A Life Sublime

by Billy London

  “Everyone is family,” Belinda added over the laughter. “It’s that saying, ‘It takes a village to raise children.’ Make sure they behave.”

  “Didn’t work with Gina,” Nick murmured, only to have his thigh resoundingly slapped.

  “Cheek!”

  “See what I mean?”

  “Behave,” Paul frowned at them both. “So you were…?”

  “Gina’s mother’s friend. We were friends for a very long time.”

  His frown deepened. “Don’t your kids mind?”

  “I don’t have any and if I did they’d treat her as a sister.”

  Paul’s face twisted in empathy. “Well, biology doesn’t make you a mother.”

  “Lesson learned,” Nick said dryly.

  “Amen,” Sofia scoffed, draining her champagne glass. “Auntie, can I ask you something in that vein? If you were Paulie’s mother—”

  “Sofia…”

  “No, let me finish. Wouldn’t you agree being within a five minute walk of your son’s home is a little too close?”

  “I’m not moving,” Paul said wearily, indicating a conversation that had obviously been on repeat play.

  “I want to live in Sheen,” Sofia whined.

  “Sheen is gorgeous,” Gina said, taking a sip from her glass.

  “See, Gina agrees with me, and it is the perfect place for Junior Da Canaveze to run about.”

  Gina choked on her drink and Nick released a sigh, shaking his head. Massimo’s fork dived back to his plate and Belinda scrambled to catch her almost overturned glass.

  “You’re pregnant again?” Paul blurted.

  “You are having a baby?” Massimo asked in an awed whisper.

  Nick pointed at Sofia, “You couldn’t wait just one day?”

  “We’re twelve weeks tomorrow,” Gina said with a grin. “We just wanted to be sure everything would okay and we’ve still got another…”

  She was cut off by the scrap of chairs being pulled back, and drowned out by cheers and hugs of congratulations. Belinda was caught between shock and sheer joy at the news. She was devastated when Gina and Nick lost their first baby. Having never felt life growing within her, but to know that life had been extinguished so soon, had broken Belinda’s heart. But this was nothing less than God’s blessing, if not before God’s intended religious blessing.

  “Sofia,” Massimo chided as he put Gina back down.

  “I forgot!” she squeaked. “You all told me I’m not supposed to keep secrets anymore!”

  “This,” Belinda announced, “is why you stay close to home. So in case your father-in-law becomes a grandfather by you two, you can leave the baby with him and go shopping.”

  “Zia,” Paul groaned, “don’t encourage her.”

  “Shopping is my business,” Sofia crowed. “And I’ll have to do my auntly duty by buying everything Junior will ever possibly need.”

  “Never mind Paulie,” Gina winced. “I’m sure she’ll buy you something along the way.”

  “There we are. No need for me to do anything. Gina’s doing the baby show for all of us.”

  Belinda looked directly at Sofia. “Being able to have children or not, does not define you or your worth in this world.”

  Sofia blinked. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  Belinda sent her an assured smile, and turned back to Gina who was saying, “I had to have the dress taken out and the lingerie designer wasn’t happy about doing things from scratch to fit around Bullet 2.”

  “Are you going to be passing out mid conversation?” Paul asked.

  “Yes, and probably lactating crack at the same time,” she drawled.

  Paul’s face went bright red and he put a hand over his face. “Sorry G. That was fucking funny though.”

  “Language Paul,” Massimo said, his tone making the four sit up straighter. “You are educated. You do not need to express yourself with profanity. Certainly not in front of me or your aunt.”

  “Sorry Zia,” Paul said solemnly. Belinda sent him the slightest wink which made him grin. How could she be cross at that face?

  “Look at Dad,” Nick sounded amused. “Going on like he’s brought us up properly.”

  “Did I not?” Massimo asked softly.

  Gina laughed, cupping her belly. “You can give it another go with this one. We’ll need help!”

  “Anything you need,” Massimo promised with such sincerity Belinda felt her throat thicken with tears.

  “I think you’ve been beautifully brought up,” Sofia pouted, slipping her arms about Paul’s neck to give him a sharp peck on the lips.

