Chapter 7 Fenna – Day 1
Following a call for dinner, the family move from the comfy sofas to the long outdoor dining table.
It is dressed as if styled by a professional for a magazine shoot.
Fenna has told Julietta many times that her tablescape talents are wasted but she chuckles and ignores the compliment.
Matching sage-coloured vintage porcelain sits on rustic rattan placemats, adorned with linen napkins in antique jewelled napkin rings.
An impressive centrepiece of seasonal foliage and velvet olive leaves is lit by individual tealights.
Italian jazz music plays from an outdoor speaker and fairy lights twinkle.
‘Fen, when are you back to work?’ Gerry asks with his mouth full. A grain of rice flicks out and gets stuck in his beard.
‘I’m not sure.’
The truth is, she’s at a loss with her job.
Her agency has said they would put her forward for ‘mum brands’ until she lost the baby weight, but even the thought of attending a casting makes her panic.
Then again, a reason to leave the house, to go to the toilet alone and have someone else making her a cup of tea – that she can drink while it’s still hot – sounds like heaven.
‘Have you picked up many hobbies whilst you’re on your nice break from work?’ Gerry asks.
‘Hobbies?’ Fenna repeats to make sure she’s heard him right.
She’s been awake for two months solid whilst taking care of a toddler and a newborn. Her body is broken.
‘Erm no. No time for hobbies . . .’ She jabs her fork into her chicken breast. Garlic sauce oozes around her plate.
‘I couldn’t bear to leave my boys. I didn’t officially get back to the studio until they were well into primary school,’ Marianne clucks, adding reluctantly, ‘but I suppose every mother is different.’
Fenna nods to her mouth full of food as if that’s the reason she can’t answer.
‘And Luke, how about you?’ Gerry asks, wiping the piece of food from his beard with his finger before examining it and eating it. ‘The new business going well?’
Luke sits back in his chair, the glow from the uplighter behind his head casting a halo around his hair. ‘Yeah, fantastic, thanks.’
She watches him lie so effortlessly, taken aback by how convincing he comes across. Only she knows how tough it’s been with the business is in its infancy. She’s tried her best to support his decision to go freelance but they’ve never argued about money so much as they have recently.
‘The food was delicious, thank you,’ Rosie says politely, as Carla passes by to clear her plate. It is still half-full. Perhaps it’s nerves.
She’s pretty, very English rose. Her pale complexion will surely struggle in the heat. Her mid-length light brown hair is in a neat half-up-half-down style and she has big, expressive eyes, like one of Alba’s dolls.
Marianne’s dig about intelligence didn’t pass Fenna by. She’s heard it all before. The airhead model. Beauty, not brains. People underestimate her all the time; she just wishes she wasn’t related to them.
Based on tonight’s initial impression, Rosie seems harmless.
A little jittery but that must be the pressure of meeting her boyfriend’s family.
Theo is sitting beside her, their hands clasped, skin velcroed together.
He looks besotted. Fenna smiles at the memory of her and Luke like that. Funny how quickly that phase can fade.
‘You’re near York, aren’t you?’ Fenna asks Theo and Rosie.
‘Yep, not too far.’ Rosie fidgets as she speaks. She has gone quiet since breaking her glass. Everyone told her it was fine, it wasn’t the family crystal, but she must be embarrassed.
‘Hopefully we’ll be moving in together soon,’ Theo says with a bright smile. ‘Did I mention my promotion, Mum?’
Theo tells them all about his new role as a sports therapist for disadvantaged teenagers, and the podcast he’s launching soon. They are chalk and cheese. Luke is Mr Corporate whereas Theo wants to help others.
‘Ugh,’ Luke groans loudly. ‘Surely the world doesn’t need any more podcasts.’
Theo kindly picks up a teddy that Alba has knocked to the floor. ‘Yep, another one,’ he replies, not rising to the bait.
‘How did it go when your parents first met Theo?’ Fenna asks, changing the subject.
‘My dad’s not with us anymore,’ Rosie says sadly.
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Thank you. It was a long time ago . . .’ She mouths the word ‘cancer’.
Rosie and Theo have got that shared experience.
Luke barely talks about his dad. He died when the boys were young.
Fenna’s tried to get him to open up but it is very much a closed-off subject.
