Chapter 4 #2
We find the car but discover it’s a much tighter fit than either of us expected.
We purposefully ordered the smallest five-seater so it wouldn’t be difficult to maneuver down the lane through the olive grove.
But the boot isn’t big enough for our luggage, and Theo and the kids have to sit with bags balanced on their laps and wedged in between their feet.
Once I’ve adjusted my seat and mirrors, I type the address into the satnav, then remember that we need to stop at the supermarket; otherwise, we’ll have nothing to eat tonight. I delete my first search and type in the name of the supermarket nearest the house. We set off.
Within seconds, I narrowly miss colliding with a concrete bollard. I feel a judder of fear: I haven’t had much practice driving on the other side of the road and I’m not a great driver at the best of times. To make matters worse, the kids are falling out before we’ve even left the car park.
“Dad, I’m squashed!”
“Dad, Mabel’s breathing on me!”
“Callum’s leg’s digging into me!”
As an only child who didn’t even grow up around cousins, I’ve no sense of how siblings interact, or what level of acrimony is normal. Theo doesn’t seem concerned. Then again, he is buried under suitcases.
In an attempt to lift the mood, I point out a field of sunflowers. “Look at that, kids! Isn’t it beautiful?”
“We grew sunflowers at school,” snipes Mabel. “Primary school.”
“How do you say sunflowers in Italian?” asks Archie.
“How do you say annoying little brother in Italian?” grumbles Callum.
“Come on, gang,” says Theo, “let’s try and make an effort.”
I decide to zone out and concentrate on my driving. The view soon becomes dull, with nothing to see other than motorway, drab residential developments and nondescript farmland.
Wait a minute. …
“Theo,” I say, under my breath, “I don’t recognize this.”
“Are we lost?” shrieks Mabel.
Shit!
At the first turning, I exit the motorway and pull over in a dusty layby. By now the kids aren’t just yelling at one another but exchanging physical blows. While Theo excavates himself from under cases to intervene, I consult the satnav. I discover we’ve driven south rather than north.
Fuck!
I must have accidentally clicked on the wrong branch of the same supermarket. I prise myself out of the car and explain my mistake to Theo. He gives my shoulder a supportive bump. “It’s OK, Ads. Don’t worry.”
He lowers his head into the back of the car. “Sorry, gang. We’ve made a mistake.”
The three of them groan.
“Dad, can you drive?” asks Mabel.
“Adam doesn’t know what he’s doing,” says Callum.
There it is again: that sting of humiliation.
“Cal, Adam does know what he’s doing,” Theo argues. “We just made a mistake. It happens to everyone.”
Even in the face of fierce animosity, I appreciate Theo’s we.
“Sorry, kids!” I say, brightly. “I’ll correct it in no time.”
Theo and I slide back into the car and I turn it around.
But by the time we’re passing the airport again, the sun’s setting.
I’m gutted as I was looking forward to watching the sunset from the house.
Now we won’t get there till it’s dark. I wonder if the shops will still be open but decide not to bring this up and hope for the best.
At least the route soon looks familiar.
“Are we nearly there yet?” asks Archie.
“My leg’s gone dead,” moans Mabel.
“Not long now,” Theo reassures them. He reaches over and gives my knee a squeeze.
I try to interest the kids in the mountains up ahead, the ancient trees running along the side of the road, the dried-up river that flashes in and out of view behind them. “It looks like it hasn’t rained in ages,” I comment.
But they’re not interested—and soon the light’s faded completely.
When we arrive at the supermarket, it’s closed. Through a chorus of groans, I drive to another, but that’s also closed.
“Dad, I’m going to faint,” whimpers Mabel.
“If I don’t eat soon I’ll die,” bleats Callum.
We discuss finding a restaurant but Theo doesn’t want to leave the car with everything in it. I tell him I’m pretty sure I left a few packets of pasta and a jar of sauce in the house.
He taps a beat on the dashboard. “That’ll do!”
We set off along the road that winds up the hill to Montemagno. As we drive through the village, it’s so dark I decide not to even point it out.
“Nearly there!” says Theo.
I turn left and drop down into first gear in order to mount the steep hill. This road is single-lane and whenever I drive up it I dread seeing another car. Once we reach the Fiores’ house, I know I’m in the clear. Relieved, I take a left turn, into our olive grove.
“This is it, gang!” Theo pipes. “You’re entering the Castello Montemagno!”
Very slowly, I proceed down a gravel lane that’s so narrow it’s only a few centimeters wider than the car—with a steep drop on either side.
“This is just a load of trees,” says Archie. “Where’s the castle?”
Before anyone can answer, Mabel screams.
I slam on the brakes.
A few meters ahead of us—emerging from the olive trees—two wild boars come trotting across the lane.
One of them is clearly the mother, the other much smaller.
The mother stops and turns to face us, blinking in the headlights.
Her body’s black with long, white hair that looks bristly and coarse.
Her piglet, on the other hand, is light brown, with even lighter stripes running down its body.
Theo whistles. “Well, you don’t see that in Manchester!”
“What are they?” whispers Archie.
“Wild boar,” Theo whispers back.
“Will they attack us?” asks Mabel.
