Grown Ups

by Marian Keyes

  ‘It won’t go tits up.’

  But it might. ‘There are lots of websites, Johnny. What would make ours different?’

  ‘The PiG name, the goodwill.’

  He didn’t get it. Nobody seemed to get it, except her. ‘Goodwill counts for nothing on a website. It all comes down to pricing, and we wouldn’t have the purchasing power that bigger companies have.’

  ‘We can’t stay as we are, though.’

  But why not? They worked hard but they had a nice life. What was wrong with staying exactly as they were?

  SEVEN WEEKS AGO

  * * *

  LATE AUGUST

  Tuscany

  SIXTY-FIVE

  ‘Oh, my God.’ Nell darted towards a low sideboard, its teal blue colour polished to a dull sheen. ‘The workmanship!’ She ran her fingertips along the shallow carving on the drawers. ‘The detail.’ She admired the pattern-work of scrolls, so faded they were barely visible. ‘That’s definitely not Italian Ikea.’

  ‘I think Nell likes the villa,’ Ed said, carrying a suitcase up the stairs.

  ‘Nell loves the villa,’ Nell exclaimed.

  After the shock-to-the-system early-morning flight, the car-hire hell and the difficulty of satnavving narky Liam through the snarl of Florentine traffic, Nell’s day had dramatically improved as soon as they emerged into the Tuscan countryside. Every five seconds there was something new and beautiful to exclaim about: the sun-baked slopes, the sandstone fortifications perched on a steep hill, the green-and-beige drills of grapes. ‘Like, this is totally amazing!’

  In the back seat of the car, Saoirse and her new best friend Robyn were being world-weary and unimpressed.

  ‘She’s cute,’ Robyn dead-panned.

  ‘How come you’ve never been to Italy before?’ Saoirse asked Nell.

  ‘Never got the chance.’

  As they turned off the road towards the villa, Nell was newly astonished at the size of the estate.

  ‘Seven acres,’ Saoirse said. ‘Those are olive trees, grape vines there. That’s the vegetable garden.’

  ‘Totally wow.’ This from Robyn.

  Abruptly Saoirse shut up.

  Surrounded by cypress trees, which looked like moss-covered stalagmites, the villa appeared: a solid, handsome house, with sloping roofs of terracotta tiles and distempered walls of pale yellow. Shutters painted ivy-green bracketed each deep-set window and the heavy front door stood invitingly open. ‘It’s perfect.’ Nell could barely breathe. ‘Like an eighteenth-century painting.’

  ‘Don’t think they had satellite dishes in the eighteenth century,’ Liam muttered.

  Up the stone steps, Nell passed from blazing sunshine into a cool, dim, tiled hallway and from there into a huge sitting room. Light poured in through six statement windows.

  Everything was perfect. On one wall, a fitted wooden bookcase, painted a gorgeous dusty sage, reached the ceiling. The other three walls were distempered in a warm, almond, rustic finish. Two giant L-shaped linen sofas shared space with sturdy little armchairs in a colour Nell decided to call celery. At seemingly random points through the room there were low tables, made from gently distressed oak or finished with a tile mosaic. Proportions, balance, colour: this was a room so right that it thrilled her.

  ‘Nell!’ Jessie called. ‘What was the rush? Are you okay?’

  ‘We saw you running in!’ Dilly was hot on her heels. ‘Do you need the loo?’

  ‘I’m fine, sweetie. But, Jessie, this place is amazing! I can’t even – I mean, thank you for inviting me.’

  ‘You’re more than welcome.’ Jessie lit up with pleasure.

  ‘Mum.’ Bridey was inside and heading for the stairs. ‘I don’t want to share with Dilly.’

  ‘Charming,’ Dilly said.

  ‘How old is it?’ Nell asked Jessie. ‘The house?’

  ‘Two hundred and fifty years, something like that.’ Then, ‘NO!’ She raised her hand to Bridey. ‘No! It’s agreed, you’re sharing with her and that’s that.’

  ‘Nell,’ Liam called, ‘am I to bring in our stuff all by myself?’

  More and more Caseys were gathering in the hall, dragging bags, bumping against the people ahead of them.

  ‘Liam, let her be!’ Jessie said. ‘She’s in raptures about the house.’

  ‘Raptures!’ Dilly cried.

  ‘Saoirse and Robyn, you’re over in the barn.’ Jessie shooed them away.

  ‘The barn?’ they heard Robyn say. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘It’s super-cosy.’ Saoirse sounded anxious.

