Chapter 8
Once the builders have gone for the day, we walk through the olive grove and leave what I don’t think I’ll ever get used to calling my estate.
We pass the Fiores’ house and wind down the hill, through more olive groves belonging to other people, until we get to the main road.
It’s time to explore the village of Montemagno.
The first thing we see—directly opposite—is a women’s clothes shop, with some old mannequins in the window wearing comically cheap wigs and clothes that could best be described as frumpy.
“Nice drip,” I say to Callum and Mabel.
They both laugh and I want to jump up and punch the air.
I gesture to the right and lead everyone down the main road as it runs through the center of the village, in between houses that have been painted shades of butterscotch, Parmesan and honey.
There’s a brick-fronted church and a war memorial standing on what seems to be a cross between a square and a car park, which—as far as I can decipher from the plaque—is named after a hero of the Italian Resistance.
Continuing up the road—keeping to the side to avoid the occasional car and hordes of cyclists—we come to a cluster of cafés, each with its own terrace.
These seem to be set up less for locals and more for cyclists: one of them has a repair shop tacked onto the side and they all sell gear and gadgets that make me realize just how big the sport is around here.
At the village’s farthest limit, there’s a platform looking out over the valley, but it offers pretty much the same view as we have from the house.
Even so, Archie insists on perusing the valley through the coin-operated binoculars.
Once his time is up, we meander back up the road to check out the two restaurants and Theo and I are delighted to discover that neither of them is expensive.
That decides it: we’re eating out this evening.
Theo has already said that if the kids can pick their own meals, there’s less potential for arguments.
As one of the restaurants is closed on Mondays, the choice is made for us.
When we walk inside, we discover we’re the sole customers.
But it’s only seven o’clock, which I imagine is early for Italians to eat their evening meal.
One of the waitresses leads us through the terracotta-tiled reception, past a pizza oven and into the main dining room.
This is dominated by several thick marble pillars, dotted with glass pendant lights with frilled edges, and the tables are surrounded by wicker-backed chairs, covered with plain white cloths, and decorated with matching napkins fanning out from the wineglasses.
It’s homely and feels authentic and I catch the smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen.
The waitress seats us at a table in front of a mural of a Tuscan landscape. “Allora, what you like to drink?” she asks.
I decide not to order any alcohol, fearful of attracting the kids’ disapproval, and opt for a fizzy water.
Once the waitress has gone, we pick up our menus.
“This is our first restaurant of the summer!” says Theo, putting on his tortoiseshell reading glasses. “Let’s enjoy it, gang!”
Archie whoops in excitement but Callum and Mabel don’t react.
“Now who knows what an insalata tricolore is?” Theo asks, peering over the top of his glasses.
Callum rolls his eyes. “It says here, Dad: it’s a salad with tomato, avocado and mozzarella.”
“Yeah but who knows why it’s called a tricolore?” says Theo.
Mabel huffs. “Here we go again—it’s like being at school.”
“Because it’s green, white and red,” Theo explains, undeterred. “The colors of the Italian flag, which is called the tricolore.”
I quirk an eyebrow at him. “How can I have got to the age of forty-five without knowing that? I love an insalata tricolore!”
Callum mimes a yawn. “Dad, that’s proper boring.”
Theo ignores him and changes tack. “Hey Ads, I wonder if your uncle ever ate in here.”
I put my menu down. “I didn’t think of that.”
Callum snaps his menu shut. “Adam, how come you don’t know anything about your own uncle?”
“He was my great-uncle, actually.” I lean back against the wall. “There was some argument in the family, but it was way before I was born. I think my mum was around but she was very little.”
“So why don’t you ask her?” caws Mabel.
“I can’t. She died when I was eleven.”
There’s a bump of silence.
Archie pulls Hulk and Iron Man out of his pockets and stands them up on his plate.
“How did she die?” Mabel asks, a little more gently.
Theo takes off his glasses and puts them away. “You know, you don’t have to talk about this, Ads. Not if you don’t want to.”
“No, no, it’s fine. It was a long time ago now.” I turn back to the kids. “She was hit by a car.”
“Did she walk across the road without looking?” asks Archie, glancing up from the fight between his figures.
I give a stiff smile. “Something like that, yeah.”
“Dad says I should always look before I cross the road,” Archie comments. And with that, he lifts up Hulk and makes him punch Iron Man so hard he falls back onto the tablecloth.
“He’s right,” I comment.
“What about your dad?” asks Callum. “Is he dead too?”
“No, he’s alive. I just don’t speak to him very much. We’re not close.” That’s an understatement. I haven’t even replied to the text he sent when I was on my way to the airport. Just reading it made me feel worked up and triggered.
