Mates, Dates and Pulling Power

by Hopkins, Cathy

  I laughed. ‘Oh, but I am. I love looking at photos and you were sooooo cute.’

  ‘My lovely Luca,’ said Mrs De Biasi, giving Luke’s cheek a pinch. ‘He was so beautiful as a child. A little cherub.’

  ‘Muuum,’ groaned Luke again.

  ‘You like to see some more, Nesta?’ asked Mrs De Biasi pulling out some huge photo albums out from the shelf.

  Luke went over to his mum and put a cautionary hand on her arm. ‘No, Mum. Please,’

  ‘But I’d love to see them,’ I said. ‘Honest.’

  Luke sighed and stepped out of the way. ‘She does this all the time. Ma, I’m sure Nesta isn’t in the slightest bit interested.’

  Mrs De Biasi ignored him and laid two albums out on the coffee table. Soon we were sitting side by side and she was flicking the pages, showing me photos of Luke at six months, as a toddler, a little boy . . .

  ‘Mum has photographed every event for every year since . . . the beginning of time,’ said Luke indicating the shelves. ‘See – all that bookcase is full of her albums, photos of relatives, friends, the milkman, the newspaper boy, everyone goes in.’

  ‘People are what make life special,’ smiled Mrs De Biasi. ‘And now I am going to photograph you. It’s not often Luke invites a girl home. Hold on, I’ll just get my camera, I think it’s upstairs . . .’

  ‘Have you told your mum anything about my dad recognising your name?’ I asked when she’d gone.

  Luke shook his head. ‘Didn’t want to until we knew what it was about ourselves.’

  ‘Probably best,’ I said and went to look at the other framed photos on the bookshelf. ‘Hey, are all these albums your mum’s? Or is there one of your dad’s?’

  ‘Most of them are mixed,’ said Luke getting up. ‘But I seem to remember that there is one of Dad’s from when he was young. Oh right. You think there might be a photo of your dad in there?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Smart thinking,’ said Luke. ‘Here. Let me find it.’

  He found a tattered red album on the bottom shelf and hauled it on to the table. As he turned the pages, old sepia photos were revealed.

  ‘Old aunties and great grandparents . . .’ he said as faces from another era gazed out at us. About a quarter of the way through the book, the sepia pictures turned to black and white, then colour, then there it was.

  ‘Ohmigod!’ I gasped and pointed to a man in a photo. ‘That’s my dad.’

  ‘And that’s mine standing next to him,’ said Luke.

  The picture was of a couple of teenage lads sitting on a wall outside a terraced house. They looked about seventeen. Both had their arms round a teenage girl in the middle.

  ‘Shhhh,’ I said as we heard footsteps coming back down the stairs. ‘Don’t say anything. Let’s see if she can tell us anything.’

  ‘Hey Ma, who’s this?’ asked Luke, pointing at the photo. ‘Not you, is it?’

  Luke’s mum came and stood next to him and looked at the picture. ‘No,’ she said, then smiled sadly. ‘That was Matteo’s sister, Nadia Costello.’

  I looked closely at the photo. I’d seen pictures of Nadia, but not this one. I was almost named after her. She died when she was eighteen in a car accident, which is why Dad didn’t want me to have the same name. Nesta was a sort of compromise to keep his mum happy.

  ‘And who was Matteo?’ asked Luke acting innocent.

  Mrs De Biasi sat down at the table. ‘He was your father’s best friend. They grew up together. Like brothers they were.’

  ‘Did you know him?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘In those days, all the Italian families knew each other. We all lived close. We were in and out of each other’s houses. We worked and played together. It was a very close community.’

  ‘So how come I’ve never met him?’ asked Luke playing it perfectly.

  ‘Ah . . .’ sighed Mrs De Biasi. ‘They fell out.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Luke. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nadia died,’ said Mrs De Biasi, closing the album and putting it back on the shelf.

  ‘But why would Matteo and Gianni fall out over that?’ Luke asked.

  ‘Matteo blamed Gianni for her death.’

  ‘But why?’ I gasped. ‘What did he do?’

  Mrs De Biasi sat on the sofa and looked out of the window for a moment, then she turned back to us. ‘He didn’t do anything. That’s what is so sad. When Gianni was young, all the young Italians hung out together, all local . . .’

