The Silent Wife(107)

He took the tray and walked through to the sitting room. ‘We’ll have to find a little car for you. Nothing too small though. I want a bit of metal around you, keep you safe.’

I didn’t know why I’d worried about telling him.

As Massimo put the tray down, Dad stopped singing. He looked at me, then pointed at Massimo. ‘Who’s that?’

Very gently, I said, ‘My husband. Sandro’s dad.’

Dad said, ‘No. He’s not your husband.’

Massimo gave me a little wink and whispered, ‘I’ll settle for being your lover.’

But I was determined to help Dad have a clear picture of my nearest and dearest. I tried again, this time with the photo of Sandro’s christening.

‘He is my husband, Dad. Look there’s you, standing next to Anna, then Nico with his wife, Caitlin, who died. And then me with Massimo.’

As clear as anything, as though he’d been rehearsing the words his whole life, Dad pointed to Massimo and then to Caitlin and said, ‘No. He has sex with this woman.’

And then, the man who had moaned about the ‘shocking’ language before the watershed all his life, only ever managing a mild-mannered ‘For goodness’ sake!’ when he stubbed his toe, stood in our sitting room, in front of my husband and sister-in-law and did a crude movement of his hips.





44





MAGGIE




There was a shocked silence in the lounge. A split second when the embarrassment of poor genteel Robert standing there, bucking his hips for all his creaking joints were worth, obliterated his words. We would have been world champions at musical statues. I glanced at Lara first. Her face was all wrong. Not shocked or hurt or angry. Her eyebrows were up. Her arms folded. Her bottom lip covering her top one.

Grim satisfaction.

My mind felt like a giant road sweeper, sucking up all sorts of debris, without enough mechanical finesse to sift through the lolly sticks and crisp packets for anything of value.

Massimo was shaking his head. ‘Come on, Robert, I think you’re getting a bit muddled. This is my wife,’ he said, indicating Lara. He did a little laugh and caught my eye. ‘Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be very keen on me having sex with anyone else.’

Robert drew his shrunken frame up as far as it would go, a good five or six inches shorter than Massimo. He pointed back to the photo. ‘You. You. I see you.’ He tapped his own eye with his index finger.

Massimo sighed. ‘I think you’ve got it wrong, old man. You’re mistaking me for Nico, my brother.’

He turned to Lara. ‘We’d better let him know he needs some net curtains up at the bedroom window.’

Lara still didn’t say anything.

And just as I was fishing about for something to rescue the situation, to save Lara and Massimo from the hideousness of Robert’s wild imaginings, the doorbell rang. Whoever it was – Jehovah’s Witnesses, young offenders selling ironing board covers, the bloke selling ‘restaurant quality fish’ out of the back of his van – I was going to fall on them and keep them captive until they were tempted to dial 999 to escape.

Francesca came clattering out of the playroom with Sandro and threw the front door open. ‘It’s Dad!’

‘How did you get on?’ Nico was so busy looking at her medal and hearing about the swimming, he didn’t clock the funny-farm party in the lounge. As he walked through the hallway towards us, I was tempted to throw myself against his chest where bits of plant and compost were still clinging.

I raised my eyebrows at Nico, hoping he’d cop on to my wifespeak that we were in the middle of a ‘tricky situation’. I’d only got as far as ‘We’re just talking to Robert, Lara’s dad,’ when Massimo waved a hand towards Nico and said, ‘There, Robert. This is the man you saw with Caitlin. My brother, Nico.’

I waited, watching Robert, seeing if anything slotted into place. It was like playing Jenga in reverse, working out which bits you could slot back into the tower to stop the structure collapsing in a heap. His eyes narrowed as though a tremendous effort was required to keep hold of solid substances in the mists of his mind.

Robert walked towards Nico and stood opposite him, within millimetres of his face.

Nico, bless him, stepped back slightly but took hold of Robert’s arm. ‘I’m Nico, do you remember me? We met at Lara and Massimo’s wedding.’

The mention of Massimo was like watching someone give a cutlery drawer wedged shut by a wooden spoon a good thump. After so much tugging and banging, everything suddenly glided open with ease. Robert swung round and poked his bony finger in Massimo’s chest.