  ‘Lil bitch,’ Jessie whispered to Nell. ‘The barn is the best place. C’mon.’ She took Nell by the arm. ‘Come and see the kitchen.’

  ‘I’m not Bridey’s biggest fan either.’ Dilly chatted away to herself. ‘But I didn’t tell her.’

  ‘Regardez,’ Jessie breathed.

  The kitchen was a large, light, rectangular room. Dominating the centre was a giant slab of amber-veined marble, over which sheaves of lavender hung from a suspended pot-holder. Decoratively carved cupboards painted a creamy apricot opened noiselessly to reveal bread, pasta, breakfast cereals and condiments.

  ‘Where did all the food come from?’

  ‘And drink.’ Jessie pointed out gallons of water, slabs of beer and boxes of wine. ‘Pre-stock of groceries.’

  It was another world, a rich people’s one.

  ‘It’ll all be gone by tomorrow,’ Jessie said. ‘But it’s handy not to have to head to the supermarket the minute you arrive.’

  Three French windows opened onto a long dining table, which could probably seat twenty, under a pergola woven through with wisteria. Just past it lay a herb garden drenched in sunlight. Jessie smiled, as if she were gazing at a basket of puppies. ‘Most days I think I’ve fallen out of love with cooking.’

  ‘Do you?’ Nell was surprised.

  ‘Ah, yeah, you know yourself. Cooking for kids would kill anyone’s joy. But this kitchen always rekindles the magic.’

  ‘This sink!’ Bridey had come in with Robyn. ‘You should pay attention too, Nell. This sink is where you rinse off the dishes. See that giant hose. Use that. You must never prepare food in this sink.’

  ‘Bridey, you’re mean.’ Dilly sounded like she’d rehearsed this. ‘I’m not your biggest fan either, but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.’

  ‘Jessie.’ Johnny stuck his head around the door. ‘I’m going down to Marcello before he starts work and get some practice in on my espresso drinking.’

  She came to kiss him on the mouth. ‘Bonne chance, mon brave. Don’t drink too many.’ Then, ‘Nell, would you like to see your bedroom?’

  ‘Yes, please!’

  Accompanied by Jessie, Dilly and now Bridey and TJ, Nell was led upstairs.

  OMG, the bedroom! The walls and an arched ceiling were stippled a parchment colour. On the floor was wide-planked white oak. Two walls – two – had beautiful deep-set windows, which fastened with ornate silver hasps, giving views over the olive grove, then to the hills beyond. The furniture, once a pale blue, but now faded to near-white, was unadorned and impeccable. The bed had a simple fabric headboard, in a muted silvery-grey.

  ‘Oh, wow.’ Nell ran her hand along the bed linen. ‘Jessie, I love it. It’s luxurious but not a bit nouvy.’

  ‘Nouvy?’ Jessie asked. ‘Short for “nouveau riche”? Bougie, nouvy Jessie!’

  ‘No, I didn’t say –’

  ‘Lookit, if the cap fits!’

  The more Nell spotted, the more impressed she was. Everything worked. The plug sockets were in exactly the right places. You didn’t need a degree in advanced mathematics to figure out the lighting.

  But when she saw the attached bathroom, a vision in white and cobalt blue marble, her face changed.

  ‘Feeling guilty?’ Jessie asked.

  ‘No.’ Then, ‘Ah, sorry.’

  ‘Well, this is the best bit. I’ve been dying to tell you! Little story: we came here five years ago, booked through an agent
and, yeah, it wasn’t cheap. First three nights we went to the same restaurant in the village, run by Loretta and Marcello. We hit it off, stayed late, having the chats, free limoncello, the usual. I invited them to us on their free night, said I’d cook something Irish. I was pissed, like, you know how it is. Bougie. And nouvy, obviously. No, Nell, I love that word! So they came, we had a great night. I mean, they’re lovely people, it’s not hard. Turns out that Marcello’s brother owns this house. Giacomo’s his name. Scary. Different kettle of kippers from Marcello. He’s all a bit “Do I amooze you?” But, scary or not, he must have liked us because he said to book direct with him if we ever wanted to come back. Now we get it for a third of the price we paid that first year. Does that make you feel any better?’

  ‘Giacomo fancies Mum,’ Dilly said. ‘Daddy says.’

  ‘He always calls around when Dad is out.’ This from TJ. ‘With grappa. He tries to get her liquored up.’

  Bridey spoke: ‘Dad says that if Mum has intercourse with Giacomo, we’d get the house for free. And he didn’t say “intercourse”, he said “sex”, which is hardly appropriate for us children to hear.’

