Chapter 48
“How’s it going, Giuseppe? Any news?”
Our head builder is looking hot and bothered. “Adam, I tell you again,” he says, wiping his brow with a muscled arm, “I find you when we know.”
“Sorry, sorry!”
I’m waiting to discover if the roof of the cottage can be patched up and can hardly contain myself. Neither can Theo. Already this morning, he’s done two loads of laundry and hung it out to dry, while I gave the kitchen a deep clean—ready for the party that may or may not happen.
It doesn’t help that Callum and Mabel are also on edge, scrolling through their phones, their earphones jammed in.
Archie, however, knows nothing about the drama.
We’ve decided we’ll only tell him if it’s bad news and will affect him.
Blissfully unaware of the tension, he asks Theo if they can check on the wasp traps.
“I’ll come too!” I almost shriek.
“Woo-woo!” says Archie, jumping up and down.
Theo and Archie take me around the three traps they created, using plastic water bottles with their tops cut off and inverted, their rims smeared with jam to attract the wasps, and their insides filled with vinegar to poison and drown them.
When we check the first trap, we find the bodies of several dead wasps floating in the vinegar.
Theo and Archie use an old wooden spoon to fish them out.
“Dad, what do wasps do?” asks Archie.
“I think they spread pollen, like bees,” answers Theo. “And they eat little insects that attack our crops, so they’re part of the food chain.”
Archie frowns. “I don’t like them.”
I smile and tilt my head. “I don’t think anybody does. But that doesn’t mean they’re bad.”
“So why are we killing them?” he says.
Theo takes the dead wasps and tosses them over the hillside. “Good point.”
But it’s a point neither of us knows how to answer.
By the time we’re emptying the third trap, it’s become clear that however many wasps we catch, we’re never going to get rid of them completely: everywhere we look, they’re still buzzing around flowers or grapes.
“They must have a nest somewhere,” says Theo.
Archie stands up, his eyes bulging. “Can we find it?”
Theo contorts his face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, squirt.”
Once again, I remember Angelika saying Wilf embraced all aspects of nature, good and bad. And once again, I think that living here, there isn’t really any alternative. Besides, as soon as we’ve gone, nature will just resume its advance.
“I’ve got an idea,” I say. “Why don’t we stop killing them and leave them alone?”
Theo pauses, his spoon plunged in the vinegar. “I suppose they haven’t actually stung any of us. What do you think, squirt?”
Archie blinks a few times as he considers the proposition. “Yeah, OK.”
We set about dismantling the traps and throwing them away.
When we return to the patio to rejoin Callum and Mabel, they’re still on their phones—and looking increasingly agitated.
“Do we still not know what’s going on?” asks Callum, removing his earphones. “This is proper unbearable.”
“I’m afraid not,” I reply. “And I can’t nag Giuseppe any more.”
Mabel puts her phone down and suggests recording more social media content. “In case we do have to go home,” she says to me under her breath. “That way, I can keep posting from Manchester.”
She reports that over the last few days, engagement on our various channels has held up well but still comes mainly from already existing friends and connections: we’re struggling to widen our network.
She did post a video of me playing with the kittens—introducing each of them by name—to which she added several cat hashtags.
This attracted a lot of attention from largely female cat owners in the Midwest of America—but our clickthroughs to the website actually went down.
“We should probs try something different,” says Mabel.
She suggests doing a post in which I appear with Theo—until Theo reminds her that, as a headteacher, he can’t generate content himself. “It’s fine if I happen to stray into someone else’s post, but I can’t be seen to promote a business.”
Archie must have overheard the conversation as he erupts. “I know! I can do a dance! The one where I wiggle my bum!”
He demonstrates and this raises a giggle.
“That’s superb,” says Theo. “But we couldn’t really have you in the videos unless your mum agreed.”
“Let’s phone her!” Archie suggests.
Theo rakes his hand through his hair. “Now’s not really the time, squirt.”
Actually, what is the time? I look at my watch and see it’s eleven o’clock. What’s taking Giuseppe so long?
Desperate to keep myself occupied, I come up with ideas for some TikTok videos. First, I suggest introducing our followers to Len and Lionel the gay lizards, then realize this might actually backfire. “Not everyone wants to share their home with reptiles, whatever their sexuality.”
“Why don’t you do something in the kitchen?” suggests Mabel.
Theo proposes a demonstration of how to make Italian coffee in a traditional moka, but we decide this isn’t fun enough—and too many people will know, anyway.
“You should cook something,” pipes Callum. “You love cooking.”
“But it needs to be something quick,” cautions Mabel. “What was that thing you made us on the first day?”
“I can’t remember.” Already the start of summer seems a lifetime ago, as if it happened to someone else. “Oh, a frittata! But you all thought that was rank!”
Mabel gives a sardonic grin. “We didn’t really. Surely you’ve learned that by now?”
Reasoning we can eat it for lunch, I agree.
As I fry an onion and spinach, crack and whisk the eggs, and fold in the ricotta cheese, I give a commentary to the camera. Just after I’ve slid my frittata into the oven, I hear a shout from Giuseppe.
“Adam! Adam! Where are you?”
Finally!
Mabel and I rush out onto the patio, where Theo and Callum have stood up, eager to hear what he has to say.
“I have good news,” booms Giuseppe. “The repair works!”
My stomach gives a little flip. “So we don’t have to do the whole roof?”
“No, we do not do the whole roof,” Giuseppe confirms.
Theo, Callum and Mabel cheer. Archie joins in, even though he has no idea why he’s cheering. And I find myself hugging a shirtless, slippery Giuseppe.
“Thank you!” I gush. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“I am pleased you are happy,” Giuseppe says, looking a little stunned.
“Why are we celebrating?” asks Archie.
“We’re having a party!” I sing-song.
“I know that!” But he jumps up and down and wiggles his bum anyway.
“Right, I need to call your mum,” says Theo, scouting around for his phone.
“Can I speak to her too?” I ask.
Theo looks at me with a confused expression.
“I’ll explain on the way,” I say, urging him towards the olive grove.
Then I remember. “Hang on a minute; I need to take out my frittata!”