‘I left that day, caught the train as planned and never saw him again.’
I looked up at Gabe and there was such anger in his eyes that for a moment I was quite taken aback.
‘Nice bloke,’ he muttered, his face stormy with anger. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and rubbed his face. ‘There’s no excuse. There’s never an excuse. If a girl says no, no matter what the circumstances – even if she’d said yes the day before, or even five minutes before, that’s all a man needs to know. I hope you haven’t in some way laid the blame at your own feet?’
I stretched my legs out towards the fire to feel the warmth and glanced sideways at him.
‘I did at first. For ages I blamed myself for getting it so wrong with him, for not realizing how strong his feelings for me were. Then I blamed myself for not fighting him off hard enough, but above all I felt sick that he’d used his physical power to force me to do something I didn’t want to do. It was an unfair fight. For the first time in my life I felt like the weaker sex and I hated him for that.’
‘You’re anything but weak.’ His gaze met mine so fiercely it brought heat to my cheeks. ‘In fact, you’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. I … I think a lot of you; Noah does too.’
My heart melted at that.
‘I made myself strong. From then on I decided not to let any man have power over me again.’
‘Love is a powerful force,’ said Gabe softly.
He moved to the log basket, feeding more wood into the flames.
I shrugged one shoulder. ‘Exactly. That’s why I don’t let relationships get that far.’
‘That’s a shame because you’re missing out. That power is a force for good far more often than for bad. Being loved by someone is one of the greatest privileges of life.’
His voice was low and thick with emotion and I wondered whether he was thinking of Mimi.
‘It is also one of the biggest risks,’ I said softly.
He knelt back on his heels and looked me squarely in the eye. ‘There are good men out there, Rosie. I’m sorry this happened to you. But give us poor men another chance. If you never take the risk, you’ll never find out.’
I wondered if he’d ever take the risk again.
‘Oh I know; my dad, for instance. You know where you stand with Alec Featherstone.’
Gabe cocked an eyebrow.
‘Yes, OK,’ I admitted, ‘perhaps not when he’s dressed as Dolly Parton.’
We both laughed at that and suddenly I realized that I’d done the thing that I should have done years ago. I felt like a rain cloud had lifted from above my head.
‘Ooh,’ I said, remembering suddenly. ‘Gina says she can babysit on Friday.’
‘Oh? Right, good.’ He nodded and rubbed his neck and started jiggling his leg again. ‘I’ll, er … yes, thanks for passing that on.’
Poor man; he looked so awkward. All he did was offer to get me out of the rain and he’d ended up giving me a counselling session. I bet he hadn’t expected his morning to turn out like this.
‘You’ll probably want to get off now,’ I said, making it easy for him.
He made a whistling sound through his teeth.
‘Actually, I wanted to, I wondered if you …’ He blinked his grey eyes at me and let out a long breath. ‘I wanted to give you a hug. But after what you’ve just told me I understand if you’d rather not.’
‘Please do.’ I swallowed. ‘Do hug me.’
He didn’t need asking twice; the next second I was wrapped in his arms, my face buried into the soft place between his chest and his cheek, his damp hair tickling my face. He smelled of woodsmoke and a faint hint of spicy aftershave and it was so intensively masculine that it made me realize how long it had been since I’d been so close to a member of the opposite sex.
‘Thank you for telling me, Rosie; I’m honoured.’
‘Thanks for listening. You’re a good friend, Gabe,’ I murmured into his neck, dabbing at a stray tear.
He said something so quietly that I couldn’t quite catch it, but I think it was something about a good start.
I closed my eyes and allowed myself to relax against him. The sounds of the fire crackling, the rain dripping from the trees and the birds singing drifted away until all I could hear was the gentle beat of Gabe’s heart through his shirt. My eyes brimmed with tears.
Peace. Total peace.
I’d done it. After ten years, I’d faced up to the fact that what had happened to me was rape. That no means no whether you know your attacker or not. That just because we’d done it before didn’t mean it was OK for Callum to do it against my will. And not only had I admitted it to myself, I’d shared it with someone who cared about me.