“Does he not like you being gay?” Callum says, bluntly.
For a moment I’m not sure how to answer that.
As a child, I did think my dad didn’t like me being gay—or coming across as gay would be a better way of putting it, seeing as I was so young.
And that hurt and tormented me, a hurt and torment I still haven’t been able to shake off.
That’s probably because, as an adult, we haven’t really discussed it.
Although I came out to Auntie Julie at eighteen—and she was fine, having fully expected it, her reassurances long-rehearsed—I never properly came out to Dad: I think I was too scared.
Instead, I just fudged it. When I was writing him an email, I casually mentioned going on a night out in the Gay Village.
In my next email, I dropped the name of some man I was dating, but in a way that was so vague he could have been a friend.
But Dad fudged it, too, by declining to respond to either comment.
He did meet one or two of my exes, at a party for his sixtieth birthday and the wedding of one of my stepbrothers.
But their status in my life was never openly acknowledged: I just introduced them by name and no questions were asked.
So it wouldn’t be strictly accurate to say that’s why he and I aren’t close—or his text made me feel triggered.
Or at least it’s not the whole story. It’s more complicated than that.
Luckily, the waitress reappears and Callum loses interest in his own question. Once she’s offloaded our drinks and taken our food order, he asks her for the Wi-Fi password. Then he and Mabel promptly switch off from their surroundings and disappear into their phones.
For once, Theo doesn’t mention his rule of no phones at the table—presumably overriding it because they’ve gone without Wi-Fi for so long. I don’t say anything as it’s good to be able to chat to him. But, when the food arrives, Theo does tell the kids to put their phones away.
Seconds later, his own phone rings. He angles the screen towards me so I can see it’s Kate. “Perfect timing,” he mutters under his breath.
“Gang,” he says to the kids, “your mum’s on the phone.”
Theo greets her, then hands the phone to Archie.
“I’ve got a pizza!” Archie says, through a mouthful. “Cheese and tomato … yeah. … I like it here. … It’s a big house. … Yeah. … We went to the castle. … Yeah. …” He looks at Theo. “Dad, what was that animal called? The one we saw on the first night?”
Theo stabs into a roast potato. “A wild boar.”
“A wild boar,” Archie repeats to his mum. “It was a mummy with a baby. But it didn’t attack us. It was nice.”
He rests Theo’s phone on the table and crams more pizza into his mouth.
Callum snatches up the handset and thrusts it back at him. “Archie, say goodbye to Mum. I want to speak to her.”
“Bye, Mum!” Archie shouts, his words barely audible through a wall of pizza.
Callum lifts the phone to his ear. “Mum, I’ve got to be quick. I’m starving and my pizza’s just arrived.”
But that’s all I catch, because he stands up and walks away from the table.
“How’s your pizza, Mabel?” Theo asks.
“Yeah, it’s alright.” But she’s only nibbling at the edges.
When Callum comes back, Mabel takes the phone, bounces out of her seat and disappears behind a marble pillar.
“Everything alright, Cal?” Theo asks.
Callum grunts and plugs his mouth with pizza.
Once I’ve finished eating, I excuse myself and go to the loo.
The restaurant’s filling up and I have to weave my way through customers who’ve pushed their chairs back into the aisles.
Just before I go downstairs, I spot Mabel, leaning against the pillar and chatting into the phone. Wait a minute, is she crying?
I move closer, hiding on the other side of the pillar.
“But Mum, I miss you,” she’s saying, in between sniffles. “Why did you have to leave us?”
All of a sudden, I’m twelve years old again, missing my dad and wondering why he’s left me. Poor Mabel.
I don’t want her to spot me listening so I jog downstairs to the loo.
By the time I return to the table, Mabel’s sitting back down, her eyes dried, her face hidden behind her hair. She’s prodding at her pizza but hardly eating it.
“Was it nice to speak to your mum?” I ask, cheerfully.
She shrugs.
“Come on, Mabel, eat your pizza,” Theo says.
She pushes it away. “It’s cold.”
“I like cold pizza,” Theo chirps.
“I don’t,” Mabel snarls.
His tone becomes firmer. “Well, you need to eat something.”
I smile at Mabel as compassionately as I can. “Come on, listen to your dad.”
She shoots me an icy glare. “You don’t even speak to yours!”
“Yeah, you can hardly lecture us!” snaps Callum.
I wish I hadn’t told them that.
I look at my watch: it’s eight o’clock. We’ll be able to wind the meal up soon. But it’s looking like it’s going to be a long summer.