Uncle Richard, who isn’t officially an uncle, had been more of a father figure during the boys’ adolescence than Luke lets on.
Perhaps that’s why she often gets the sense that Gerry feels second best.
‘And Theo hasn’t met my mum yet.’
Theo’s planning to move to live with her. Yet he’s not met her mum? Fenna’s face must have given away how confusing it sounds.
‘She’s abroad. She works on a cruise ship so it’s tricky trying to pin her down to Facetime and stuff,’ Rosie adds quickly. Her knee dances up and down. Theo moves his hand to calm the jittering leg.
‘I hope we’ll get to meet her soon. So, tell us about how you two met? Theo is terrible at sharing the details,’ Marianne encourages.
Rosie smiles and looks over at Theo affectionately. ‘It’s not an understatement to say that he saved me from the world’s worst Tinder date. I’d travelled to London to meet this guy, who was nothing like his picture—’
Theo winces. ‘She was catfished.’
‘Big style.’ Rosie picks up her glass. Fenna notices the slight tremble in her hand. ‘I was drowning my sorrows in a pub in Soho when Theo walked in. He heard my accent and we got chatting.’
‘We realised we work twenty, minutes from each other. The rest is history.’ Theo beams.
‘Well, you must be doing something right as Theo’s never brought a girlfriend to Villa Speranza before,’ Fenna says. No wonder the poor girl looks like a rabbit in the headlights, this is clearly a big deal for both of them.
‘I feel very lucky. This holiday came at the right time.’ Rosie smiles.
Luke burps. Fenna elbows him, embarrassed on his behalf. ‘Whoops, excuse me. Compliments to the chef. Dinner was delicious,’ Luke says. ‘Much better than the food last time I was here.’
‘I’m surprised you can remember what you ate then,’ Gerry sniffs. ‘You know the neighbours are still cross about it?’
‘It wasn’t my fault.’ Luke rolls his eyes. ‘Jonno can’t handle his drink.’
‘Well Jonno’s still not paid for the damage,’ Gerry huffs.
‘What happened?’ Theo asks.
Fenna has no idea what they’re talking about.
‘Nothing. Drop it,’ Luke says, pouring himself another glass of wine.
Fenna grits her teeth, wanting someone to tell her what’s going on.
Of course she knew that Luke had come here with a few mates for a lads’ weekend at the start of May, but he’d said it was pretty low-key, something about how they all couldn’t party like they used to.
She’d not given it a second thought at the time but clearly she’s been kept in the dark.
‘Go on . . .’ Theo smirks.
Luke crosses his arms. ‘Jonno got pissed and set off fireworks, which went into the neighbour’s land. The police were called. It was all blown out of proportion and everything was fixed and repaired like new.’
Fenna stares at her husband. Why didn’t he tell her this?
‘Boys will be boys,’ Marianne clucks. ‘Could you turn that down please, darling,’ she asks Alba who lets out an excitable giggle at whatever Bluey is doing on her tablet.
Alba ignores her grandma’s request.
‘Tomorrow I will ask Julietta to give the children an earlier dinner. It’s far too late for Alba to be staying up at her age.’
‘Oh? It’s only eight o’clock,’ Fenna says. She knows she should try and wrestle the screen from her daughter but she is enjoying the peace.
‘Exactly. It must be her bedtime soon? Routine is key at this age.’
She stares at her husband, waiting for him to chip in. He is too busy examining the wine label to pick up on his mother’s passive-aggressive tone.
‘It’s their holiday too,’ Fenna replies as politely as she can despite the knot of irritation forming in her stomach.
Fenna knows that her style of parenting is different to Marianne’s, who believes children should be seen and heard at times when it suits her.
Fenna wants her children to have the childhood she did – long, balmy nights, being part of the dinner table conversation, involved in family time, not rushed to bed and forced to stay out of the way.
Her relaxed ‘European’ views are a bone of contention.
‘If you want her to sit with the grown-ups, it might be an idea to work on her table manners?’
Fenna wants to scream that Alba is only three.
How impeccable does she expect her grand-daughter to be?
It’s the first night. Bite your tongue. Every time Marianne interferes with her parenting it makes Fenna feel like she’s failing.
She takes a deep breath and nods. She needs to keep the peace. For now.