The Silent Wife(120)

I wondered if the massive family rift could ever be healed. And whether it would be in anyone’s interests. I felt a rush of protectiveness as I imagined Lara and Nico in the same room as Massimo. He’d try and make light of all of it, somehow tricking us into thinking we’d overreacted. I wouldn’t be on the #ForgiveMassimo team anytime soon.

And anyway, we had our own mini-Massimo in Ben, without the bastard behaviour.

Sam was straight in with a hundred questions – ‘How many swimming trophies have you got? Twenty-seven? Francesca’s only got nine,’ creating an awkward pause while Ben came up with a tactful reply. Francesca seemed rather overawed, but whether that was because she was taking in the fact that she had a new cousin or because he was the god of the swimming circuit and ridiculously handsome, I wasn’t sure. I did know that a lot of kudos from her friends angling for an introduction was heading her way.

After a while, Sam got bored with the whole trip down the Farinelli memory lane and demanded that Ben played table tennis with him. I watched them on the patio, loving Ben for tolerating Sam’s erratic smash style, which was brilliant when it worked but was let down by its ten per cent success rate. Eventually, Ben asked Sandro to have a game. Much to Sam’s irritation since we’d bought the table tennis table at the beginning of the summer, Sandro had found his sporting niche. He won the best of three. Ben high-fived him, saying, ‘Beaten fair and square by my little brother!’

Sandro’s face was a picture. His eyes widened and a huge grin spread over his face. I had to clear my throat to stop my eyes welling up as he said, ‘Can I call you my brother?’

Ben ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Well, I’m actually your half-brother. But we don’t have to tell people that.’

Not to be outdone, Sam piped up, ‘You can be my brother too if you like. And Francesca’s.’

At a later date, I’d have to help Sam grasp the fact that you couldn’t just go around muscling in on other people’s siblings and claiming them as your own.

I wanted to capture this moment in time and take a photo of this funny old family but didn’t want to intrude on the emotions of the moment – the apologies, the explanations, the reminiscing, the hope for the future. Who would have predicted that Anna, who’d so often sneered at the very mention of Dawn’s name, would now be tugging at her sleeve and begging her to keep in touch? That Mum would be belting out ‘My Way’ giving a demonstration of the sing-song she’d had with Robert last time she visited him? That the intimidating Farinellis would turn out to be just like any other family with their secrets but also their strengths – a right hotchpotch of half-brothers, ex-wives, new wives, unlikely friends and even more unlikely allies. It was the human equivalent of Nico’s potting shed where bits were grafted on, cuttings taken and planted elsewhere, half-dead twigs watered, fed and given a new lease of life.

Francesca tapped me on the arm. ‘I forgot to give you your birthday card.’

‘Thank you.’ There was something in her face that made me not want to open it. I hoped it wasn’t a jokey evil stepmother card I’d have to laugh off but secretly be cut to the quick. She stood there all expectantly. I prepared my face.

I pulled out a picture of a Great Dane. My voice came out all false. ‘Oh, isn’t he cute? That’s lovely.’

I dreaded opening it up in case it just said a bald ‘From Francesca’ like the year before.

I steeled myself and tried not to make it obvious I was reading through the tiniest corner of one eye.



‘To my second mum, have a lovely birthday, I’m so glad Dad married you.’