I felt better for it. I’d let someone in on my deepest secrets and instead of feeling exposed as I’d feared, I felt brave and hopeful. Maybe this was a new start for me and my fragile heart.
Chapter 25
The next couple of days were completely bonkers. Derbyshire had snow. Only a sprinkling but even so, it was almost May! The peaks looked postcard-perfect and when the sun came out, everywhere looked so beautiful that we forgot to moan about the cold and the damage it was doing to everyone’s gardens and just enjoyed the scenery instead. I even spotted Noah playing with his new friends on the village green after school one day, trying to make snowballs and miniature snowmen while Gabe stood in the middle of a crowd of mums. I was pleased to see him making friends, but nevertheless spent a long time wiping down tables so I could keep an eye on him from a distance. I wondered which one, if any, he’d be taking out on Friday night.
I was massively grateful to him for being the one to help me unlock the memories of what happened with Callum, but before he’d left to pick up Noah from school, I’d made him promise – again – never to breathe a word of it to anyone, even Verity. I decided that no one in my family would ever find out that my relationship with Callum had ended so badly. Nonna’s story was enough for everyone to cope with and now that I’d confided in Gabe, I felt as if I had everything I needed inside me to cope with it myself. Just having one person validate my feelings about that night was all it took and the fact that Gabe had been so lovely and supportive about it made me like him even more.
I did tell a small white lie to Verity.
I sent her a text saying that Nonna had not only lost a baby, but had been raped too and that I’d been so shocked at hearing the news that I’d got a bit flustered and that I’d fill her in properly soon. Maybe one day I would tell her, but for the moment my story could wait; right now, Nonna needed me.
Because suddenly, after more than fifty years, Maria Benedetto couldn’t wait to go back to Italy and none of us had the heart to argue. What mattered more than anything, to all of us, was to readjust to our new family tree and what better way to help Nonna lay her ghosts to rest than by going back to where it had all begun. To visit her family’s graves, to be certain that the Signore Benedetto we’d found on the internet really was her husband and for Nonna to reconnect with the country that ran as strongly through her veins now as it had always done.
Nonna had asked me to go with her. I was honoured, but at the same time worried that the rest of the family would feel left out. But it was fine. Mum might have wanted to go with her but she still didn’t have a valid passport. Dad didn’t want to leave Mum, Lia couldn’t leave Arlo and as Nonna was too impatient to wait any longer than she had to, it made sense for me to accompany her. I booked us flights and a hotel and three days later, on Friday evening, we were making a flying visit to Sorrento.
‘Please ensure your tray tables are in the upright position, window blinds are fully raised and stow all loose items under the seat in front of you.’
I glanced at Nonna. After discovering that the cabin crew on the flight from Luton to Naples couldn’t supply her with a glass of limoncello to calm her nerves, she had opted for a double brandy instead. She had knocked it back in one and had been snoring softly for
the last hour. Her chin was tucked into her chest and her hands clasped tightly across the front of her new lilac dress and matching jacket.
‘I wanna look my best when I go back to Italy,’ she had said firmly, ignoring Mum’s suggestion that the most important thing when travelling was comfort.
She was a remarkable woman, I thought, watching her soft puffs of breath and the rise and fall of her chest. She was taking her first flight at seventy-five years of age to return to a period of her life she had been trying to forget for more than fifty years and even though I knew she was nervous at what, or who, she might find in Italy, she was determined to face the consequences.
The brandy had really knocked her out; despite the various bongs telling us to fasten our seat belts in readiness for our descent, and the pilot’s announcement that the weather in southern Italy this evening was a balmy sixteen degrees, she still didn’t move a muscle. I did up her seat belt and then my own before pulling the bus timetable from my bag to check it for the umpteenth time. Nonna had assured me that the best way to get to Sorrento from Naples was by bus. Privately I’d thought that her travel tips were possibly out of date so I’d looked it up on TripAdvisor only to find that she was right. I’d bought tickets online for the last bus of the day and we’d be arriving in Sorrento at just before eleven tonight.