  ‘Shush now,’ Jessie said. ‘Daddy’s just joking.’

  Bridey sighed. ‘Daddy would really want to sort out his sense of humour.’

  SIXTY-SIX

  ‘Ferdia?’ He heard Jessie’s voice outside. ‘Are you in here? I just brought Nell to see –’

  Ferdia opened his door. Jessie, Nell and Dilly stood outside in the blazing sunshine.

  ‘Oh, bunny, sorry!’ Jessie took a step back. ‘Sorry. Just, I’m showing Nell around. I thought you’d be at the pool.’

  ‘Come in, you’re grand.’

  ‘No, no.’ Nell was reluctant. ‘We’ll come back some other time.’

  ‘It’d be worse to have you poking around if I wasn’t here.’ He’d been aiming for jokey but instead he sounded narky. ‘Seriously, come in.’ He made himself smile. ‘Welcome to the Old Granary.’

  Cautiously they entered.

  Nell’s face was full of wonder. ‘The low ceiling, the exposed beams, the stone floors, two storeys,’ she marvelled. ‘Very rustic. Hey!’ She’d suddenly noticed something. ‘Is Barty not here?’

  Shit. How many times would he have to answer this? ‘Yeah, he didn’t come. Busy. You know.’

  ‘I only realized now.’ She laughed at herself. ‘Shows how awake I was at the airport. That’s too bad, Barty’s the craic.’

  You think?

  ‘So poor Ferdia has no one to play with,’ Jessie said.

  ‘What about Seppe and Lorenzo? I can play with them.’ Then, to Nell, ‘Marcello’s sons.’

  She nodded, not interested, still all about the décor. ‘Look at this beautiful stone archway!’

  He’d never noticed it before and this was his fourth visit. The archway opened to the shallow stone steps, leading to his upstairs bedroom.

  ‘Can we …?’

  ‘Work away.’

  Tap-tapping up the steps, they crowded into the small, light bedroom.

  ‘Best Wi-Fi in the whole of Santa Laura,’ he said.

  In the shade of the town square, Johnny was drinking espresso with Marcello. He didn’t like espresso and, this late in the day, it made him feel slightly sick.

  ‘You like something else?’ Marcello urged.

  ‘Nah. I’m practising. For when I run away and come to live here. The other men won’t let me sit with them if I’m drinking a caramel frappuccino.’

  ‘You are a big eejit.’ Jessie had taught him that word.

  ‘I’ll learn to play draughts. I’ll sit under the arches in the company of other men and life will be peaceful.’

  ‘You misunderstand,’ Marcello said. ‘We work like dogs for four months to earn money for the other eight months of the year.’

  ‘But you live in this beautiful place, you can walk to work and you don’t have to go to trade fairs in Frankfurt.’

  ‘We should exchange lives for a time.’

  ‘The stress would kill you.’

  ‘My life is not so easy. Another drink? Please, my friend, have something different.’

  ‘No. Another espresso. I’ve to build up my endurance.’

  ‘Ferdia,’ Saoirse called. ‘We’re ready.’

  ‘… Er. Wow.’ It was barely gone 6 p.m. but Saoirse and Robyn were dressed for a nightclub: short shimmery dresses, spindly-heeled sandals and stripes of shiny stuff on their faces.

  ‘Contouring,’ Saoirse informed him.

  ‘Will you be okay in those shoes?’ he asked Robyn. ‘Ten-minute walk uphill to the town and cobbled streets when we get there.’

  ‘I was born in high heels.’

  Maybe so, but by the time they arrived in Il Gatto Ubriaco, he had a girl leaning on each arm.

  Marcello’s kids, Seppe, Lorenzo and Valentina, were at a table overlooking the sun-baked plain below. There were warm hugs and double kisses. Briefly Ferdia forgot about Barty. ‘What’s everyone drinking?’

  ‘Aperol Spritz.’ Valentina indicated the orange drink in front of her.

  ‘2014 called. It wants its statement drink back.’ Robyn gave Ferdia a malicious smile.

  He slid his eyes away, embarrassed. ‘So, six Aperol Spritzes,’ he said, and went to the bar.

  It was passeggiata. Family groups, some of just two or three people, and others much bigger, wandered past the bar. They were mostly Italian, with only the occasional cluster of tourists.

