But far too soon the last few calm days passed and it was the roll call for Anna’s traditional family photo before we drove back to the airport. Massimo’s arm was tight around my shoulder as though I was a treasure to protect. In turn, the mere thought that it could all have been so different made me squeeze Sandro’s hand until he squirmed free. I chased away the idea that instead of the current rabble Anna was attempting to herd into her viewfinder, we could have been gathering together a procession of devastated relatives preparing to face a painful journey home, one child short. The familiarity of Anna bossing everyone around soothed and comforted me.
‘In! In! Nico, you’re blocking Lara. Sam – out of the way of Sandro. Francesca, just pull your skirt down, I do want to be able to show my friends at least one photo of the whole family.’
I had to smile when Maggie defended her. ‘Come on, Anna, she’s got a lovely figure. Wouldn’t look good on me, I grant you, but it is the fashion.’ I expected Francesca to show some sign of gratitude but her face didn’t flicker. Poor Maggie really did need the patience of a saint for that particular dynamic.
When Anna was satisfied she had a photograph to rival the very best of the ‘Look at us with our sunset/cocktail/bikini bodies/perfect children with their violins and sporting cups’ photos on Facebook, we all scattered for a last-minute sweep of the garden area for rogue sunglasses and flip-flops. Although I went through the motions, I was more worried about how close Sandro got to the pool than leaving a half-used bottle of factor fifty behind.
Massimo walked with me. ‘So, Mrs Farinelli? Are you prepared to give me another chance?’
I turned to face him. I hoped this wasn’t some elaborate hoax that would have me standing with my hands over Sandro’s ears in two weeks’ time, saying, ‘Shhh, Daddy’s just a bit cross today.’ But Sandro nearly drowning had turned my grievances on their head. What if Massimo hadn’t been there, the strong swimmer, the cool head to concentrate on what needed to happen instead of losing himself to panic as I had done? It was down to him that I still had a son, a family.
But maybe I was just falling back into pushover territory. I tested the water with, ‘I don’t want to go back to how we were before. I’ve got to be able to express an opinion without worrying about you flying into a rage.’ I studied his face for a flicker, a shadow, a pursing of lips.
‘I understand that,’ he said. ‘I will make it up to you, make you trust me again.’
Those eyes. So sincere. He hadn’t aged apart from a few flecks of grey in his fringe. Still that boyish appeal reeling me in.
‘We’re going to have to sit down and talk at some point, not just brush it under the carpet.’
He laughed. ‘Can we talk and, you know… perhaps get to know each other all over again?’ he said, running his hand over my breast.
I moved his hand away. ‘You seem so angry all the time. You always give the impression that it’s us in the way of whatever would make you happy. Do you really want another chance?’ If I’d flipped a coin, I wouldn’t have known whether I was wishing for heads or tails – go or stay.
He pressed his lips onto mine, lingering there until I felt myself folding into him. ‘Does that answer your question?’
I reached into my heart where just days ago all the fragments of betrayal and bullying had resided, their sharp edges lacerating my emotions into a harsh and jagged mass around which I had no choice but to build a permanent and resilient shelter. If I pressed hard, located the exact spot, like a tooth with a hairline crack, I could feel a sore when I thought of Massimo plotting and planning with Caitlin, skipping off on weekends of opera and – whatever he said – nights of passion. But the pain was so dull in the face of the agony of nearly losing Sandro as to seem almost risible.
There’d been so many false dawns, so many times Massimo had promised to change and so many disappointments. But I’d watched him with Sandro since the pool incident. He’d been patient, encouraging, the Massimo I’d fallen in love with, not the one I’d had to endure.
It was beyond ironic that Sandro had nearly had to die before we’d woken up to what we had. It would be foolish to compound our stupidity for the sake of getting even.
‘One last chance.’
38
LARA
Once we were back in England, Massimo was so sunny side up that the man who’d bent my fingers until I thought they’d snap, slept with my sister-in-law, hissed in Sandro’s face until his eyes were round with fright seemed like someone I’d invented to justify my decision to leave. Since Italy, it was as though we’d both decided to appreciate the good things we shared, not fixate on the bad. For years I’d had to remind myself why we’d got together in the first place, questioning my judgement, my actions, my whole personality. But now, for the first time in a long time, Massimo became a source of refuge rather than a font of attack.