by Gil McNeil
Em’s mum is already sulking, because she isn’t terribly good with large groups of Italians. Or large groups of anyone really. She usually eats her evening meal by seven, and likes to be in bed by ten at the absolute latest. The meal tonight won’t start until nine at the earliest and is likely to go on for hours according to Em.
‘We’re so packed out with Luca’s family and Mum, and we’ve got people staying all over the island, so I thought the restaurant was a good idea for tonight, but Mum thinks we should have a quiet supper just with her, and I still haven’t sorted out the flowers and –’
She starts to cry. After a bit of heaving and sobbing she says it’s all too much, and Luca just keeps saying he loves her, and nothing else matters. And it doesn’t really, only she wants it to be perfect. It takes me almost ten minutes to calm her down, and I end up promising that I’ll help her make everything just how she wants it, and I’ll even push her mother off the terrace into the sea if necessary, and this cheers her up and she says she’d better go and get ready.
Supper’s lovely although I lose track completely of exactly who everybody is – they all seem to be related to Luca in some complicated way, even the people who run the restaurant. Marco keeps trying to explain to me who people are, but after a couple of glasses of wine I don’t really care. Everything is very relaxed and there are lots of children wandering about, and Alfie makes friends with a little boy called Giovanni and his sister Gabriella, who I think are one of Luca’s sisters’ children but I’m not sure.
Everyone seems mad about children here. I noticed it at the airport earlier, when even the policeman with a machine-gun slung over his shoulders came over to say hello to Em and made a fuss of Alfie. The idea of a restaurant putting up a ‘Children Welcome’ sign here would be a complete mystery to everyone.
There’s a tiny baby who’s come to supper tonight, but it takes me ages to work out who her mum is because everyone makes such a fuss of her. They seem to know it’s a Herculean task to amuse a baby for hours, and nobody would dream of expecting one person to do it for the entire evening. She’s passed up and down the table, and it’s a bit like pass the parcel, without the music, and without anybody getting stuck with the parcel for too long.
A very smartly dressed man gets up when it’s his turn and walks about jiggling her and sort of bobbing, singing in a very comical fashion, and she’s totally enchanted. But nobody else takes any notice of him at all. Then he sits back down, passes the baby to the man sitting next to him, rearranges the angle of his jumper so it drapes over his shoulders in just the way he wants it to, and carries on flirting with the woman sitting opposite him.
I love Italians. I think I might want to be reincarnated as an Italian; never mind a butterfly or a higher being or whatever it is Buddhists believe you can aspire to if you spend years in an orange dress being careful not to tread on anything. Just coming back Italian would do me. And the food’s great too.
Alfie’s usually pretty firm about not eating anything he doesn’t instantly recognise, but he loves being made a fuss of by Luca’s mum, who spends most of the meal putting things on his plate and cutting them up, and then nodding encouragingly and clapping her hands with delight when he eats them. He even snuggles up to her for a quick cuddle at one point, which goes down very well.
We don’t get back to the hotel until nearly one in the morning, but at least Alfie doesn’t wake up and kick anybody when Luca carries him into our room. In fact he sleeps right through until nearly half-past nine, which is a record for him and something I hope he’s really going to get the hang of while we’re here.
We spend the morning racing round with Em, getting things ready for the wedding. Em meets a friend in town who’s so pregnant I’m amazed she’s still able to stand up, let alone go shopping, until Em explains she’s having twins, which apparently are common on the island, and sure enough during the morning we see three more sets of twins, including the two men who run the butcher’s, who are identical, and both stand behind the counter like extras in a Fellini film.
Apparently one of Luca’s brothers has twin girls, and Em is pretty nervous about her chances.
‘But in a way it would be lovely, wouldn’t it? Having two at once.’
‘Oh yes, lovely.’
I’m not going to tell her what I really think, just in case. I remember thinking that twins might be nice when I was pregnant with Alfie. For about five minutes. My god, I must have been mad.
We go back to the hotel for lunch and Marco offers to take us out for a boat trip round the island later on.