Looking at her faded features, slack now in sleep, it was almost impossible to reconcile this dear time-worn face with the feisty young woman who I’d learned about ever since Stanley’s proposal.
My eyes pricked with tears and I blinked them away as the plane dipped its nose and began its descent. Nonna stirred and I took her hand in mine.
Hers was a story that, even now, I was still coming to terms with. And I wasn’t the only one. The entire family had been shell-shocked by Nonna’s revelations.
I looked at Nonna’s hand and twirled the worn gold band around her finger. Her wedding ring. Signora Maria Benedetto. Married to Marco and not to her first love, Lorenzo Carloni, as she’d led us to believe all these years. Although if I’d been married to a man like Marco, I’d have been tempted to erase it from my memory banks too.
I looked out of the window as the aeroplane swooped low across the water. The sinking sun had set the sky alight with pink and orange stripes and the sea below shone like liquid gold. Now and then a light winked from a tiny boat and then suddenly the plane banked, we turned and the coastline appeared, its jagged edges of burnt-orange rocks glittering with lights.
My stomach flipped; in a matter of minutes Nonna would be back in Italy and together we’d be heading to Sorrento to face her past and say her final goodbyes.
For the first hour of the flight, Nonna had been as excitable as a child. She’d read every word on the safety card tucked in the seat pocket in front of us, she’d checked that both she and I really did have a lifejacket under our seats, she’d visited the loo twice and had even knocked on the door of the cockpit and asked to see the pilot. She had been escorted back to her seat after that.
‘I like aeroplanes. Last time I make this long journey, with your mamma,’ she chuckled, choosing an espresso and chocolate muffin from the menu when the trolley passed by for the first time, ‘I was on train with hundreds of others. Nothing like this.’
‘Tell me,’ I urged, handing her an extra sugar packet, which she tore open and tipped into her cup. ‘Mum told me the bones of the story, but tell me how you ended up with Marco. And how you managed to escape.’
Nonna frowned, stirring her coffee for ages before meeting my gaze.
‘I’m ashamed.’
‘Don’t be.’ I swallowed and covered her hand with mine. Understanding completely how she felt, but knowing now, thanks to Gabe, that shame had no place in what had happened. ‘I have always loved you. Always. And now I know what you’ve been through, I’m even more proud.’
‘Okey cokey.’ She glanced across at the passengers on the other side of the aisle. Nobody was paying us any attention and the seat next to me was empty. It was just her and me, thirty thousand feet up in the air somewhere above Europe …
‘If my days with Lorenzo are like being in heaven,’ she began, ‘then life with Marco is the worst kind of hell …’
For a couple of years after Lorenzo died, it was obvious that she was simply not interested in men and Maria’s mother was worried about her. Her brother Sav and his wife Sofia had moved their two children into the apartment above the bar and now Maria and her mother were sharing a room. It was cramped and Sofia was making it very clear that Maria was not welcome.
One day Marco Benedetto came into the bar and asked Maria to go to a dance with him. She didn’t want to go, but Sav and her mother told Marco that she would. Everyone knew Marco. He ran his family’s ice-cream business and made lots of money selling gelato to the tourists in the Marina Piccola at the water’s edge.
He came to collect her on his motorbike and they rode to Piano, a town just along the coast road. The dance was full of young girls trying to attract men and men showing off to the girls. Maria hated every minute of it and detested Marco. Where Lorenzo had been full of life, he was just full of himself. His breath smelled of Turkish cigarettes and garlic and his skin smelled so strongly of aftershave that it made her choke. He had hooded eyes and a square jaw. She knew others found him handsome, but his looks left her cold; she could see only steel in his heart and couldn’t wait for the night to be over. He threw her round the dance floor, laughing when he spun her so fast that she stumbled.
She told him that he had bad manners, which made him laugh more.
