by Carrie Elks
Sam looked alarmed. ‘Is he OK? Is it his heart?’
Izzy shook her head, still looking frantic. ‘No, he’s drunk too much. But he’s being really horrible and she doesn’t want people to see him like that. She wants you to help him up to the house.’
Cesca watched as Sam listened to his sister’s words, his expression morphing into anger. ‘He’s drunk?’
‘Like a bloody newt. Seriously, the things he’s saying, I’m surprised Mum hasn’t slapped him.’
‘Like what?’
Izzy’s voice dropped. ‘Things about you. He’s such an arsehole, Sam. Honestly, anybody would think he hates his own son.’
‘Ah, fuck . . . ’ Sam turned to look at Cesca, who by now had straightened her skirt and sorted her hair out. ‘I need to go, OK?’
Cesca nodded.
Sam glanced at his sister, as if he was worried about revealing anything in front of her.
‘Can we talk about this later?’
She nodded again. ‘Of course. But you should go and help your dad. It sounds as though your mum needs you.’
‘She does,’ Izzy agreed, shooting Cesca a curious look. ‘Come on, Sam.’
With that, the two of them left, heading for the beach at the side of the lake. Cesca waited until they disappeared around the corner of the house before she stepped out of the shadows. Her entire encounter with Sam couldn’t have lasted for more than a few minutes, yet it seemed like hours had passed since she’d last held a tray in her hands.
It was time to get back to work. To pretend nothing had just happened.
Waiting and waitressing. They were the stories of her life.
28
It is a wise father that knows his own child
– The Merchant of Venice
The party was still thronging as Sam circled his way around the guests, heading down to the lakeside beach. Izzy held his hand, her face anxious as they neared the steps that led down to the sand. ‘He’s over there.’
‘Who else is here? Have any of the guests seen him like this?’
‘Just Mum and Sienna. Sandro and the waiters managed to lure the rest of the guests up to the villa once the fireworks ended. It’s amazing what people will do for a glass of champagne.’ Izzy’s words were much too world-weary for a girl of eighteen.
As soon as they were on the sand, Lucia looked over at them, her face ashen in the glow of the moon. ‘Over here,’ she said, pointing at a dark shadow. ‘We’ve managed to get him out of sight.’
‘Is he unconscious?’ Sam asked. He hated seeing his mother looking so lost.
‘Not quite. He’s still saying the occasional word. Talking about . . . things,’ she replied. ‘I don’t know what to do, Sam, how to get him up to the house without everybody seeing him. It’s such a mess.’
The way she looked at him, as if he could solve everything, made Sam feel helpless. He might have been strong, with gym-honed muscles, but he had no chance in hell of carrying Foster’s three hundred pound frame.
‘Who’s that?’ Foster’s voice was little more than a slur. Whisky thickened his vowels and hacked at his consonants.
‘It’s Sam.’ Lucia knelt next to her husband. ‘He’s come to help you.’
Foster struggled on the shale, attempting to sit up. There was a thud as his body hit the ground again, followed by a curse. ‘What the hell’s he doing here?’
Sam could make out his stepfather’s question even though the words ran into each other like bumper cars at the funfair. He didn’t feel the usual lurch of rejection, though. Instead he could taste the disgust in his mouth.
‘He’s come to help you, Foster,’ Lucia said, still crouched next to him. ‘We need to get you back to the house. There are guests here, we don’t want them to see you.’
‘Don’t fuckin’ need his help. He’s no good anyway.’
‘Why are you being so horrible?’ Izzy asked, blinking hard as if to hold back the tears. ‘You’re always nasty to him.’
It hadn’t escaped her notice, then. Sam hesitated for a moment, before turning to her. ‘You need to get Sienna and go back up to the villa. Keep the guests busy, we don’t want them coming back down here.’
There was no way Sam wanted his sisters hearing Foster’s drunken rants. Especially as he was skirting so close to telling them things they didn’t need to know.
‘I don’t want to leave you here,’ Izzy whispered. Her protectiveness made him melt. How a hundred and twenty pound girl thought she could look after him, he had no idea.