‘We can take bread to feed to the little fish, and it will be perfect, yes?’
Well, no, actually. I’m not that keen on the idea of Alfie in boats, mainly because I just know he’d fall out before we even got out of the harbour. But of course he thinks it’s a brilliant idea, and is already halfway out of the door, and Em whispers that Marco is very reliable and we can all go, and it really is the best way to see the island. So in the end we all go down to the harbour and the boat turns out to be an uncle’s fishing boat, which Marco seems very at home in.
We stop at a small fishing village, where Marco says we can swim. There’s a low wall surrounding a pool of sea water, which Alfie loves, and Marco spends ages showing him how to snorkel with the mask we bought in town this morning. Alfie gets so excited every time he sees a fish he nearly swallows the tube and has to be hoicked up by Marco by his shorts until he gets his breath back.
It’s a perfect way to spend the afternoon and Em gradually relaxes and says that she supposes it won’t be a complete disaster if the extra lilies don’t arrive in time. Whereas this morning she got completely hysterical about it and I had to practically force feed her ice cream in a café before she’d calm down.
When we get back the dressmaker’s arrived and we try Alfie in his suit, which is in pale-blue linen. He looks so sweet in it I wish Mum was here to see him. He’s never had a proper suit before, and looks very grown-up but also somehow smaller. It fits him perfectly: Em bought it in Milan along with her dress and mine, and god knows what it cost because she won’t tell me. The deal was I paid for our tickets out here and for Em’s tiara thing, which we brought over with us. It’s silver with little glass beads. She’s been wearing it round the hotel ever since we arrived. To practise, she says, but I think she just likes wearing it.
Her dress is beautiful. It’s a proper bride’s dress but not too fussy, in creamy white silk with tiny glass beads and a little bit of embroidery in white and cream on the hem. It fits perfectly, but the woman wants to adjust the hem a little, and is obviously a professional because she doesn’t make Em stand on a table like I had to when Mum was doing my summer dresses for school.
Em’s still talking about aubergine for my dress, and I’m getting seriously worried when a lovely pale-yellow dress emerges from the bag in a mixture of linen and something else so it doesn’t crease before you even get it on. It’s very elegant and has a little jacket to go with it, and the same embroidery round the hem that Em has on her dress. The dressmaker fixes the hem, which looks fine to me but she insists a little shorter would be better, and when she’s pinned it you can see she was right, and then she packs everything away on hangers and says she will be back tomorrow morning.
We try to explain to Alfie again about how he has to walk down the aisle dropping flower petals. He says he thinks it’s silly but he’ll give it a go, and Em tells him she’s got a special present for him, which he can have tomorrow if he manages not to stand on her dress. And I tell him I’ll get him a present too, if he remembers to drop his petals a few at a time and not all in one big heap by the door.
The next morning is chaos. After so many mini-dramas that I’m getting close to hysterics everything suddenly goes all peaceful and quiet, and we have a blissful half-hour sipping champagne and putting the finishing touches to Em’s nails, because she can’t decide between Nude Blush and Sugar Frost, which look identical to me, but at least
she has to sit still while I paint them.
Alfie’s watching the video of Mary Poppins, which Em got for him, and we all end up singing ‘Feed the Birds’ and getting a little bit tearful. Well, not Alfie, obviously, who thinks we’re both being very stupid.
The wedding makes me cry too, and we’re not talking elegant sniffing and dabbing either. Em looks beautiful, and Alfie does his bit really well. She does the whole thing in Italian too, which I somehow hadn’t expected, and I’m so proud of her, and then I notice Luca wiping his eyes when he thinks nobody’s looking, and that makes me even worse.
The service takes hours. Alfie falls asleep, and I notice quite a few other people seem to be having a little doze, but eventually we get to the bit where they actually get married, and Luca’s voice goes all wobbly and they put their rings on and turn round, and the smile on Em’s face is just perfect. And then she looks at me and winks. Which just about finishes me off completely.
