Chapter 25
The next morning, Theo goes down to the village to work and the kids and I get on with clearing all the debris out of the pizza oven.
At the start of the job, they’re more enthusiastic than usual.
But then Callum tugs out a piece of wood that gives him a splinter in his index finger.
I pull it out with a pair of tweezers and apply some antiseptic, but after this his enthusiasm drops—and so does Mabel’s.
They start handling wood with the tips of their fingers, as if it’s radioactive.
As we’ve nearly finished the job, I persuade them to keep going with the promise that after lunch we can visit Angelika—and her pool.
When we arrive at the address Angelika sent on Facebook, I discover that her house is surrounded by tall railings and accessed through intercom-operated security gates.
Once they’re buzzed open, we pass through to find Angelika waiting for us in a cheetah-print kaftan, her platinum-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, her lips and nails painted fire-engine red.
Over her head, she’s holding a dainty lace parasol, and her eyes are hidden behind gold-framed sunglasses.
“Darlings, welcome!” she trills. “Leave your bags at the door and I’ll show you round!”
Angelika lives in a handsome stone house that’s roughly the same size as ours.
It used to be a traditional Tuscan farmhouse but has been converted into a luxurious, ultra-modern, open-plan living space, with a kitchen that looks like something out of a spaceship and clean, white walls hanging with colorful, abstract paintings—as well as several of Wilf’s watercolors running up the stairs.
As we leave behind the air-conditioning of the house, the heat hits us again.
I fan myself with my Panama hat and gaze out over vast landscaped gardens that are bursting with flowers—the dominant color being red—and populated by several modern, outlandish sculptures.
At the bottom of a sloped lawn is the—surprisingly large—pool.
Without any prompting, Archie runs towards it, flinging off his T-shirt and kicking his sliders in the air. I run after him and grab him by the back of the shorts. “Not so fast!”
I take off his glasses, quickly apply his suncream, and instruct him to wait for it to dry while I see to Callum and Mabel.
They each apply their own but Callum begrudgingly lets me do his back.
As I run my hands over a light coating of hair, I feel him tensing.
He probably doesn’t realize how many men remove their unwanted back and shoulder hair, his dad included.
I’m about to crack a joke about smearing Veet on Theo’s back being a test of how much I love him but stop myself: it would probably be better if Theo had a quiet chat with him about it.
Mabel, meanwhile, is wearing a swimming costume that covers up—but can’t disguise—her big boobs.
Even after I’ve rubbed suncream into her back, she keeps it turned.
The second I tell her the suncream’s dried, she straps on her goggles and plunges into the water.
Angelika and I take seats at a table under a giant parasol on the paved poolside.
“I can’t get over how glamorous this place is,” I gush. “How long have you lived here?”
She takes off her sunglasses. “Since 1992. Edgar and I had been together a few years, but at first we had to keep our relationship secret. You see, he was married. And I was the mistress, or the ‘side chick’ as they say now.”
From the way her eyes sparkle, I sense she’s enjoying the revelation.
“Tell me more,” I say, smiling so she knows there’s no judgment.
“We were both living in Frankfurt but when Edgar left his wife, she turned the children against me. Not that I blamed her: I did steal her husband.” There it is again: that sparkle in her eyes. “We thought we’d move here to create some distance.”
“Was it tough?”
Angelika takes a packet of cigarettes out of her handbag and screws one into a gold holder. “It was. Edgar’s oldest son was twenty at the time and thought I was trying to get my hands on his dad’s money. In fairness, Edgar did have a lot of money. He was a banker.”
“And what did you do for a living?”
She lights her cigarette with a gold-plated Zippo and blows out a curl of smoke.
“I was an air hostess, darling. That’s how we met.
I was working in the first-class cabin on a flight to Hong Kong and served Edgar a glass of champagne.
Although to listen to his ex-wife, you’d think I’d blown him in the aisle. ”
I laugh so loudly the kids look over.
“Are you coming in, Adam?” shouts Archie.
“Not just yet!” I call back.
Angelika waits for them to start playing again. “How are you getting on with the kids?”
“Better, thanks. Or at least I think so. But it’s been hard work.” I lower my voice. “The other day I caught Mabel running my toothbrush around the toilet bowl.”
Now it’s Angelika’s turn to howl with laughter. “My younger stepson once pissed in a bottle and said he’d made me apple juice.”
I howl some more. “That’s rank! Did you at least catch him before you drank it?”