  “That’s because you were brought up by wolves,” Nick snorted.

  “You’re lucky I love your almost-wife.”

  “You’re both lucky I put up with you,” Gina interrupted. “Play nice.”

  They were quiet for all of one second before Sofia said, “I’m going to teach your child to call you Prick-Daddy.”

  “Oh lord,” Gina sighed. “You, don’t teach my unborn child anything I can’t undo. And you, I haven’t said I do yet.”

  “Okay.” Nick blinked with little boy innocence before looking at his brother. “Same lady who did Paul McCartney’s divorce. On speed dial.”

  “Yeah, I got it already,” Paul answered, barely looking up from his anti-pasta.

  Sofia sucked in a breath of shock. “Ooh how dare you! After…”

  “Sof,” Paul laughed, “calm down. We’re just rattling your cage.”

  “You wait until I do get a baby.”

  Paul’s eyebrows rose. “When is that ever going to happen?”

  “Your next trip to Malawi?” Gina suggested.

  Belinda was going to ask when they had been to Malawi before Massimo said to her, “I am thinking of bringing back the cane. Just to try and control them.”

  “Good luck,” Belinda said with disapproval. The main meal arrived, a lasagne made with Tuscan sausage.

  “Yes!” Gina crowed. “I’ve been looking forward to this for ages!”

  Massimo stood up. “Let us toast.” He turned to Paul and Sofia. “To you, may you find whatever path brings you peace. To Belinda, welcome to our family. I apologise for the nonsense you will hear over the coming days.” He was nearly interrupted by calls of insult. “To Georgina and Nicholas, we wish you love and happiness at the very start of your journey together. Thank you for making me a very happy future grandfather. Salute!”

  “Salute!” they all cheered.

  Belinda took a sip of her wine and picked up her fork to dig into the lasagne. “Doesn’t mean you’re in the same room.”

  Massimo caught her eye. “Ah, so I do not need the cane after all. I have you.”

  Belinda started. What the hell did he mean by that?

  Chapter Three

  Massimo dropped two capfuls of limoncello into the black tea. He paused for a moment before adding a third. That would help him sleep. He was tired but rest evaded him repeatedly. It’d be nice for the ghosts of the villa to disappear now. In the distance, he heard the slap of bare feet on the tiles. Who was still up? Everyone else was now fast asleep, or being ‘helped’ on the way. Belinda turned the corner, dressed in a grey marl robe and matching full length night gown. She came to a skidding halt when she saw him.

  “Good evening,” he said in delighted surprise. “I thought you had gone to bed?”

  “I need tea,” she replied, waving a huge mug toward him. “Can’t sleep without a cup of tea.”

  “There is a kettle, tea bags and milk in your rooms.”

  She blinked. “What? Where?”

  “The small cabinet beside your bed.”

  “The cabinet that looks like a desk?”

  He laughed, “Yes. Georgina said you are an avid drinker of tea. You have a wonderful view of the sea from your balcony. I thought you would enjoy your tea and some peace and quiet. The younger ones are rather loud.”

  She tugged at her earlobe. “I had no idea, thank you. Soun
ds very nice.”

  He held out a hand toward her. “Give me your cup.” She handed over the mug and he dropped a tea bag in it.

  “What are you drinking?” she asked into the silence.

  “Black tea with a little something extra.”

  “Alcohol?” she wrinkled her nose in disapproval.

  “A little.”

  “That won’t help you sleep,” she warned.

  “It is a temporary solution,” he said gently. He handed the cup back to her and watched her sip. There was an understated elegance to the woman as she lifted the cup to her mouth, resting the edge on her bottom lip which had a rather tantalizing divide in the middle. Salt and pepper chin length hair sat in immaculate waves, framing a strong square jaw dusted in rich cocoa skin. The grey robe skimmed exaggerated curves that boasted femininity in the extreme – the femininity that had defined Hollywood’s Golden Age. He hadn’t been alone with a woman in decades – certainly not one who looked like her.

  She lowered long, sooty lashes to the cup and sighed with appreciation.