‘Foreign girls find me irresistible,’ he’d said with a grin. ‘I have to fight them off down at the beach.’
‘And yet you are still single?’ she’d replied feistily.
Maria asked to go home, but he made her wait until the end of the night. Outside he walked her back to where they had left the motorbike and under the streetlight, he had grabbed her around the waist.
‘Just a little kiss. I deserve that?’ His eyes had glinted menacingly under the sodium light.
She should have just kissed him, but Maria had never despised someone so much in her life and couldn’t bring herself to do it.
‘You have the manners of a filthy street dog and you deserve nothing from me,’ she’d said proudly and turned her head so that his harsh lips had only found her jaw.
‘A dog?’ he’d snarled.
Enraged, he dragged her into a stone passageway hidden from view. He tore away every bit of her dignity along with the hem of her dress and she was powerless to stop him. Afterwards he pressed his hard mouth against hers, every touch of his skin on hers a torture after the tender, innocent caresses of Lorenzo. He took her home and as he left her at the door, he gripped her face in his hand until her eyes watered in pain.
‘You see,’ he’d laughed, ‘you’re just like the other girls. You want Marco too.’
She bit his finger and ran inside, his laughter ringing in her ears, mocking her for her tears. After that he kept coming round and Maria kept trying to avoid him until three months later when her mother spotted her swollen stomach.
The priest and Maria’s mum scared her into marriage, telling her that her baby would be taken from her if she didn’t comply. Marco’s family were keen to see him marry, thinking that becoming a father would be the change he needed to make him settle down and Marco, deciding at his age that he should have a wife, flippantly agreed to make an honest woman of her.
Maria’s wedding day dragged by like a bad dream. If only Lorenzo had not been killed, none of this would have happened, she told herself. She thought her life couldn’t get worse. Her family were relieved to see her get married and her mother told her she was only emotional because of being pregnant. No one was listening to her.
When the midwife heard two heartbeats Maria suddenly found her strength. This wasn’t just about her any more; she had two extra lives to take care of. Marco was more full of himself than ever, insistent that fathering
twins proved what a man he was. He wouldn’t leave her alone, wanted to go everywhere with her, convinced that she was cheating on him. But who would want her now? Her legs were swollen, her body was bloated, she was always tired and sick. Some women bloom like a flower when they are with child. Not Maria; she faded and faded until all the colour was bleached from her skin. Her stomach grew and the day the babies were due to be born got closer. As time went on, the air between Marco and her got more and more heated, like the approach of a thunderstorm. Then one day he came home to take her to the hospital for an appointment.
Before they left, Marco lost his wallet and blamed her for moving it. By the time he found it in his jacket pocket, they were running late. As he locked the door to their apartment Maria told him to hurry. His fury burst to the surface and he hit her jaw so hard she thought it had cracked. She stumbled sideways and slipped down the stairs, screaming with fear that she was going to hurt the babies. Marco tried to grab her back but it was too late. She broke her wrist trying to save herself and the unborn twins, but she landed heavily on her stomach. Marco pulled her to her feet and shoved her in the car. She was speechless with pain as he drove to the hospital. Gennaro and Luisa were born eight hours later. Luisa screeched the place down, but Gennaro was still and blue.
A doctor was called but nothing could be done. A piece of Maria died with her son.
She could never prove that Marco caused the death of their baby boy, but until that moment there had been nothing wrong with the babies. After the funeral she was silent, she looked after Luisa and she kept them both away from the monster as much as she could. He said that if she told anyone what had happened he would call her a liar and say that she was mentally ill. When Luisa was only two weeks old, Marco forced himself on Maria again in the night while the baby cried in the crib at the end of the bed.
And that was the moment Maria knew she would rather die than carry on living like this.
It took her a month to plan their escape. A friend from her school days, Edoardo, knew someone who could help her disappear. He arranged everything for her: a fake passport, transport to Milan and from there a passage on a train full of brick workers on their way to a new life in England.
The Lemon Tree Café Page 24