We go back to the hotel and everyone’s waiting and there are cheers and lots of hugging, and we drink champagne on the terrace, and even Em’s mother looks pleased. Luca’s mum spent most of yesterday in the kitchen, and now she and practically every other female relation of Luca’s are taking over the kitchen again to make all sorts of traditional wedding delicacies for tonight’s big meal. They’ve deferred to Em’s mum on the cake, which is a traditional English wedding cake that they all seem rather in awe of. God knows how she managed to get it out here, but there was a huge fuss yesterday about the icing, which had cracked slightly, but she managed to fix it, and it does look beautiful.
Luca makes a speech and everyone laughs, and then he very sweetly does the whole thing again in English, ‘for my new English family’, and says when he first met Em he thought she was a terrible stubborn Englishwoman, and now he knows her really well he realises he was right, and she’s a terrible poker player, but she is also the woman who he knows he will love until he is dead. I think it probably sounded slightly more romantic in Italian, but he looks so happy you can tell he really means it.
There’s a buffet lunch with bowls of salads and cold meats for anyone who’s hungry, and then the plan is that we all lounge about a bit and have a sleep and then there’s the big wedding meal this evening.
Alfie’s outraged when I suggest we go and have a sleep and I only manage to persuade him by telling him there’ll be fireworks tonight, and he can stay up to watch them but only if he has a sleep now.
‘Yes, but I’m not tired. I am not.’
He falls asleep within minutes. And so do I.
I’m desperate for a cup of tea when I wake up, which is a bit pathetic really, but Alfie’s thirsty too so we head off to the kitchens, with his hair sticking up in little tufts from where he’s been asleep. Luca’s mum is still beavering away but she stops to make Alfie a little snack, and pats down his hair while he’s eating it, which he doesn’t even notice because she does it so casually. And what’s really clever is that she doesn’t make me feel it’s my fault it was all sticking up in the first place.
Em comes in, also in search of tea.
‘Oh good, I’ve been looking for you. I’ve got presents.’
Alfie starts squeaking with excitement as we follow Em to her room. Luca is fast asleep in the middle of the enormous bed, looking very pleased with himself.
‘Oh ignore him – he’ll wake up in a minute. Actually, Alfie, do you think you could wake him up?’
‘Em, are you sure that’s a good idea?’
But Alfie’s already leapt on the bed and is jumping about yelling ‘Uncle Luca’, ‘Uncle Luca’, and to his credit Luca doesn’t wake up screaming, but simply wraps himself in the sheet a bit tighter and says hello.
Em gets a huge box from her wardrobe and gives it to Alfie, and Luca obviously knows what’s in it because he sits up and watches him expectantly. Alfie rips it open to reveal an enormous toy St Bernard dog, which is almost as big as him, and he shouts ‘Nana’, and throws his arms around its neck and rolls around on the bed.
‘Oh Em, you shouldn’t have. It must have cost a fortune.’
‘It did. But he’s worth it, my special page boy. When I saw it I couldn’t believe it, it was just so perfect. And who knows, this way you might not have to get the real thing. Oh, and this is for you.’
She hands me a posh-looking box, and inside it there’s a silver locket, with a tiny picture of Alfie inside and an engraving: ‘To Alice. Love Em and Luca.’ God, I think I’m going to cry again. I give them both a hug and then manage to get Alfie and Nana out of the door so the poor man can get up and get dressed without an audience.
Alfie’s in bliss playing with Nana in our room, while I have a shower. I’ve completely fallen in love with the shape of the houses here and I love the domed ceiling in the bathroom: it’s like being in a medieval chapel. Luca’s explained to me that they just fit the stones together, with no cement, and they make the domed roofs by putting lots of thick wooden props into the room once the walls have been built, and then they fit the stones together into the shape they want, again with no cement. And then they take the props out, and if they’ve got it right the whole thing stays up. Whoever gets to remove the last prop must have to be very nifty on their feet, or a very confident builder.
Alfie’s busy making Nana a dog basket in the middle of my bed with all the pillows and blankets while I get ready, and we even have to leave her a glass of water in case she gets thirsty.
