Chapter 39 Fenna – Day 9
‘Why is your mum here?’ Fenna asks Luke through gritted teeth.
Marianne insisted on pushing Raffi’s pushchair through the crowds of tourists huddling around the ‘finest olive oil in Tuscany’ stall, keen to try a free sample.
‘She wants to hang out. What? Don’t give me that look. I could hardly say no,’ Luke scoops Alba up from nearly being run over by a teenager on a scooter.
It’s unbearably hot and the temperature is set to rise.
The narrow mediaeval streets of Monterchi are filled with bargain-hunters clogging up the cobbled pavements for the weekly farmers market.
Fenna didn’t want to come and not because Rosie’s confession plays on a loop in her mind from yesterday.
It’s crowded and noisy. The air smells of deet, suncream, and boiling oil from a food stall on the corner selling coccoli, fried salty doughballs.
Normally one of her favourite snacks, but she has lost her appetite.
Alba is clearly not in the mood either and keeps screaming to be put down. Luke is oblivious to the chaos and has stopped at a stall selling artisan leather belts. He holds up two tan-coloured ones with silver buckles and black stitching.
‘Which do you prefer?’ he asks.
‘They look identical to me.’ She holds on to Alba’s clammy, wriggling hand, whilst keeping an eye on Marianne at the next stall with Raffi.
‘Hmm. This one’s nicer.’ He pulls out his wallet. The stall holder quickly appears with a card reader.
‘My card wasn’t working the other day,’ Fenna remembers.
‘I’ll speak to my accountant to see if he’s moved the money from that high interest savings account yet.’ Luke frowns at the belts. ‘On second thought, I’ll leave it.’
The stall holder mutters something and snatches the merchandise off Luke.
‘Are we ok, Luke? Financially I mean?’ she asks, unable to hide the worry in her voice.
He lied about checking Rosie out – is he lying about this?
‘Course. Why?’ He puts his wallet away.
‘I know we said we’d not live beyond our means whilst I’m on maternity leave, but we are ok?’ She knows she should take more ownership of the family finances but there’s not enough space in her baby-fied brain to fit it in.
‘Everything’s fine.’ He moves to the side to let a heavy-set woman barge past holding a watermelon.
She nods, believing him. He is obsessed with money, there’s no way he would take a gamble with their funds.
‘Oh, I forgot to tell you.’ He breaks her thoughts.
‘Theo said he wanted to take me out tomorrow. There’s something he wants to talk about.
I bet he’s going to ask me to be his best man.
Mum would bloody love that. Maybe you and Rosie could hang out?
Get to know each other before she becomes part of the family. ’
Fenna’s body must react before her brain. She freezes. What the hell is she going to do about Rosie?
‘What? You still don’t trust her?’ he asks, misreading her silence.
If only he knew.
For a split second she thinks about telling him what she discovered about Rosie, but an Italian man selling hand-painted clay figurines loudly yells from the stall beside them, making her jump. This is not the time or place for that conversation.
‘Are you ok, Fen?’ Luke frowns.
‘My feet are killing me. Let’s see where we can get an ice-cream,’ Fenna says. Alba stops protesting at this suggestion. ‘Somewhere with air-con.’ She waves a sweaty arm in the air to get Marianne’s attention.
***
They have to cut the trip short. Alba is sick from eating her tutti-frutti ice-cream too quickly, Raffi has two nappy explosions, and they’ve run out of changes of clothes for them both.
Luke grumbles that the changing bag hasn’t been replenished.
She argues that it wasn’t her responsibility to keep on top of it, not when he used the last spare babygrow the other day and didn’t tell her.
Marianne strides ahead, away from them bickering. ‘I’m not taking sides.’
She stops suddenly.
‘Mum?’ Luke calls.
Something has caught Marianne’s attention. She thrusts a trembling arm out for support, clamping a hand onto a stone pillar and muttering to herself.
Luke and Fenna exchange confused looks.
‘Mum, are you ok?’ Luke asks.
He gets no answer. He jogs further up the street to check on her. Alba complains about something in her shoe that’s hurting her. Fenna bends down to pick out a small stone that’s wedged in her tiny open-toed sandals and misses what Marianne says.
When she looks up she sees Carla peering down on her.
She gasps. Carla’s face is on a poster in a shop window. An appeal for information. Mancante. Missing.
Luke guides his mum to sit on a bench in the shade beside two colourful planters. He runs back to Fenna and the children, still walking at Alba’s snail’s pace, and pulls the changing bag from the handles of the pushchair.
‘Where’s that bottle of water?’ he asks, rummaging in the bag.
‘Is your mum ok?’ Fenna asks. She’s never seen her like this.
Marianne has her head in her hands. She suddenly looks very frail. The noise of the market carries on around them. A woman selling lace tablecloths glances over from her stall, clearly wondering what’s going on.
Luke swears, pulling out spare dummies and soiled baby clothes with wild abandon. ‘It’s shock.’
He knocks something onto the floor. Alba cries that her toy is rolling away.
‘I didn’t know they were putting out posters . . .’ She trails off. It makes it feel real that Carla’s missing. What about the theory that she’s visiting friends in Pisa? Her stomach clenches. This is serious.
‘Me neither. Where the hell is the bottle of water? Did you finish it?’ Luke snaps.
She takes the bag from him and opens the side pocket. ‘It’s here.’
He takes it and strides over to Marianne.
Fenna takes one last look at Carla and shivers.