  “Mmm. Good tea. Thank you.”

  He dipped his head toward her. “Anything else I can give you?”

  Wariness passed through her chestnut dark eyes. “What are you saying?”

  “A piece of cake, some biscotti, a slice of cheese?”

  “Everything about you lot is food,” she told him with a shake of her head.

  “I am sorry, are you not from Ghana?”

  Belinda burst out laughing. “Cheeky man. I’ve had plenty to eat.” She indicated the doorway. “I’ll just take myself off. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Belinda.”

  She stopped, then turned back to him. “You need to talk to Nicholas and Paul.”

  “About?”

  “Their mother.”

  Massimo halted, his heart suddenly frozen with fear. “I have discussed it with them.”

  “There’s some guilt there, for feeling sad that she’s no longer here. They need to know it’s natural and they aren’t betraying you or some such nonsense.”

  “She has been dead for well over a year.”

  Belinda paused. “The first year after my mother’s death, I was at work and someone said something to me my mother used to say all the time and I was mad. A few days ago, I was packing and I saw an old photograph of my parents and I cried the whole day. The whole day. Time doesn’t matter when it comes to your parents. I’m sure Nicholas is thinking about what his mother would have been like if she had been here today. Even if he didn’t want her to be here. So talk to him. I’ve done what I can, but he’s your son. You should know him better.”

  “I know him almost too well. It is a difficult conversation,” he admitted. He didn’t think anyone read his sons as well as their respective women did. How had she even begun to figure the complications of his family’s dynamic in such a short space of time? Clever woman.

  “Because you don’t want to paint her as the bad person? People say you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. I say tell the truth. The dead will know what God will tell them. So start talking.”

  The voice of wisdom. He had been missing the counsel of sensibility for some time. “Thank you.”

  She sent him a smile and made her way to her room. He didn’t miss her yelling, “Nicholas Da Canaveze, ah, what’s wrong with you! Your bedroom is not this way!”

  Poor Fiore, Gina thought as they cleaned the kitchen until it sparkled and not a speck of palm oil marred her father-in-law’s perfect counters. They had been working since seven in the morning but all the food was cooked. The fish, caught and cleaned an hour before, was marinating and ready for a simple grilling. And when Fiore had tasted the palm soup, her face had lit up around a thousand watts. Yammering away in Italian, they finished the Italian fruit tartlets and sugared the Ghanaian doughnuts before Gina treated herself to a long, warm shower. She’d have enough time to clean up before Tony, Nick’s best man, and his wife Lydia arrived. The family driver was sent to collect them from Naples airport.

  The stream of warm water just confirmed how tired she really was. The whole night she’d tossed and turned. Bloody Belinda. She would definitely have to find a distraction for the older woman somehow or she’d never get any sleep.

  Gina dressed, sprayed on sunscreen and knocked on Belinda’s bedroom door. “Are you up Auntie?”

  “Yes, yes,” the older woman waved her away. “I’m just looking for something to wear.”

  “All right, I’ll see you downstairs.”

  She didn’t think twice about leaving Paul and Sofia’s bedroom door well alone, for fear of what would be burned into her brain. Not enough mental bleach in the world. As she padded down the stairs and into the main hallway, she heard Lydia Mills’ voice. Frowning, Gina opened the heavy oak door and wandered to the driveway. She saw Lydia storming toward her with Tony close behind.

  “That’s it!” Lydia yelled at her husband, “You touch my arse once today and I swear you’ll regret it!”

  “Lyds, I said sorry!”

  What on earth was all that about? Gina thought, tempted to edge back into the villa, bolt and lock the door. Lydia and Tony married seven months ago. The wedding had been huge, showy and spectacularly crazy. Gina still couldn’t work out if both sets of parents had been proud or ashamed or a combination of both at the antics of their children.

  “This is exactly why I am never giving up my name!”

  “You’ve just added mine and I won’t argue with you. But baby, Caristo-Mills doesn’t sound right.”

  “Course it wouldn’t if I box your ears! If I wasn’t a religious woman, there’d be a pick axe in your brain!”

