I repeated, ‘Baby steps, one at a time’ to myself.
Nico gave me one of those smiles I was beginning to dread, the one full of sympathy that said, ‘Be patient, we’ll get there.’ I did sometimes have an overwhelming desire to sing, ‘There are Worse Things I Could Do’, accompanied by some chicken-wing movements and Olivia Newton-John jiving not strictly in keeping with the song.
Just occasionally I’d like him to pull her up on her bloody rudeness.
So, with this thought clouding my original hopes for a guilt-free sunny day, I didn’t offer to go with Nico and Anna to the market to do the food shopping. Even though it was my turn, as marked in pink highlighter on Anna’s inflexible little chores rota, I was going to rebel: sit on my sunlounger and read ‘one of those dreadful celebrity gossip magazines’ instead of pontificating about whether tonight’s dinner required a porcino mushroom, an asparagus tip or a bloody snuffle of truffle. Nor was I in the mood to appease Anna’s endless fishing for compliments with arse-licky answers: ‘Yes, the castle is fantastic. Yes, it is a real privilege to be here. No, Sam hasn’t ever travelled anywhere as lovely before.’
Instead I wrapped myself in a towel, waving a cheery goodbye, watching to see if there was a furtive dip of the head as Anna whispered a little dig about me out of earshot. I wasn’t disappointed. I wanted to chase after them down the cobblestones, wobble my fat thighs at her, grab my belly and squidge it into a speaking mouth that said in a high-pitched voice, ‘Go screw yourself’. The temptation to thunder over to her and tell her that even though I could do with stepping through the doors of Slimming World, at least I was faithful and true to her son, unlike Caitlin. I might even share the tongue-twister I’d invented to distract myself when Anna’s Caitlin hyperbole got too much. ‘The pin-thin paragon of all things Pilates with a penchant for penises.’
Massimo appeared carrying a tray of beer. ‘Pre-lunch tipple?’
Thank God for Massimo and his free-flowing booze. I swore Anna had put little marks on the gin bottle in case I had an unauthorised slurp.
Just as I was thinking the day was improving, Massimo said, ‘I’ve booked us all tickets to the open-air opera tonight.’ He looked like one of the excited emojis on Francesca’s phone.
I stared at him, hoping he was joking.
But no. He was serious. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’ve never been to the opera. I’m worried I won’t understand it.’ I felt hot just thinking about sitting through two hours with everyone else nodding along, following the story whereas I’d probably feel like Sandro, forced to go to Mandarin lessons, unable to distinguish between the word for a marshmallow or a mop bucket.
Massimo threw his hands up in mock horror. ‘Never been to an opera! You’ll love it… words and wisdom joined together in perfect musical harmony. You sit next to me, I’ll help you out.’
I wished I’d gone with Nico now. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be thrilled to hear the news.
I pretended I needed to cool down to escape the conversation and swam over to Mum. Massimo had managed to persuade her into the pool despite the fact that she’d never learnt to swim. She sat on the steps in the shallow end, a little Buddha in blue, holding her head out of the water like a nosy ostrich. I’d let Massimo break the news of this evening’s entertainment to her.
Mum kept trying to encourage Sandro in. ‘Aren’t you hot? Why don’t you put your armbands on and come and sit in here with me? I can’t swim either but it’s lovely here on the steps. You’ll be quite safe because I’ll murder anyone who gets my hair wet.’
God bless Mum passing her pacifist tendencies onto the next generation. Thank God Anna wasn’t there to rev up her scissors for snipping a piece out of the paper about the effect of aggressive language on children.
Sandro shook his head. He was arranging pebbles into a shape on the paving stones, sitting by Lara’s sun lounger. I wondered if he minded his dad spending all of his time with Sam and Francesca.
I got out of the pool and dried myself off, intending to redress the balance a bit and see if Sandro wanted to come up onto the ramparts with me to do some drawing, while I took a few photos. The colours of the countryside, the sunflowers and poppies, had given me an idea for a floral patchwork design.
But before I could walk over there, a little altercation broke out, with Lara and Massimo talking to each other in hissy voices, the sort I used on Sam when I didn’t want everyone to know I was telling him off for picking his nose. Massimo had his hands on hips, jerking his head to the pool, then to Sandro. Not for the first time I was grateful I’d been able to bring up Sam on my own during those crucial first years. The pitying looks that I was ‘doing it all myself’ were nothing compared to the freedom of not having to take into account someone else’s views on what was good for Sam.