But then his mind turned back to another day on this beach, with Foster showing them his dark side. That day he’d held Sam’s head under the surface until he was practically drowning. His sisters – young as they had been – had run out to help him. Christ, even the memory brought tears to his eyes. The bastard had been drunk as a skunk that day, too.
‘You’ll be helping us if you go up there,’ Sam said. ‘Let me and Mom take care of him, and we’ll talk later, OK? Can you do that for me?’
Silently, Izzy nodded. Tears were pouring down her cheeks. She gestured at Sienna, who was sitting on the deck, her knees tucked under her chin. ‘Come on, Sienna, let’s go.’
‘Oh no, don’t leave, let’s all be one happy family. Right, Sam?’
‘Foster, be quiet.’ For the first time there was a hint of anger in Lucia’s voice.
‘But, baby, that’s what we are. Me, you, the girls, and that little . . . bastard.’
‘Foster!’ She clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Stop it please.’
‘Izz, go now,’ Sam whispered urgently. ‘Please get Sienna out of here.’
‘You don’t have to listen to him, he’s not really your brother.’
For a minute everybody went quiet on the beach. All they could hear was the gentle sounds of the party carrying on the breeze. The soft murmur of conversation, the occasional tinkle of laughter, juxtaposed against the lapping of the lake waters against the shore.
‘What does he mean?’ Izzy asked.
A wave of nausea squeezed at Sam’s stomach, bile scratching against his throat. ‘Nothing,’ Sam said. ‘He’s just drunk. Go on, Izz, I’ll explain later, OK?’
‘Don’t you tell her what to do. She’s not your sister.’ Foster started coughing, a deep, choking noise.
‘Of course I’m his sister.’ Tears were streaming down her face. She grabbed Sam’s hand, squeezing tight. ‘Why are you saying that, Daddy? Stop it, stop being horrible.’
Sam pulled her into him, hugging her tight. Then Sienna joined them, her face pale as the moon. ‘Just ignore him,’ Sam said. ‘I promise it’s going to be OK. If you guys can hold it together and get up to the villa, I’ll talk to you later. I just need to help Mom down here first.’
He could feel Izzy’s chest hitching as she tried to get control of her sobs. Sienna was altogether more silent, controlled. ‘What’s he talking about?’ she asked. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Nothing, he’s talking shit. He’s drunk too much and he’s being stupid. Please go back to the house.’
‘Sam’s right,’ Lucia said. ‘Your father, he’s not well. Please, darlings, let us take care of this.’
‘You are my brother, aren’t you?’ Izzy was crying hard, now. ‘Sam, tell me he’s lying.’
Was it possible for a heart to break? Sam thought it could be. ‘Of course I’m your brother, Izz. There’s no doubt about that. We’re family, you can’t get rid of me. But right now, we’ve got a situation. I need your help to solve it. Please can you go up to the villa and wait for me there?’
She nodded, still sobbing. Then, grabbing Sienna’s hand, the two of them headed for the villa, leaving Sam alone with his parents.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Sam turned back to the beach, heading towards where his stepfather lay. But it wasn’t his stepfather he was looking at, it was his mother, who was kneeling there, devastated.
‘You knew?’ she asked through her fingers, which were still clamped ove
r her mouth. ‘You knew, Sam?’
‘That Foster isn’t my father? Yes, I knew.’
Lucia shook her head. Her expression was broken. ‘You weren’t meant to know. I didn’t want you to know. How did you find out?’
Sam glanced at Foster. The efforts of shouting and moving must have been overwhelming. He was lying silently on the beach, his dinner jacket covered with gravel and sand.
‘He told me.’
‘No.’ She started to cry. ‘Oh no, Sam, no. He should never have told you. I’m so sorry, baby, so sorry.’
Sam crouched down, gently taking his mother into his arms. ‘Hey, it’s OK, it’s OK.’
‘How could he do that? How could he tell you without my permission? He promised me we wouldn’t say anything, he promised me it would stay a secret. You must hate me right now.’
‘I don’t hate you.’ He harboured no anger for his mother at all. It was his stepfather who attracted his ire.
‘I’m furious with him, I can’t believe he did that. How long have you known?’
He couldn’t lie. That’s what had got them here. Secrets and lies, all wrapped up in protection.
‘About six years. Foster told me the night before I flew to LA.’