  ‘Including Matteo’s sister, Nadia?’ I asked.

  Mrs De Biasi nodded her head. ‘One night, we’d all been to a club in Soho, Matteo was supposed to see Nadia home safely, but he’d just met some new girl. I can’t remember her name. Oh, he was a one for the girls was Matteo . . .’

  Like Tony, I thought. Like father, like son.

  ‘He didn’t want to be landed with his younger sister for the night,’ continued Mrs De Biasi. ‘He wanted to go off with his new girl. Anyway, he and Gianni argued about taking Nadia home and, as Gianni didn’t have a girl that night, it was just before we dated, he agreed that he’d see her home. She had just passed her driving test and insisted on driving. I think Gianni had a bit of a crush on her and so he let her. Plus, she was a strong-willed girl was Nadia, I remember, liked to get her own way . . .’ She was quiet for a few minutes and looked sad as though remembering something painful.

  ‘So what happened?’ I asked.

  Mrs De Biasi let out a deep sigh. ‘On their way home, some lunatic drunk driver ploughed into them. Nadia was killed instantly and Gianni taken to hospital. We didn’t know if he was going to make it as it was touch and go for him for a while. But Matteo never came to see him. He blamed Gianni and never spoke to him again.’

  ‘But it wasn’t Gianni, I mean Mr De Biasi’s fault,’ I exclaimed.

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Mrs De Biasi. ‘But Matteo blamed him all the same.’

  ‘Guilt,’ I said. ‘He was supposed to see her home, but went off with the other girl.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What happened to him?’ I asked. ‘Do you know?’

  ‘We heard that he married later,’ said Mrs De Biasi, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Had a son, then his wife died. So sad, so much loss in his life.’

  Seeing Mrs De Biasi on the verge of tears caused tears to spring to my eyes. Poor Dad. Even though I knew about Nadia and of course about Tony’s mum, I’d never really thought about how it must have been for him before. And now I felt really sorry for him. It must have been awful losing two people he was close to in such a short time.

  ‘What was he like when he was young?’ I asked.

  Mrs De Biasi’s face lit up. ‘Oh he was a joy. So full of life. So charming. All the girls had a crush on him.’ Her face clouded again. ‘He moved away, to Bristol I think. That’s the last we heard.’

  I looked at Luke. I was dying to tell her that Dad only lived around the corner.

  ‘Has Dad ever tried to contact him?’ he asked.

  ‘At first,’ said Mrs De Biasi, ‘but Matteo wouldn’t have anything to do with him. I often wonder what happened to him. Gianni would dearly love to re-establish contact and heal the past.’

  She pulled a tissue from her sleeve and had a good blow. Then she sat up straight as though pulling herself together. ‘Best not to dwell on the past. And anyway, why are you two so interested?’

  I couldn’t hold back any longer. ‘Mrs De Biasi,’ I burst out. ‘I have something to tell you.’

  Nesta’s Top Tips for the Intellectual

  (But Sexy) Look

  Clothes:

  All black, tight fitting. Think Audrey Hepburn in the 1957 film classic, Funny Face. (Get my movie knowledge! Impressive or wot?)

  No girlie pinks or pastels.

  Accessories:

  Pair of specs: even if you don’t need them (preferably tortoiseshell and v. trendy frame).

  Heavy-looking Russian novel (don’t worry, you don’t have to re
ad it!).

  Shoes: black chunky workman-type boots, but only if worn with ultra short skirt and black tights.

  Packet of Gauloise cigarettes, but don’t even think about lighting one up as they taste dégoûtante (disgusting).

  Chapter 14

  I couldn’t wait to tell Dad. Mrs De Biasi’s reaction to discovering who I was had strengthened my resolve to get him and Mr De Biasi back together as soon as possible.

  When she had grasped the fact that I really was Matteo’s daughter, she laughed and hugged me, then cried, then rang her husband and cried and laughed all over again.

  ‘Very emotional, my ma,’ said Luke as we listened to her telling her husband the whole story over the phone. ‘She cries at everything.’

  ‘I think it’s lovely,’ I said. ‘People shouldn’t be afraid to show what they feel.’