  Fascinated by the drama, it was too late for Gina to stage an escape. Instead she found herself cradled against the best rack on the planet. Lydia was five eight of voluptuous Ghanaian-Irishness in her bare feet, in wedge heels and Gina at five foot four standing in flat sandals, was eye level was with boobs. “Gina! You look gorgeous! Don’t get married.”

  “Why are you pretending you don’t love being my wife?” Tony’s voice was muffled by his wife’s magnificent breasts.

  “Do I want to know what’s going on?” Gina mumbled into Lydia’s chest.

  “Sorry,” Lydia allowed a little bit of distance. “Now you tell me if you think this is okay.”

  “Lyds…” Tony started leaning over to kiss the top of Gina’s head only to have Lydia swing her out of the way of her huge husband.

  “Shush! I warned him never to repeat my doing something nice for him. He put it in writing and signed it in front of Rocky.”

  “Okay,” Gina said slowly.

  “And he broke it. Which means he is NOT allowed to touch me. By law!”

  “Lyds, it’s too good not to share.”

  She waved a finger underneath his nose. “I am warning you.”

  Gina frowned. “What did you do, T-baby?”

  “His mam was trying to talk me through seafood spaghetti.”

  “Oh my God,” Gina muttered in horror. She loved Lydia to pieces, but nothing short of a death wish would induce her to try Lydia’s cooking. Tony must only survive due to sheer size.

  “G, it’s priceless,” Tony grinned, folding his hefty arms across his broad chest.

  “Quiet! I wanted to try it out. So Jonathan and that one are no help whatsoever, and I messed it up. Really bad. Marciana needs to just give up on me, I can’t do it. I’m not a natural cook.”

  Gina opened her mouth only for Tony to hold up a hand. “Wait, it gets better.”

  Lydia growled at him and he pressed his lips together in mock obedience. “I sort of gave them both food poisoning.”

  “Wow.”

  “Hence, we’re turning up today and not two days ago to help out.”

  “I said sorry! I nursed the both of you through it! And you know what he does? He compares it to the feckin’ risotto incident which he knows he’s not allowed to do. And because we’re sitting next to this old woman on the
plane, she asks him why he’s not eating the food and he tells her that his wife keeps trying to kill him.”

  “Tony,” Gina admonished, struggling not to laugh. “That’s not on, man.”

  “Once is a mistake. Twice, I have to voice my suspicions.” He tried to curl an arm around Lydia’s shoulders, but neither did she allow him to do so nor did she release Gina. “I know she wants to keep me around though. Doesn’t her voice sound hoarse?”

  Oh eww, Gina untangled herself from Lydia. “You,” Lydia made a sweeping motion in Tony’s direction, “go find the groom and do something useful. Us girls have things to do.”

  “I’ve forgiven you for trying to kill me with my second favourite thing in the world — food. You can forgive me for wanting to talk through my trauma. Abuse against men is a serious subject.”

  “Feck right off or I really will try to kill you.”

  “Don’t you want to shower first?” Tony offered, hazel eyes glowing with mischief.

  “Stay away from me, Caristo!”

  Tony blinked at Gina. “Excuse us, one moment, G. Apologies for the domestic.” He picked Lydia up in his arms and carried her back to the car, ignoring her shrieks of protest. Opening the back door, he placed her inside before following. A half-second later, the driver flew out of the car and hurried to Gina’s side, protesting in Italian, “I don’t want to know what they’re doing.”

  “Me neither,” she replied, then clapped her hand over her eyes. “And, oh my God, the car’s rocking.” She turned her back on the scene and urged the driver inside the villa. “Let’s get some lemonade. Are you hungry?”

  Half an hour and three custard filled croissants later, Lydia rolled into the kitchen, looking dishevelled from head to toe. Gina shook her head.

  “Just going to have that shower now.”

  “Speak to Rocky when he gets here. Reassess the terms of that agreement,” Gina suggested. Lydia’s eyes widened. “Don’t you want to sit down for a moment?”

  Lydia frowned at her, placing her hands on her bottom. “No. Can’t. See you in ten.”