The restaurant’s been transformed and there are flowers and candles everywhere. Marco comes over and says we’re sitting with him at dinner, he has arranged it.
‘I hope this is OK, but I need your help. My cousin’s friend, this Mariella, she is very determined.’
‘No problem, as long as you don’t mind Alfie helping himself to anything he fancies on your plate.’
‘Ah.’
The dinner is amazing, and so many different dishes are brought out from the kitchen that I lose count. Alfie’s on red alert for squid, which he ate inadvertently the other night and pronounced delicious but has now decided is the most disgusting thing in the whole world, and Marco keeps himself busy flirting like mad with everyone under seventy because he’s still trying to shake off Mariella, who’s giving me pointed looks from across the room, and then some of the tables are moved back and people start dancing.
Luca’s given Alfie a glass of water with a tiny bit of wine in it, and after a bit of dancing he gradually slows down and then falls asleep at our table. I must remember to try this at home.
Em’s mum has drunk far too much and keeps gripping hold of my arm and telling me that she still doesn’t know why we couldn’t have had the whole thing in England. But apart from that everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.
At some point after midnight the fireworks start, but Alfie’s still fast asleep. I’m standing out on the terrace, watching the fireworks and Em and Luca, who seem completely blissed out, when Marco comes over.
‘I think there is still one tradition left we must do.’
‘Oh, what’s that?’
‘At a proper English wedding I think there is a tradition?’
‘What, like it pours with rain and then there’s a fight?’
‘No. The bridesmaid. She has to kiss the best man. I think?’
‘Well. Actually.’
‘Oh yes. I have read about it. And it is very bad luck if there is not enough kissing.’
‘Not at English weddings. Possibly at Italian ones.’
‘Oh yes. At Italian weddings everybody must kiss.’
He is rather gorgeous. Oh, what the hell. I kiss him. And he kisses me back. And then I kiss him again. Blimey.
‘I’d better go and see if Alfie’s woken up.’
‘I think we hear him if he is woken up.’
‘Probably.’
‘I think we should stay here. I think this is much better.’
I think he’s right.
We’re still locked mid-clinch when Em
comes round the corner.
‘Oh sorry.’
‘No, it’s fine. Really. I was just going to check on Alfie.’
Crikey. My legs have gone all wobbly.
‘No, I shall go. You stay here and I shall tell you.’
‘God, I’m sorry, Alice, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.’
‘You didn’t. I mean it just sort of happened. There’s nothing to interrupt. Really. I just kissed him, that’s all. He asked me to. So I did.’
‘I bet that surprised him.’
‘Not half as much as it surprised me.’
‘He’s lovely, you know.’
‘I know.’
‘And just think, if it worked out we’d be related, and you could come and live out here and we’d be sisters-in-law, and you could design new dammusi and we could meet in town every morning, and –’
‘Em. You don’t think you might be reading a tiny bit too much into one little kiss, do you?’
‘Possibly. But he’s been giving you longing looks ever since you arrived.’
‘He has not.’
‘Oh yes he has. It’s just like buses, isn’t it? Just when you give up hope two come along at once. First Harry and now Marco.’
‘Yes, and that’s another thing. I mean I’m sort of with Harry, aren’t I? Not that we’ve had any big talks or anything, but it still feels like cheating. And I really hate that. I don’t know what came over me really. Maybe I’m drunker than I thought. I don’t normally come over all brazen, and I really don’t want to make things complicated.’
‘Complicated’s good, you know, sometimes. Sometimes it’s how it is.’
‘I know. But it was only a kiss. He was probably just being friendly.’
‘Alice. He wasn’t just being friendly. Trust me.’
‘Well, whatever he was being I should go and get Alfie. And say goodnight to everyone, and you should get back to your husband.’
‘My husband. I still haven’t really got used to saying it. Are you sure, about Marco, I mean?’
‘Yes. Really.’
‘All right. I think you’re mad, but all right. And thank you, for making everything so perfect. Today, I mean. I had the best day.’