  ‘Gianni can’t believe it,’ said Mrs De Biasi after she’d put down the phone. ‘We’re both so pleased to know Matteo is well and happily married after so much tragedy early in his life. And so happy to know he has you and your brother Tony, but I fear that he won’t have changed his mind about Gianni. I hope so, now that we have met you, Nesta, but don’t get your hopes up, we have to respect his feelings too. We may want reconciliation but he may not.’

  Luke nodded. ‘Yes, it’s really up to your dad,’ he said.

  ‘Well, what are your feelings, Mrs De Biasi?’ I asked.

  ‘Ah, Nesta. I feel that life is too short to hold these stupid grudges and those boys had a true friendship. Too precious to lose.’

  Exactly my feelings, I thought. I couldn’t imagine life without Lucy, Izzie and TJ to share everything with and talk things over with.

  When Mrs De Biasi had gone off to the restaurant, Luke and I sat down to watch a movie. He’d already told me that he liked war films and, although they’re not my favourite, I decided that, as part of my movie education, I had to expand my viewing and watch a few new genres. He’d picked out one called Saving Private Ryan. Should be OK, I thought, Tom Hanks is in it so it must be a feel-goody of a sort.

  ‘It’s really cool that you want to watch this,’ said Luke as he put the DVD in the machine. ‘Not many girls would, but I think it’s important to know that these things went on.’

  ‘Oh so do I,’ I said as I took my boots off, then curled up on the sofa. I was feeling very pleased about everything. Happy happy. It was all going to turn out brilliantly. Even though Mrs De Biasi and Luke had their reservations, I was certain I was going to prove them wrong. I was going to reconcile Dad and Luke’s dad. I could see the grand reunion now. It would be like those smaltzy programmes on telly that bring together people who have lost each other and they hug and cry, like Mrs De Biasi had, then clap and laugh and generally feel good and smile a lot. And it would all be down to me. Fab. And now, here I was with Luke ready to watch a serious-type film. Yes. I was definitely changing. Growing up. No one could accuse me of being shallow any more. Oh no, I reunite people, help heal troubled pasts and watch war films. You can’t get more unshallow than that. Yeah. As the credits to the movie rolled, I wondered if I should get a pair of glasses to wear to complement my new persona. One of those pairs with square frames that make you look really cool and intelligent. I don’t need glasses, but I’m sure I could get a pair without a prescription, just for the effect.

  Luke and I snuggled up on the sofa and began to watch the movie. First five minutes, yeah, it was OK. Ten minutes, not really my cup of tea, but I’ll sit through it for Luke. However, as it went on, I found I couldn’t even do that. It was horrible. The war scenes were unbelievable, or rather they were totally believable. Awful. Graphic. People getting blown up and killed left, right and centre. I tried to make myself carry on watching, but it was too upsetting, so I made an excuse that I needed to use the bathroom and got out double quick.

  As I splashed my face with water, I tried to tell myself that, as Luke had said, I ought to watch to know what went on. History and all that. Part of my education, etc. Then I thought, but I do know what went on. I do. Maybe I don’t know names and dates and countries, but I do know what goes on in war. Hell on earth, that’s what and it makes me really depressed. More than anything. Whatever nationality, I know mothers lost sons, sisters lost brothers, children lost fathers. Boys like Tony, Luke, Steve and Lal, hardly older and all sent to early graves. And I thought, why do people have to fight and kill like that? What for? Where’s it got anyone? I truly believe that the majority of the world, of all races and beliefs, want to live in peace. They want to watch their pot plants grow on their patios, enjoy the summers, their families, their pets. I hate war. And I’ve just realised that I hate war films too.

  After a few minutes, Luke came and knocked on the bathroom door.

  ‘You all right in there?’ he called.

  I opened the door. ‘Yes. No. Just . . . I’m really sorry Luke, but I can’t watch any more of that film. I hope you don’t think I’m shallow, but . . . I think there’s so much bad news in the world, when I watch a movie I want to be entertained not freaked out . . .’

  ‘Found it upsetting, did you?’

  I nodded. ‘Yeah. Sorry. Can’t do it.’

  Luke smiled. ‘That’s OK and I don’t think you’re shallow. Everyone likes different stuff, that’s all. Look, I’ll find you a feel-good movie instead. Ever seen It’s a Wonderful Life?’