“No,” Theo replies. “They’re much more frightened of us than we are of them.”
For a moment, we sit in silence, the five of us united in awe. Then the mother boar turns and trots off into the bushes, her piglet toddling after her.
“What about that?” I say, swivelling round to look at the kids. “Wasn’t that fab?”
But just like that, the special moment has passed.
Callum shrugs. “It was OK.”
Mabel flicks her hair. “If you like that kind of thing.”
I hit the accelerator.
“Who wants to know how to say wild boar in Italian?” asks Theo.
Archie is the only one who answers. “Me!”
“Cinghiale,” says Theo. “I know that because the first time we came to Italy, Adam and I ate wild boar pasta.”
“And it was delicious,” I add.
Mabel mimes the sound of retching. “You two are gross!”
Theo chuckles. “Oh, give it a rest, chicken!”
“Dad, I told you not to call me that!”
We park in front of the garage and tug our cases across the patio towards the house. I look to see the kids’ reactions but they’re so tired—and so bad-tempered—they barely even glance up at it. They don’t even notice the sea. Theo does, though.
“Look at that, Ads,” he says, nuzzling the side of my head. “We made it.”
“Yeah, we made it.” I want to kiss him but feel self-conscious in front of the kids. “Come on, let’s get inside.”
I unlock the front door and we step through it. I switch on the lights, revealing the kitchen. There’s a beat of silence. The wooden units are even more dilapidated than I remember and the light bulbs so dim, the room looks dingy and unwelcoming.
“Is this it?” asks Mabel.
“What’s that minging smell?” says Callum.
“Just the smell of old houses,” I sing-song. “It probably needs some air.” But even as I say that I can’t help thinking that the kitchen’s usual smell is laced with something else—something dirty.
“Why don’t you guys put on some mosquito spray?” I suggest. I open a drawer and thrust a can at Theo.
While he takes them outside to supervise the operation, I fling open the cupboards and look for the pasta. But the packets I left have been bitten through by some kind of rodent—and the contents obliterated. All that’s left are crumbs and droppings. So that’s what the smell is. …
I slam the door shut.
I remember leaving a small box of cereal in another cupboard, one that’s on the wall and raised from the ground. I open it and see that amazingly, I also had the foresight to leave a carton of UHT milk. There’s not enough for all of us, but it should at least keep the kids quiet.
I explain the situation to Theo and he puts three bowls on the kitchen table and rations the food between them. I insist I’m not hungry, hoping he can’t hear my stomach roaring.
Mabel pulls a face. “What’s the matter with this milk? It tastes funny.”
“Nothing,” says Theo, “it’s just long-life.”
“Dad, it’s knocking me sick.” She pushes her bowl away.
Just as I’m thinking I’ll have it, Callum swoops in and slides the bowl towards himself. “What’s the Wi-Fi password?” he barks, spraying crumbs all over the table.
This is the moment I’ve been dreading most.
Thankfully, Theo handles it for me. “We’ll deal with that tomorrow. As soon as you’ve eaten, we’re going to bed. After the day we’ve had, we all need some sleep.”
Unbelievably, no one argues.
I show the kids up to their rooms, promising them a full tour of the house tomorrow.
We’ve decided Theo and I will sleep in the cottage: even though it’s connected to the rest of the house by an interior door, it feels a little more private.
Mabel and Archie will sleep in the rooms on the top floor—in the new beds we bought on our last trip—while Callum will go in Wilf’s room on the middle floor.
When he sees it, he tugs at his fringe. “It looks like some old man lives here.”
“Not anymore,” I chirrup. “It’s where my uncle used to sleep.”
Callum recoils. “What, so some guy died in that bed? Dad!” he shouts through the door. “I can’t sleep in here!”
Theo steps into the room, Archie’s toothbrush in his hand. “Cal, we can pick up another mattress tomorrow. You’ll just have to make do for one night.”
“Actually, we can swap it with the one in our room,” I suggest, cheerily. “That way we won’t have to buy another.”
Theo agrees and the two of us heave the mattress off our bed and haul it through the house, trying not to let it catch on the dusty floor.
“You’re sure nobody died on this one?” Callum asks, as we toss it onto his bed.
“Positive!” Theo and I say in unison. We look at each other and smile.
At that moment, I hear a buzzing sound and remember the mosquitoes. Shit, we’ve only got two nets. I was going to pick up some more to hang over the kids’ beds—before their arrival was brought forward.
I decide to give one to Mabel and the other to Callum, provided he’ll let Archie share his bed, just for tonight.
“Yes!” cheers Archie, bouncing into the room in his pajamas. “Sleepover!”
Callum groans and pulls a pillow over his head. “This is proper shit!”
“Cal, don’t swear!” booms Theo.
From outside comes the twit-twoo of an owl.
“Dad, is this house haunted?” shouts Mabel from upstairs.
“Why, do you want me to come and give you a cuddle?” Theo shouts back at her.
Mabel screams and slams her door.
By the time Theo and I finally collapse onto our bed, we’re too tired to even kiss.
And I’m really annoyed at myself.
I’ve made a mess of our first day. The holiday didn’t have to start so badly. I’ve let myself down. And I’ve let Theo down.
I’ll have to make up for it tomorrow.