‘But isn’t she a dance teacher? Therefore by definition a career woman?’
‘She says she’ll give it up after—’
My legs start to shake. ‘After you’re married?’
‘No!’ He shakes his head vehemently and the heavy boulder inside me lightens just a little. ‘After she comes over to live in England.’ He hangs his head, finally having the grace to look apologetic. ‘Sorry, Puss.’
‘Er, there’ll be no “Puss”, thank you very much.’
Angry tears spring up. Actually, they’re more to do with hurt than anger. Hurt that he could find this other woman, Rosa, so quickly. Hurt that he cared so little, in the end, that he was swayed by mathematical probability! It feels as if our love was never even real.
I dash away the tears. Harrison has found himself a partner far more suited to his needs, leaving me feeling empty and deeply scared at the thought of all the years stretching ahead. Having to face the future alone, without Harrison’s love and support, which I really thought I could rely on …
Chapter 28
I feel small and insubstantial. And terrified.
If I were a building, I’d be a shaky lean-to. Fragile, a bit of a wreck, and liable to fall apart at the first cold wind.
Ours might not have been the most passionate love in the world, but we had history, Harrison and I. We built a life together in our little terraced house and now, suddenly, it’s all gone. I feel like my very foundations have been blasted to smithereens.
I’ve barely slept. I crept in last night, thankful Mum was already in bed because I really wasn’t up to talking. Harrison dropped me off. In a further humiliation, I’d been forced to accept his offer of a lift home. Everyone else, including Erin, was well over the limit thanks to Erin pouring vodka ‘lemonade’ into the second lot of ‘non-alcoholic’ punch and mulled wine. There will be some sore heads in the cabin this morning.
And speaking of sore heads, I have the mother of all migraines today. I’m curled up on my side, trying not to move because every time I do, the searing pain intensifies. The pressure in my head is almost unbearable. It feels as though it’s trapped in a vice, which my torturer is screwing tighter and tighter with each passing minute. And that’s quite apart from the red-hot poker that’s drilling its way into my forehead, just above the right eye. This could go on for hours. Days, even.
I suppose there is a bright side. The emotional pain of thinking about Harrison with his Spanish-dancer lover is almost more bearable than this physical agony. Actually, I think they’re inextricably linked. Because every time I find myself dwelling on the fact that Harrison doesn’t want to be with me any more, the vice tightens to ever more excruciating levels.
Obviously, Mum knows there’s something wrong – but she thinks it’s ‘just’ a migraine. I’m happy to keep it that way. The very last thing I need when I feel like this is someone fussing around, asking every five minutes if I’m feeling any better. I know that sounds ungrateful, but when you’ve got a migraine, it’s impossible to be charitable.
Clemmy phones me on my mobile and very quickly realises I’m not myself. I manage to utter the words ‘migraine’ and ‘in bed’ and bless her, she turns into exactly the sort of nurse I need. (The kind where not much replying is necessary so I don’t have to move.)
‘Stay in bed and don’t even think about coming over to cook. We’ll manage fine. I’m so sorry about Harrison. Remember, I’m here if you need to talk, although I know you’ve got Erin. It would be lovely to see you at New Year. Do the buffet if you want to – but if not, just come as my guest, okay?’
‘Okay,’ I croak. ‘Thanks, Clemmy.’
‘Take care, Poppy. Love you.’
Her words of comfort really make a difference. If only Ryan could see how great she is. I keep thinking of Clemmy’s expression when Ryan had his arm round Erin, whispering something in her ear.
Relationships! Are we always doomed to fall for people who don’t feel quite the same way about us? I’m thinking of Harrison, of course. But also Jed.
Thinking of Jed has the interesting effect of making the drill that’s started attacking my right temple desist its tunnelling for a brief but blissful moment. Then I remember Katerina and how determined she apparently is to get Jed back, and the temple excavations step up with a vengeance.