  Jessie should have been Italian, Ferdia thought. They were all about family. Hey! There went Cara, Ed, Vinnie and Tom. Ferdia watched Cara. She was holding hands with Tom and Ed and she looked okay, normal. But she’d always looked normal and it had turned out that she had bulimia. It was weird how they were all acting like she hadn’t had a seizure and scared them sideways. Was it hard for her here, surrounded by so much great food? Or was she cured now?

  ‘Orders from on high,’ Bridey announced. ‘We have a reservation at Loretta’s restaurant for our dinner. We leave at seven fifteen sharp. Don’t be late.’

  Nell had a shower, washed her hair, dried it and put on a red cotton dress. Her electronic toothbrush was buzzing its way around her mouth when she heard Liam coming up the stairs. She tensed without knowing why. The toothbrush had been a gift from Liam, given at a time when everything he’d said or done was bundled up in his love for her. Then, it hadn’t seemed like an insultingly practical thing to receive: it had been just one more sign of his devotion. The correct way to use it, he had informed her, was to spend thirty seconds on each quadrant of her mouth – instead of roaming randomly like she was doing now.

  ‘Hi. Just changing my shirt.’

  She moved into the bathroom, out of his way. It was only a small thing, a very small thing, but she wanted to brush her teeth the way she wanted to brush her teeth.

  ‘… a start-up grant from the government.’ Seppe was telling Ferdia about the small e-commerce company he’d just started. ‘They would like for Arezzo to become a hub for gold –’

  ‘Yawn,’ Robyn said loudly.

  Ferdia made an apologetic face at Seppe, and Seppe smiled to show he understood.

  Seppe had just finished university, and while his career path wasn’t what Ferdia was aiming for personally, he was heartened that Seppe saw a future for himself. It was hard to earn a living here in rural Tuscany, far harder than in Ireland.

  ‘What about you?’ Valentina asked Ferdia. ‘You have one more year in college? And then what?’

  ‘Yeah, well –’ He was keen to discuss his recent venture, but Robyn cut in, ‘Blah de blah de blah. When are we going to have some fun?’

  Saoirse’s phone beeped. ‘It’s Mum. We’re late for dinner.’

  ‘We’d better go. Catch up with you later?’

  Ferdia, Saoirse and Robyn hurried through the narrow, brick-paved streets, under sandstone archways and past cave-like grocery stores. Dinner was in Loretta and Marcello’s place, on the other side of the sma
ll town. They passed an old-fashioned apothecary, then a shiny little jewellery shop, its wares aimed firmly at tourists.

  ‘Ohmygod!’ Robyn pointed at glass-beaded bracelets. ‘They’re the cutest! I wanna try.’

  ‘We’re late,’ Ferdia said. ‘The bracelets will still be here tomorrow.’

  ‘I wanna look at them now.’

  ‘Okay. Work away. Saoirse, you know how to get to Loretta’s. See you there.’

  ‘You’re not waiting with us?’ Robyn pouted.

  ‘I don’t want to be late.’ He strode on.

  ‘What an utter bastard,’ Robyn said loudly.

  ‘“… I fought the LAAAAAAWWWW …”’ Johnny sang. ‘Ha-ha-ha! I sound like an opera singer.’

  ‘A baritone,’ Liam said. ‘Marcello, are they the deep-voice ones?’

  ‘Sì.’ Marcello rolled his eyes. ‘Cafone.’

  Cheeky Italian prick. Cafone meant something like ‘ignorant peasant’.

  ‘“… And the LAAAAAAAAWWWW won!”’ Johnny sang on. ‘Listen to the reverb on that!’

  It was late on Saturday night and they were playing pool in the basement, which had freakishly echoey acoustics.

  Liam took a swig from his beer bottle, hit his chest and belched.

  ‘“’Cause girls like YOOOOOUUU,”’ Ferdia cut in.

  ‘“Run around with BOYS like me,”’ Seppe and Lorenzo chorused, and the three of them fell around the place laughing.

  Call him paranoid, but Liam suspected they were laughing at him. He didn’t know what, but there was some subtext here. He was drunk enough and feeling reckless enough to –

  Ed stepped in front of him. ‘All right?’

  Taken by surprise, he said, ‘Ah. Yeah.’

  ‘You sure?’ Now Johnny had blocked him in.

  ‘I’m grand.’

  ‘Right!’ Johnny moved off, then bellowed, ‘“I FOUGHT THE LAAAAAW.”’

  Nell woke into darkness, her heart pounding. Where am I? She was in bed but not at home. Slightly panicked, she stretched out a leg and discovered she was alone. Where was Liam?