  At last some of my swotting up came in handy. Only last night, I read about it in one of Dad’s books. One of the great classics, the book had said. ‘I haven’t seen it, but it was directed by Frank Capra wasn’t it? Starring James Stewart?’

  Luke looked well impressed. ‘Yeah. Hey, you know your stuff. Come on, I’ll put it on for you.’

  Ten minutes later we were back on the sofa and this time I got well stuck in. It was a fantastic movie. All about a man who feels his whole life has been a waste, until an angel takes him back through it, showing the effect he’d had on people and what would have happened if he hadn’t been there. It was a really uplifting, amazing film and left me with a warm glow. Much better than seeing people get their heads blown off, I thought.

  In their different ways though, both films made me think the same thing – that life is precious and it’s really important to let the people that you love know it. Friends, family, whoever. Not to let any petty arguments or misunderstandings get in the way. By the end of the evening, I was certain that it was fated that I’d met Luke. It was my destiny to bring our dads back together. I couldn’t wait.

  Mum was sitting on her own in the sitting room when I got home. ‘Where’s Dad?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, hi love. Bit of a crisis with the film. He had to go straight into the editing suite to sort it out. He’ll be back later. There was some problem on the first rushes.’ My face must have fallen as Mum looked at me anxiously. ‘What is it, Nesta? What’s happened?’

  I went and sat beside her and the whole story poured out. ‘You knew about Aunt Nadia, didn’t you?’ I asked.

  ‘Some of it,’ she admitted. ‘Your dad told me about it once when we passed the place in North Finchley where they all used to live. I could tell it was a very sore subject for him. Look, I can see that you’re dying to talk to him about it all . . . but not tonight sweetheart, please, he’s got a lot on his mind with the film and probably won’t be back until late. Let him sleep and you can talk in the morning.’

  I did as I was told, but made sure I was up bright and early ready to break the news to him. Mum was right. I couldn’t wait. I knew he’d be overjoyed that Mr and Mrs De Biasi wanted to see him and heal the past.

  When I got to the kitchen, Mum was already making coffee.

  ‘Can I take Dad’s in to him?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh Nesta! You’ve missed him again. They didn’t sort the problem last night, so he had to go in first thing. He was up at six. He said to say hi and he’s sorry he missed you last night and he’ll see you later. He’ll probably be back before lunch.’

 
‘Did you tell him that I know about the De Biasis?’

  Mum shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t. Talk to him later . . . but Nesta, don’t get your hopes up. I know you’re excited about it, but your dad might not have the same reaction.’

  ‘I bet he will,’ I said. ‘It’s going to be fab. It all happened a long time ago. He’s bound to want to see them again.’

  Mum gave me a strange look, then went back to making toast.

  Over breakfast, I told Tony the latest news and together we went to meet the girls and Luke in Costa in Highgate for mid-morning coffee and a general Saturday hang-out. We got there first, so bought some cappuccinos and pastries and looked for somewhere to sit.

  ‘It’s all starting to make sense now,’ said Tony as he bagged our favourite seats in the window.

  ‘What is?’ I asked.

  ‘Why Dad didn’t want me to have driving lessons. Remember, he went over the top about it?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, of course. Nadia had only just passed her test when she was killed. I guess he didn’t want anything like that to happen to you.’

  Tony gazed out of the window for a while in silence. ‘If he’d only told us what had happened, I would have understood. I really would. Instead, I thought he was being totally unreasonable . . .’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s mad that we don’t communicate properly. I mean, he’s our dad. He ought to be able to tell us what he’s really thinking. Oh, I do hope he’ll see the De Biasis. I mean I understand he was freaked at the time, it was his responsibility to see Aunt Nadia home and he blew it, but he shouldn’t blame it on Luke’s dad.’

  ‘No,’ said Tony. ‘But I guess you never think anything is going to happen like that. It’s like, Mum and Dad are always asking me to watch out for you and yet the number of times I’ve gone off and left you to get home on your own or asked one of the girls to make sure you get home . . .’

  ‘I know. It could happen so easily. Dad lost his sister. He couldn’t prevent that, but he needn’t have lost his best friend.’