Mum comes in at lunchtime with some soup but I feel too nauseous to even look at it. She sits on the side of the bed and strokes my tangled hair. I’d shout at her to leave me alone if only I could get up the strength. So I just lie there, feeling like I’ve been hurled to the bottom of a dark and smelly pit with no means of escape.
By teatime, the migraine is starting to ease. But that just means my poor hurting brain has regained the ability to think – and that’s not a good thing right now. I start remembering how lovely Harrison used to be when I had a migraine. He’d come in and just sit quietly on the bed, reading one of his history books and holding my hand. Having Harrison there at those times, just silently holding my hand, was so wonderful. But I’ll never have that again now …
Tears trickle down my face and soak into the pillow. That’s the thing about migraines. They take you to a dark place, thinking dark thoughts and feeling totally alone. Not the best place to be when you’ve just been dumped from a great height by the man you were going to marry.
When I finally go downstairs, Mum’s in the kitchen, doing some ironing. ‘Feeling better, love?’
‘A bit, thanks.’
‘That’s good. We’ve got to get you better for New Year, when Harrison comes back!’
She thinks she’s cheering me up. She has no idea.
Her face crumples in horror when I start to cry. ‘What’s wrong, love? Tell me.’
But I can’t stop crying long enough to tell her. I just keep blurting out ‘Harrison’ in between lots of snotty gulps and sniffs.
Mum’s always been great at cuddles when I’m feeling sad. She leads me through to the living room and we sort of subside together onto the sofa. And, with my tears giving her jumper a good soaking, she rubs my back gently and rhythmically, like she used to do when I was a child. At last, when I’m completely cried out and able to talk without hiccupping, I tell her all about Harrison leaving me for a Spanish dancer called Rosa.
She doesn’t say he wasn’t good enough for me. She just says calmly, ‘Just remember, love, what’s for you won’t go by you. There’s someone else out there for you, you’ll see.’
She pours me some fresh orange juice, which is always what I crave after a migraine attack, and puts some eggs on to soft-boil. And now that the physical pain has receded and I’m starting to feel human again, it feels so good to be wrapped in motherly love and fed chucky eggs and buttered soldiers, as if I’m a kid again.
I will never condone what she did, keeping Alessandro and me apart, but I understand why she did it. She was frightened she’d lose me.
‘Mum?’
‘Yes, love?’ She brings me a mug of sugary tea, which she claims will build my strength up and sits down opposite me at the kitchen table.
‘What would you think if I tried to locate Alessandro?’
She smiles. ‘I’d think it was probably high time you found your dad.’
‘But how would you feel if I did?’
‘I’d feel … glad.’ There are tears in her eyes. ‘I’ve missed him all these years. It was terrible, leaving him in Italy, making the choice to return home and study for my medical degree, and bringing you up alone. But I promised myself I’d find you a dad and I did. Then after I married Martin and my ideal vision began to blur, I thought: well, I’ve made my bed so I have to lie in it. If I’d walked out on my marriage, it would have meant my sacrifice in leaving Alessandro in Italy was all for nothing and I couldn’t bear that. So, I had to stay …’
‘Until Martin himself walked out.’
She nods. ‘And that’s when I finally realised it was all for nothing. I’d failed in my mission to find you the dad yo
u deserved and I’d made the biggest mistake of my life in leaving Al. That’s why I gave up on life.’
‘And had a breakdown.’ I look at her across the table, finally understanding what she must have gone through. All for my sake. ‘One day, we’ll find him, Mum.’
She nods and smiles at me, and the years roll away. She’s that young girl again, falling in love for the very first time.
I lay my hand over hers. ‘I know you don’t like me asking questions, but …’
‘Ask away, love.’
‘Okay.’ My heart rate quickens. ‘Tell me what it was like when you first met my dad in Italy.’
