The Silent Wife(70)
Briefly, I entertained an image of Sandro and me in a little flat with a view of the sea in the distance. My choice of pictures on the walls. Not having to double-check every tiny Lego block was tidied away before Massimo came home. Sandro drawing as much and for as long as he wanted, without being shipped off to judo or rugby. Never walking into a room again with my skin prickling, groping about for clues, assessing the temperature of Massimo’s mood.
Instead, as always, my flirtation with the idea I could live a different life, that rush of energy, withered away. The sheer force of Massimo’s denial, the relentlessness of it, would eat away at my conviction I was right. He’d sidestep any accusation, heaping grievances upon me – ‘Even if I did have an affair, with a wife as fat/slovenly/charmless as you, who could blame me?’ – until some infected, gangrenous part of my soul believed I was lucky to have him. And then the sun would come out and once again, he’d make me feel as though I was the sexiest, most interesting woman he’d ever had the luck to meet.
Until the next time.
Maggie did a final snuffle into her tissue. ‘Sorry. I didn’t come round to vomit up all my worries. I actually came round to ask if you would mind if Mum and I took Sandro out with Sam on the odd day while we’re in Italy, to have a bit of a break from everyone. I don’t want Anna to think we’re ungrateful, but Mum is pretty outspoken at the best of times, and I just wanted to find an excuse for some time apart if it gets too hairy.’
I nodded, seeing the relief wash over her face.
‘Massimo would be okay with it, wouldn’t he?’
‘Yes, I’m sure he would. He’s very fond of you.’ I was ashamed of the little stab of jealousy I’d felt when I saw Massimo put his hands on Maggie’s arms at the party.
She smiled. ‘Thanks, Lara. I don’t want to step on his toes – he was just telling me the other day how much he was looking forward to spending time with Sandro. You can see he just wants the best for you both. The whole family actually. He’s been so welcoming to me.’
Maggie was right. Without proof, who would ever believe her?
Or me?
30
MAGGIE
As we travelled to Italy the next day, every now and again I’d feel a rush of worry. It had been bad enough holding the ‘Caitlin’s not the perfect wife we all thought she was’ secret to myself, without the additional fear that Lara might blurt it out. God knows what possessed me to tell her, though to be fair, if anyone ever walked this earth who personified zipped up and locked with a combination padlock, it was probably Lara.
As we reached the end of a long drive and drew into the castle grounds, Nico waved his arm theatrically and said, ‘Welcome to Castello della Limonaia!’ I squeezed his hand, glad of a change of scene, away from the house in Brighton where every room felt as though it was whispering conflicting secrets to me. He kissed me on the cheek and as I leaned into him, I caught sight of Mum studying us from the back seat. I did sometimes feel like a science experiment – join together two people from different backgrounds and see whether the marriage turns into a mutant.
During the journey, I wanted to take in all of the scenery, lose myself in my dreams and the fields of sunflowers, soak up Nico’s little nuggets of information: ‘Sunflowers in Italian are called girasoli – girare means to turn, and sole is sun – because they turn their faces to the sun.’
But every time he said something, I felt as though I needed to repeat it to myself, over and over again, to cement it in my brain so I’d be able to nod knowledgably along with the rest of the family, without Anna chiming up, ‘But Nico has already explained that to you.’
With Francesca sitting behind me, teen-ready with ‘You don’t say it like that’, I didn’t even dare attempt to repeat the word out loud. I was dreading having to choose in restaurants in front of them all, the orders rolling off their tongues until it was my turn. I’d probably order a pizza fungus by mistake and have the whole restaurant in stitches. When I’d tried to discuss my worries with Nico, he’d kissed me on the nose and said, ‘It’s a holiday, not an episode of Mastermind. We’ll love showing the three of you around.’
As soon as the car ground to a halt, Sam shot out, so excited to be abroad for the first time, that I pushed the previous day’s weird scenario with Lara out of mind. She’d seemed almost nosey about what had happened with the box, full of questions, which was so unlike her. Half the time she seemed so disinterested in me – or anyone else – that I wondered if she even liked people. Maybe, like me, she was relieved Caitlin had fallen down a rather large crack. In short, she was human like the rest of us. Even Massimo had been known to feed into the ‘Caitlin dropped glitter wherever she glided’ mythology. I made a mental note never to elevate Nico to hero status if he pegged it and I married again, though the odds of two husbands in one lifetime were slim. It really was so bloody tedious for the one that came next.