Chapter 21
Sabrina stood by the large picture window in the small flat adjoining Marielle’s house, looking out to the sea in the near
distance. There was something about this view that was acting like aloe vera on her soul. It made her think that the sight
of the sea was connected with happy thoughts, and that’s why she had come to it. She had little to go on other than feelings
at this present time. She knew she hadn’t just materialized at... thirty-five, she was pretty sure she was that age, but
she couldn’t remember anything of importance before waking up in the hospital, just faint flotsam and jetsam, and then being
asked if she wanted chicken supreme or a baked potato for her tea. As one stunted sense makes the others more powerful, her
intuitions and sensitivities seemed sharpened by the loss of her memory, and she had little choice but to trust them.
There was an adjoining door to Marielle’s house, and her temporary landlord had been really apologetic about keeping it locked,
but then she explained why. Sabrina wasn’t in the slightest offended and agreed that it was wise for her peace of mind; there
was nothing for Marielle to feel guilty about.
Trust should be earned; it was too valuable to be given away flippantly.
She felt that too. What a kind woman she was, thought Sabrina.
She’d bought her clothes and magazines and helped engineer to get her out of hospital and into this pretty flat, the home environment she was convinced would speed her recovery.
It was cozy-tiny with an all-in-one lounge and kitchen, a bathroom with a corner shower, and a bedroom with a single bed that Marielle had dressed for her with some clean, flowery sheets and a cloud-soft duvet.
Marielle had also brought her a box full of food: a large bar of Galaxy chocolate, butter, bread, milk, coffee, cheese, and
other staples. She’d left her in Little Moon to familiarize herself with her new surroundings, relax, watch the TV, whatever
she wanted to do while she went out to meet with friends. The main house was called Big Moon and Marielle told her she’d named
it so because on the first night she spent in here, framed in her sitting room window like the most beautiful picture, there
had been a huge, bright supermoon in the sky. She’d never seen a moon so large before or since, and she’d stood staring at
it for ages in wonder.
It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet, but Sabrina changed into one of the flannelette nighties, waffle robe, and fluffy slippers
that Marielle had bought for her. When normal service was resumed, Sabrina would pay her back and more for her generosity,
touch wood, because psychological memory loss was an unknown quantity, apparently, and there were no guarantees. Luckily,
weighing in at the other end of the scale was Marielle’s success story about the young Italian lady. Sabrina had to hope that
her brain would eventually let go of its secrets, because if it didn’t—what then?
She made herself a drink and switched on the television, flicking through the channels until she came to a film she instantly
recognized: Breakfast at Tiffany’s . She knew she’d seen it at least five times and what the story was and who starred in it. Why was her mind holding some things
back and not others? She tried to stop thinking and just let the lovely story wash over her. Then at the end of it, the TV
announcer said:
“Following on with our Audrey Hepburn evening, we have Sabrina with William Holden and Humphrey Bogart.”
She hadn’t heard of that film. How strange it was her name.
Then what popped into her memory, like a little bubble carrying a treasure, was that she was named after her late mother Rina.
She knew she had died only a few years ago, but in her mind’s eye she was petite with golden hair, young, not old.
That didn’t matter though; what did was that something had slipped through the barbed-wire fence in her head and it meant that more was sure to follow.
She smiled with relief and caught sight of herself in the mirror hanging on the wall.
She felt that the woman staring back at her hadn’t smiled for quite some time.
When Marielle returned, she knocked on the adjoining door, gently in case Sabrina should be asleep. She wasn’t, and called
“Hello” in response.
“Is it okay to come in?” asked Marielle.
“Of course, it’s your house.”
When Marielle unlocked the door, it was to find Sabrina smiling in a way she hadn’t seen her do before.
“I remembered something,” she said. “It isn’t much, but I know I was named after my mother Rina.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Marielle.
“I was watching the film Sabrina while you were out, with Humphrey Bogart and Audrey Hepburn, and it must have pushed out a memory.”
“I know it,” said Marielle. “It’s a lovely story.”
She’d watched a lot of those old black-and-white films when she was younger. Her mum loved them. They’d snuggle up on the
sofa together every Sunday afternoon when her dad had gone for a nap after his big roast lunch. Then Cilla had come along
and she’d snuggle up with her mum instead, and Marielle had to sit in the armchair because there wasn’t room enough for all
three of them on the two-seater.
“Come through to the house and have a cup of hot chocolate with me to celebrate,” said Marielle. “My son bought me a Velvetiser for my birthday and I’m addicted. I’ve got white chocolate, Black Forest, or orange.”
“They all sound nice,” said Sabrina, but she plumped for Black Forest. She was giddy as a kipper about remembering something,
and Marielle didn’t think for a minute she was putting it on.