She smiles and stares out of the window, remembering. ‘Well, I was having the most wonderful gap year imaginable. My school friend, Nancy, and I both had a thing about Italy. Possibly because our Italian teacher at school was tall, dark and dashing, just like the hero from a romantic novel.’ She laughs, shaking her head. ‘Talk about young and foolish! Anyway, neither of us had ever even been abroad, so when it came to deciding where we’d go for our gap year, the answer was obvious. Nancy had a cousin who’d just moved to Naples with her husband’s new job, so we crashed at their house for a few months, then – once we’d found jobs in a local bar and café – we rented a room in an apartment and managed to get by quite nicely, topping up our wages with money we’d saved for our big adventure.’ She smiles dreamily. ‘We were having an amazing time – all on a shoe-string, really. I didn’t think life could get any better. And then it did …’
‘You met my dad.’
She nods. ‘I met your dad.’
‘What was he like back then? He must have been really young.’
‘Nineteen. And I was eighteen.’ She draws in a deep breath and breathes out slowly. ‘I thought he was incredible. Handsome and funny with a real zest for life. He came into the café where I was working and we just clicked straight away. His English wasn’t perfect and my Italian was terrible, but that didn’t seem to matter. He was working in the kitchens at a local hotel doing quite menial work, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before he rose through the ranks because he had this real passion for food. I remember the first time I went to his apartment, he made me Spaghetti Napoli and I sat on a stool sipping a glass of wine, watching everything he did in total fascination. He talked to me about the origins of the dish in his lovely broken English, and even though the ingredients he tossed in were really quite simple – garlic, fresh tomatoes, olives – it was the most glorious food I’d ever tasted.’ She smiles across at me. ‘I suppose the fact that I was falling in love made it taste even better!’
‘So was it love at first sight?’
She nods. ‘I think it was. For both of us. The boys I knew back home talked about themselves all the time, but Alessandro was different. More mature. He was interested in me, wanting to know everything about my life back in England. We sort of ‘got’ each other, you know?’
I nod eagerly, drinking in every little detail, making up for all the years my questions went unanswered.
‘Lots of kids our age were still wandering around a bit aimlessly, deciding what they wanted to do with their lives. But Alessandro already knew where he was going in life – just as I did.’
‘So he knew even then that he was going to be a chef?’ I murmur, not wanting to interrupt her recollections. ‘Just like you knew you wanted to be a doctor?’
She nods. ‘We were both so passionate about our careers. I suppose it was inevitable they’d end up getting in the way of our budding relationship. When I returned to England and found out I was pregnant, I was totally shell-shocked. It was never part of the career plan to have a child while I studied.’
‘Gee, thanks, Mum.’
She laughs. ‘Now, of course, I wouldn’t change it for the world. But at the time, I had some serious decisions to make, which weren’t easy, believe me. I was in love with Alessandro. I missed him every day. But I had my place at university to study medicine. I couldn’t give that up. And Alessandro was just starting out on his own career path. A relationship spanning continents was never going to work. So I decided not to tell him about the pregnancy. I figured I was doing him a favour. He was far too young and ambitious to be tied down with a family to take care of.’
‘So did you break all contact?’
She nods, her eyes glistening with emotion. ‘I wrote him a letter saying I loved him but the distance between us was too great to sustain a proper relationship.’
‘And did he just accept that?’
‘No, no. Far from it. He kept writing and phoning. And for a while, I even thought I might change my mind and give up my course to be with him.’
I swallow hard on the lump in my throat. ‘But you didn’t?’
She shakes her head sadly. ‘Something happened that changed everything. I met Martin.’
I heave a sigh. ‘And the rest is history.’
‘When I told Al about Martin, he realised he had to let me go at last. I was moving on with my life in England. I guess he knew he had to do the same. So he wished me well and that was that.’
‘But then he came over to England when I was twelve?’
She smiles. ‘He actually came over to England for a conference a year earlier than that, although I didn’t realise that until much later. Apparently he had no intention of raking up the past, but with a free day on his hands, the temptation was too great to hop on the train and look me up. We’d moved into Martin’s house, which Al knew was next door to where I used to live. So he turned up, practically on the doorstep.’
My eyes open wide in astonishment. ‘What on earth did Martin say?’
