Anna’s nostrils were flaring, like a horse bothered by a particularly persistent wasp. The holiday in Tuscany and my glittering brainwave of inviting Mum to join us was looking nothing short of lunatic.
I caught Lara’s eye and was relieved she could see the humour in the Italo-Anglo war of words. I got the sense Lara was doing a silent cheer for Beryl.
As Massimo blew his whistle again, I went out to take some photos of the obstacle course. Massimo ran through the rules: before either team could score, they had to knock either Massimo or Nico off the beam with a foam hand. Which was when I discovered that Nico possessed a secret skill – wonderful balance. In contrast, a little poke with a big foam hand was enough to send Massimo wibble-wobbling off his perch despite his tongue stuck out in concentration and his eyes trained on a point in the distance.
Nico teased him: ‘Need to get down the gym, big man, work on your core muscles, gone to pot now you’ve hit forty-five. You won’t be able to touch your toes soon…’ He followed this by standing on one leg and still resisting the onslaught of ten-year-olds who were bouncing up and down on the beam, trying to shake him off. He egged them on, doing funny little pirouettes, rotating one foot in front of him without toppling over, simultaneously punching footballs out the way with his fist.
When Nico’s team were celebrating their twentieth goal, with Massimo clambering back on for the umpteenth time, the winning kids set up a chant of ‘Losers, losers, losers’.
I was watching Sam, laughing and thumping the air. I was torn between delight he was having a brilliant time and a slight unease at the football hooligan thuggery of it all. I wasn’t sure Sam’s primary school with their ‘everyone’s a winner on sports day’ ethos would be impressed with the ‘learning objectives’ of this particular birthday party.
Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw Massimo slip off the beam, barrelling into Nico, which sent him flying backwards with a dull thud. Nico cracked his head on the edge of the rockery as he fell, groaning as he landed like a pair of bellows forcing out the last gasp of air.
I shot over to him, my feet slipping on the mud in my panic.
Massimo leapt up, offering his hand to Nico. ‘Sorry, mate. Are you all right? I missed my footing.’
Nico lay on his back, grunting, without reaching up for Massimo’s hand.
The children went quiet. One of the girls giggled. Nico touched the back of his head, and looked at his fingers, which were covered in blood.
I knelt down next to him as Lara came rushing up with a tea towel and some water. Anna soon came witching out, screaming at the children to move back in a way they’d probably be recounting to their psychotherapists in later years to explain their fear of footballs.
Massimo hurried out an explanation. ‘I overbalanced and fell into him. He went toppling over and cracked his head. So unlucky.’
Despite Anna shouting at them, the kids edged closer in horrified fascination, with variations of ‘Ugh!’ ‘Yuk!’ ‘Gross!’ plus one little sod who shouted out a delighted ‘Wicked!’
I dabbed at Nico’s cut. He’d gone pale. I stared into his eyes, which thankfully weren’t rotating backwards in their sockets. ‘Are you okay? Do you think you’re concussed? Do we need to take you to hospital?’
Nico shook his head, then winced. ‘No, I think I’ll be all right. Just need to take it easy for a minute.’
I was torn between fear that he might have done himself serious damage and frantically trying to work out how we could take him to A & E when there was the small matter of thirty-five kids to keep under control for another hour.
Francesca was hovering next to him, looking as though she was holding back tears. I forced out a smile to reassure her. ‘Your dad’s going to be fine. Just nip and get Beryl for me – I think she’s in the garage wrapping up an extra pass-the-parcel.’
Within moments, Mum came thumping down the garden, her flip-flops clattering. We helped Nico into a sitting position, while Lara called in the kids for food. I loved the fact that a sausage sandwich held far more interest for ninety-five per cent of the people present than ascertaining whether Nico was going to live through the next half hour.
Massimo sat beside Nico, saying the same thing over and over again, ‘You’re all right, mate. Sorry. Lost my footing. When you’ve recovered you can crack me one.’
Anna was patting Massimo on the shoulder, ‘Amore, it was just an accident.’ She turned to me. ‘Poor Massimo, he’s going to feel so awful about this. Nico always makes such a fuss about things.’
I looked up at her, then back to Nico, who was gritting his teeth in pain.