us.
Fine. I didn’t love her anymore either. I decided right then and there that actually, I hated her. She did nothing but disappoint us. How many times had she failed to be there for me? How many times was I going to have to forgive her? Well, not anymore, because she wasn’t coming back!
‘Olivia, please know that your mother still loves you very much. But sometimes… grownups have to go away for a spell and think about what they want from life. What else, I mean, besides a family. I’m sure you’ll understand when you’re older.’
‘Come on, Dad. She didn’t even say goodbye!’
It was all very clear to me. We were the reason she had left. Because we, her family, were too much for her to handle.
‘Come here, Olivia,’ my father beckoned to me gently. He was so loving and kind. I couldn’t be cross with him. It wasn’t his fault Mum had left.
I slid off the chair and onto my father’s lap as I used to do when I was younger. It had always been my father there to comfort me. Never my mother. My mother was always the demanding one.
Dad kissed the top of my head. ‘We are a strong pair,’ he said in a clear voice. ‘We will stick together and be there for each other no matter what. Okay?’
I huffed. ‘Yes, Dad…’
‘Good. It’s late. We can talk more about this tomorrow, but now it’s time for bed.’
‘Okay,’ I reluctantly agreed as he headed up the stairs. I followed, my legs weak.
But inside I felt a rage I’d never felt before.
‘Are you all right, dear? Miss?’
I open my eyes. The voice is coming from the elderly man next to me.
I bite my lip. ‘I’m all right, thank you. I’m just… missing my kids.’ Well, I miss Joe, but because he’s my baby. My kind, sweet baby. I do miss Cassie, of course, but more than anything I am worried about her. I swipe at my cheek.
‘Oh, that’s sweet,’ he says. ‘But maybe Mum needed a break?’ he suggests gently.
‘Yuh.’ I nod.
The man vaguely reminds me of my own father, who at this very moment is probably preparing snacks for when the kids come home from school. That’s it, now I’ve done it. I’ve drowned myself in nostalgia and guilt, and it’s going to take me the entire length of the flight to get out of it.
So much for getting away and enjoying myself.
It’s a good thing no one at the spa knows me.
I am looking forward to complete and utter relaxation.
No school gate mums to force-grin at while they tell me the dreary details of how they got Hugo to finally eat his greens or poor, terribly diligent Augusta to study for fewer hours on her cello.
Yes, I do need this break, to be secreted away in the Italian mountains for a while.
In truth, I’m more of a beach girl, but upon seeing the beauty of the snow-capped Alps from above, I am utterly conquered.
When I finally touch down at Milano Malpensa airport, I send our family WhatsApp group a text to tell them I’ve landed safely.
But only Dad and Markus text me back because the kids are at school.
I’ll send them a message later. Simon must be in one of his dreadfully boring meetings.
Or perhaps he’s still a little miffed at the fact that I’ve actually decided to leave him to finally do his fair share of parenting.
As I come out of Arrivals, I start looking for the signs to the train station, but a man with an A3 printed sign catches my eye:
Mrs Olivia Dawson
Villa dei Respiri
They’ve sent a shuttlebus. Wow. Very classy. I lift my hand and he darts forward. ‘Welcome, Signora Dawson. Please let me take your luggage.’