Mum shrugs. ‘They never met. Al was standing in the street, apparently, and he saw you and me coming out of the house.’
A memory jolts my brain. ‘I saw him, Mum! I knew I’d seen him before. He was standing by a tree a little way from our gate, looking over!’ I’d thought I recognised him and it was true. I’d actually seen Alessandro that day – when he came looking for Mum!
Tears spring to Mum’s eyes and for a while, the emotion of the moment is too much and she can’t speak. Then she puts her hand over mine and whispers, ‘A few weeks later, in a letter, he told me that as soon as he saw you, he knew straight away.’
My heart starts beating very fast. ‘Knew what?’
‘That you were his child, not Martin’s. There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind. He just knew. You’re so alike, you know. I see him in you all the time. He was dumbstruck, as you can imagine, and it stopped him from knocking on the door that day. He figured I’d made a little family unit and he wasn’t about to threaten our happiness by just appearing back on the scene and have Martin realise you weren’t his child.’
‘So he just left?’ My throat hurts. I can’t believe how Alessandro must have felt at that moment, realising he had a daughter he never knew about. But having to just walk away from her!
Mum nods. ‘When he wrote to me after that trip to England, he begged me to let him meet you just once. At first, I was determined that would never happen. But I felt such terrible guilt over keeping you from each other, so I eventually agreed that he could see you that Christmas when Martin was working away. He promised that after that, he would leave us be. We decided it was best if you didn’t know who he really was.’
‘But then he changed his mind about staying away. He started to write those letters to me.’
She nods. ‘When he came over that Christmas, he could tell things weren’t great for you at home, with Martin. Just little things you said. So I guess that’s when he realised you needed him after all. That you deserved a real dad who loved you to bits.’
I swallow hard. We’re both crying now. ‘You should have told me about him, Mum. A long time ago.’ My heart feels unbearably heavy. ‘I should have known as soon as I was old enough to understand.’
Tears spill down Mum’s cheeks and she clings onto my hand. ‘I know, Poppy, I know, my love. And you can’t imagine how many times I
’ve wished I’d taken a different path. Made different decisions. I did what I thought was right at the time, always with your welfare in mind. But now I realise it was the worst thing I could have done, keeping you and Alessandro apart. Not giving you the letters he sent.’
I scrape back my chair and go to hug her. She stands up and we cling to each other, both sobbing as if our hearts will break.
After a while, when we’re all cried out, we break apart to wipe our snotty noses, and Mum says she’ll put the kettle on because a cup of tea is the default rescue remedy of all time.
‘Your mascara is on your chin,’ she points out with a little exhausted smile.
‘Oh, thanks, Mum,’ I joke, feeling drained myself, but a thousand times better because we’ve finally talked. ‘At least I’ve had my hair done this century. Unlike you.’
‘Cheek! I thought grey was fashionable these days.’
I grin. ‘Grey, maybe. Split ends, no. You’ll look gorgeous with a trim and a colour.’
‘It’s not that bad, is it?’ She looks in the mirror. ‘Hmm, on second thoughts …’
‘I could call that mobile hairdresser you used to like.’ I know I’m taking my life in my hands even suggesting this, but to my surprise she gives a cautious nod.
‘Okay. Make me an appointment. But I claim the right to cancel at the last minute if I feel like it.’
I nod happily. It’s a tiny step forward but that’s fine by me.
Chapter 29
Erin left several messages on my mobile yesterday that I didn’t pick up.
Feeling much better today – although still wiped out by the migraine – I give her a call and she’s horrified by the whole Harrison story. But she’s determined I should see the break-up as a brand-new start. ‘You’re on the threshold of something really exciting with this catering business.’
I groan. ‘Except my first proper job has been a disaster.’
‘No, it hasn’t. It’s just life getting in the way. You couldn’t help your mum’s bungalow catching fire, or you and Harrison breaking up. Bob understands, I’m sure. It doesn’t take away from the fact that the meals you cooked were superb. Every last one of them.’
Christmas at the Log Fire Cabin Page 24