“Tell me about yourself,” said Sabrina, her hands drawing warmth from the mug as she sat on Marielle’s squashy sofa. “Since
we met, everything’s been about me and all I know about you is that you’re some sort of an angel.” A sweet-faced angel with
kind blue eyes and lovely dark red hair.
That made Marielle chuckle. “I’m no angel, trust me. I’m a very ordinary sixty-three-year-old mum of one. When I was seventeen
I went over to Italy as an au pair, not knowing a word of the language, but I picked it up very quickly. I stayed with the
family for three years, and then I became a nurse in Naples. And at the hospital there, I fell for one of the maintenance
men—Salvatore Bonetti. He was gorgeous—and he knew it. We married and then came my son Teodoro, though everyone has always
called him Teddy. We came back to England when he was eighteen as my mother wasn’t well, and I found a nursing post in the
hospital where you were. Four years later I lost both her and Sal within weeks of each other, and I’ve been on my own ever
since.”
“That must have been hard, losing them so close together,” said Sabrina.
“Yes, it was,” replied Marielle. She’d had to split herself in two, working and nursing them both. Cilla hadn’t pulled anything
like her fair weight to help, considering all her adoptive mother had done for her. She was a widowed mum herself then with
a two-year-old daughter, but she still could have helped more. Marielle had had to rely on Teddy far more than she’d wanted
to. He’d been at catering college then, and when he wasn’t studying, he was working in restaurants to get experience. He’d
been a rock for her then and he still was.
“Happy marriage?”
Marielle puffed out her cheeks. “We stayed together,” she said, “but he caused me a lot of pain.”
“What sort of pain?” Sabrina lifted her mug up to her lips. It was black, with the word Teddy’s written on it in a scrolling font over an Italian flag.
“Other women sort of pain,” said Marielle. “I can’t tell you how many times I took off my wedding ring to fling at him. I
stayed with him because I didn’t want to break up my family, not until Teddy was grown up anyway. He wasn’t the best of husbands
to me, but he was a wonderful father to our son. I planned to come back to England alone, but Teddy wanted to come with me,
and Sal said he wanted to as well. I don’t know what happened, but here he became the husband I’d always wanted him to be
and we had four fabulous years. Then he fell ill—nothing serious we thought. But weeks later he was gone and I’m sorry that
I didn’t have enough of that Salvatore.”
Her eyes had gone glassy, Sabrina noticed. “What about your son? Does he live close by?”
“Yes, and he has his own restaurant in town. It’s a bit of a family affair. His two young cousins from Naples live over here
and are waiters—very good-looking boys, they’re having quite the time of it—and my cousin’s daughter Flick is our, well...
everything: receptionist, waitress, sommelier, sometimes sous chef, sometimes washer-upper. They’re always so busy, she has
to wear a few hats. My son is thirty-eight, she’s nineteen, but I have to stop and ask myself sometimes who’s the oldest because
she doesn’t half rule the roost.”
Flick was someone Marielle seemed fond of; Sabrina could tell that by her voice.
“And has Teddy given you any grandchildren?” asked Sabrina, because if anyone would make a perfect granny, it would be this
woman sitting next to her.
“Oh Sabrina, the one thing I wish I could go back and change is that Teddy grew up seeing a very dysfunctional template of a marriage,” replied Marielle with a sad smile of regret.
“You try and hide your unhappiness from your children, but they know. I cried too much, we rowed too much, it was probably no wonder that Teddy almost married someone who was giving him the runaround. It was like watching myself and Sal, only with the sexes reversed. I don’t mind telling you I couldn’t have been more relieved when they broke up, and I’m not sure he’s been out with anyone since.
He always says he’s too busy for a relationship, which is a real shame because you should never be too busy for love. So, one day, I hope...”
“Families are complicated,” said Sabrina, though she wasn’t sure if she just knew that as a general point or was speaking
from experience. “I bet even those picture-perfect ones on Instagram who make their own jam from fruits they’ve grown in their
gardens end up throwing teapots at each other sometimes.”
That made Marielle smile. “I threw all sorts of things at Sal. I’m not proud of it.”
Sabrina bit her lip in thought, recalling something Marielle had just said which might kill two birds with one stone. “You
said that your son’s restaurant is always busy. Do you think they’d like another pair of hands to help out? I could do with
a bit of pin money to earn my keep and pay you what I owe you.”
Marielle shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything. It’s all freely given.”
“I know, but you said the girl you helped in Naples got her memory back by doing some jobs and keeping busy. I’d like to at
least try that,” said Sabrina.
Marielle thought about that for a minute. There wouldn’t be as much to keep Sabrina busy here as there had been for Viola
in Naples. She’d thrown herself into helping with young Teddy and Sal’s parents, cooking with Sal, cleaning their large house
while they were both at work.
“I can ask for you, if that’s what you want.”
“Yes, I do,” said Sabrina. It couldn’t do any harm—only good—and she’d feel better repaying her debt, whatever Marielle might
say to that.