“Yes. And I remind him of it all the time. Believe it or not, we get on very well now.”
I grab hold of my chair and pull it closer. “So how did you turn things around?”
Angelika sucks in a drag and blows out more smoke. “Funnily enough, the distance helped. Although I appreciate that’s not much use to you. I guess I just didn’t push it. I let them set the pace. And I tried to see things from their perspective.”
As she flicks her ash into a gold-plated tray, I become aware of an argument erupting in the pool. I stand up and walk over. “What’s going on?”
“Archie’s splashing me!” wails Mabel.
“I’m trying to swim but he keeps getting in the way!” moans Callum.
“Please come in with us,” begs Archie. “Please come and play!”
I frown. I am wearing my swimming shorts and have packed a towel, but I’m fascinated by the conversation with Angelika—and still haven’t asked her about Wilf. “I’d love to, Archie, but I’m talking. Why don’t you guys play a game?”
“Of what?”
Scrabbling around for ideas, I find myself revisiting the one holiday I went on with my dad, Debbie, Trevor and Keith.
With two football-obsessed stepbrothers, I was always the odd one out, as they’d delight in reminding me—in between calling me queer and poofter.
The only time I felt comfortable was when we played games in the pool.
Dad would tell us to turn our backs, he’d throw his keys in the water and we’d compete to find them.
As Trevor and Keith weren’t very good swimmers, I’d sometimes win—and for a short time I no longer felt inferior to them.
I outline the game to the kids and, when they express enthusiasm, go to my bag to find the house key.
“Will you throw it in?” asks Archie.
I screw up my face. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to take it in turns.”
I hand the key to Callum first.
“Make sure somebody keeps score!”
When I sit back down, Angelika has stubbed out her cigarette and served two glasses of Prosecco from a bottle that’s been standing in a bucket of ice—but she’s mixed it with raspberry liqueur to “give it a twist.”
“Prost!” she says, holding up her glass.
“Cheers!” I reply, clinking mine against it.
We each take a sip.
“So tell me about you and Wilf,” I begin. “You said you were close.”
Angelika smiles. “Oh, yes. I organized his funeral. Although he didn’t want any fuss so it was very quiet, just a basic cremation.”
“So I heard. Apparently, even Stefano and Luisa didn’t go.”
Angelika tilts her head. “Isn’t that the couple who looked after his house?”
“Yeah. Do you not know them?”
“I wave to them on the road but not really. I only live up the hill but we might as well be in different worlds.”
I nod. “So how did you meet Wilf?”
She twists her gold watch around her wrist. “It was shortly after Edgar and I moved in. I spotted him one day, painting at the side of the road. As you’ve seen, I’m very interested in art, so I went over and introduced myself and we chatted.
Of course, Willie pretended he was living with his ‘friend’ but I saw through that straight away.
Being an air hostess, I was used to being around gay men. My gaydar was as sharp as a stiletto.”
I chuckle. “From what I can make out, he and Arnaldo were very private.”
She takes another swig of her drink. “They were, darling. And Willie was suspicious of me at first. I could tell he was holding back. But I told him stories about going out on the gay scene in San Francisco and Sydney. I remember telling him about trying to find the toilet in a bar and ending up in the dark room—but I didn’t leave till I’d flicked on my lighter so I could check out what was on offer. ”
I roar with laughter. I look over to check the kids aren’t listening but they’re engrossed in their game.
“Willie loved that story,” Angelika says. Then her smile falls. “Edgar was used to gay men, too, as he had a gay brother. But he died of AIDS. When I first met Willie that was all very recent. It was terrible, such an awful way to go.”
I run my fingers up and down the stem of my glass. “I’ve heard it was really grim.”
She nods and lights another cigarette. “I lost a lot of friends, but Edgar was extremely close to his brother. The first time I persuaded Willie and Arnaldo to come here for drinks, he burst into tears. But it was probably a bonding moment for us. I think Willie and Arnaldo could see we understood something of the challenges they’d faced. ”
Mabel walks past us and drops the key down the back of the steps to the pool. “On your marks, get set, go!”
There’s a huge splash as the boys jump in.
“So did they go through a lot?” I ask. “Wilf and Arnaldo?”
Angelika drags on her cigarette. “They had a terrible time.”
As Callum and Archie try to find the key, Mabel hovers by our table, her arms crossed, shielding her boobs.
“Was this when Wilf first came to Italy?” I press.