Chapter 12 April 26th #2
From the rooftops of Villa dei Respiri, the views are even more gorgeous, taking me aback for a moment.
To the east is the lake, only about five kilometres wide, and over sixty in length.
(I only know that because I’ve just googled it.) But what is absolutely stunning is the shade of blue of the water, a deep cobalt, much more brilliant than the sky, and framed by forests of luscious pine trees of a fragrance so intense you want to inhale forever, capture in a bottle and take home with you.
From this altitude, the little towns hugging the coast are but a series of pink and salmon dots all connected by a coastal road, and I can even make out a Ferris wheel at the end of a pier. This place is lovely.
The next morning one of the staff, Amalia, marches into our room with a box.
‘Good morning, lovelies!’ she coos. ‘I have something for Olivia.’
I baulk at the sight of it. Because I know exactly what it is.
Dr Micheli, the harpy. I’d told her that I wasn’t wearing that dreaded thing.
That it was just a nightmare I’d had. I wasn’t really dying, let alone drowning, for Christ’s sake.
I’m not ninety and I don’t need a bloody CPAP machine strapped to my face all night, thank you very much.
Can you imagine me actually having to wear this thing at home, with the kids around?
I’d scare the living crap out of them, poor little things.
Simon, on the other hand, wouldn’t be affected in the least. His mother has one and he’s used to it.
‘That’s very kind of you, Amalia,’ I tell her. ‘I was just sitting here thinking how I just couldn’t wait to try one of these on.’
She laughs and turns to my mother. ‘This daughter of yours has your same sense of humour, she does! Come on, Olivia, let me show you how to use it.’
Panic rises inside me. This is it. If I have to wear this thing and talk like Darth Vader, I’m officially no longer young and healthy. I don’t want to be old and sick! I’m too young to be old and sick!
She plugs in a few cables and switches it on. Immediately an asthmatic breathing sound ensues. Amalia finally pulls out the mask and places it over my face. My first instinct is to back away, and she senses it, because she says, ‘Calma, calma, Olivia.’
Calma? How am I supposed to keep calm? Even listening to it makes me anxious, let alone wearing it.
It feels like an octopus has invaded my face, squeezing my cheeks.
And it’s immediately in charge of my lungs, practically breathing for me.
I’m waiting for the exhale to happen and I find myself on the edge of my seat.
This thing is supposed to make me feel better?
I’m already a nervous wreck, imagine sleeping with this thing on my face all night!
‘You’ll get used to it in no time,’ she soothes. ‘Just lie here for a half-hour to start getting used to it and soon you won’t be able to sleep well without it.’
And how is that supposed to comfort me, knowing I can’t breathe on my own? I mean, of course I can breathe on my own, but if I miss a beat or two, apparently this thing will shake me back into place.
‘I’ll sit with you, love,’ my mother says, adjusting the straps around my ears as Amalia grins at us on her way out. Somebody please wipe me out now…
‘So how are things at home?’ she asks.
I stare at her. ‘Why are you asking?’ is what I wanted to say but it comes out muffled. Still, she seems to understand.
She shrugs. ‘Just trying to understand where all your anxiety is coming from, Livvie. But have I hit a nerve?’
I flinch. She’s definitely lost all traces of Britishness.
Back home, we of the stiff upper lip don’t ask personal questions, especially to semi-estranged family.
But Mother has always been different. Excessively outgoing.
Free of any stigma. She used to embarrass me sometimes with her gung-ho attitude, especially in front of others.
Come on, chickie, don’t be shy! Sing! Or Dance!
Or Tell the truth! Always pushing me to stand out and be different when all I wanted to do was just fit in.
She never cared if people were watching and judging her.
In a way, sometimes I wish I’d inherited that gene. But I haven’t.
‘No nerve hit, Mother. Everything is fine.’
‘You know, chickie, I was thinking about Cassie. She reminds me very much of you when you were young. And you remind me of me.’
‘How? I never hated you while you were with us. I mean—’
‘I know what you meant, love. But Cassie doesn’t hate you.’
I snort. ‘Oh, she most certainly does. But the difference is that I never did anything to cause this hatred. I’ve only left for two months.’ I stop short, shocked at my own bluntness. This extra oxygen must be going to my head. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound that way.’
She sighs. ‘It’s all right, Livvie. I know how much I’ve hurt you. I was selfish.’
So we’re doing this now? Okay. I take a deep breath before answering. ‘Yes, you were. It was terrible growing up without you. But Dad was absolutely fantastic.’
‘As I knew he would be.’
So I might as well ask her what I’d always asked myself while crying myself to sleep after she left. ‘How… could you just… leave?’
She looks into my eyes and takes my hands with her own soft ones.
‘It killed me to leave you, truly it did. But Aldo and I… we had been in love since we met in Rome one summer when we were teenagers. Life separated us. Then I met your father and got pregnant with you. And then, through some mutual friends, Aldo found me and we realised that our feelings hadn’t changed.
It was a young love, just like for you and your Mitchell. ’
‘How did you know about Mitchell? Did Dad tell you?’
‘Of course, love. I never missed a single event of your life. I watched you from a very big distance, but I was there with my heart.’
‘And yet you never came back. You loved Aldo more than your own family…’
‘Not more than you, chickie. Certainly not more than you. But Aldo needed me.’
‘More than I needed you?’ I plead, sounding like my thirteen-year-old self.