‘Six years?’ It was almost a shout. ‘Sam, you’ve known that long and not told me? Didn’t you have questions, didn’t you want to talk to me? I can’t believe you didn’t say anything.’
He shrugged. ‘There was nothing to say. He told me and I left, that was pretty much it. I didn’t want to upset you. Not when you were so fragile.’
‘I’m not fragile,’ she told him. ‘I’m fine now. OK, so I went a bit downhill after I had the girls, but that was PND, darling. The therapy helped.’
Sam licked his dry lips. ‘Foster told me it was my fault.’
Tears filled her eyes. ‘Oh no, darling, no. It wasn’t your fault. None of it was. It happens to a lot of women. I got better, didn’t I?’
‘You did,’ he agreed. ‘But I was scared this would send you back to that place again. I couldn’t do it, not when Izzy and Sienna needed you.’
It seemed stupid now, seeing how upset she was. It was bound to come out at some point. But Sam had been too shaken up to think about that.
Lucia pulled back, looking him straight in the eye. ‘I’m upset because you didn’t tell me. Because he didn’t tell me. And I’m upset at myself for letting you find out without me telling you.’
Sam smiled. ‘There’s a lot of upset about not telling.’
‘Lies,’ she said. ‘They always find you out.’
He nodded. ‘They do.’
‘Will you ever forgive me? I wanted to protect you. I didn’t want you to carry the stigma of being illegittimo. I thought this would make things right.’
‘There’s nothing to forgive. You did what you thought was best at the time. And you tried to give me a happy childhood. It wasn’t your choice to tell me, that’s all on him.’ He took her hand, squeezing it tight. ‘You’re my mother and I love you.’
A fresh flood of tears ran down her cheeks. She lifted his hand to her face, kissing his palm. ‘You were my first born. My beautiful boy. I’ve always been so proud of you, of the man you’ve become.’
‘I’m not perfect.’ Sam’s voice cracked.
‘You’re perfect to me,’ she whispered. ‘Every child is perfect to their mother. We bring you into this world and we try to protect you, even though we know it’s impossible to do. And we watch you grow and flourish, and make mistakes, knowing that you’ll be hurt and we can’t do anything to stop it. Still we love you and think you’re wonderful, simply for being you.’
He wasn’t going to cry. Not here on a beach with his stepfather unconscious next to them. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the tears inside, threatening to spill out. It took a force of will to keep his eyes dry.
‘Izzy and Sienna will want an explanation,’ Sam said tentatively, afraid to make things worse. ‘We’ll need to talk to them.’
‘We can do that. Right after we decide what to do with him.’ She spat the words out – gesturing at her husband, a beached whale on the sandy shingle. ‘I’m half inclined to leave him here. Let him wake up to his hangover in the morning.’
The temptation was almost too delicious. But the wrath of Foster Carlton wasn’t something he wanted his mother to suffer. Or his sisters.
‘Let’s try and wind the party down,’ he suggested. ‘Then Sandro and I can grab a couple of the stronger staff to help bring him back up to the villa.’
She squeezed his hand tighter. ‘You would do this for him, after everything he said?’
‘No, I’d do it for you. For Izzy and Sienna. Not for him.’ Never for him. Not after everything that had happened. ‘Why don’t you stay here with him and I’ll go back to the party? See if I can find Sandro and Gabi. Once everybody’s gone we can sort this out.’
His mother nodded, gesturing for him to leave. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘You’re a good boy.’
Sam raised an eyebrow. ‘I wouldn’t go that far. The only reason I’m suggesting I go up is if you leave me with him I wouldn’t trust myself.’
‘Fair point. But thank you anyway. For being a good son to me.’
‘Any time,’ Sam whispered. As he left the beach, he could hear his mother whisper-shouting at Foster, berating him for everything he’d done. Sam’s lips twitched as he half listened, remembering how scary Lucia Carlton could be when crossed. It wasn’t karma, nowhere near it, but there was something pleasant about knowing Foster was going to be uncomfortable for quite a while.
It was an hour before the final guest left, and the villa was empty save for the family and the staff. Sam had gone crazy, trying to usher people out, explaining there was an unexpected illness that they had to attend to. And all the time he was looking out for Cesca, but she was nowhere to be seen. He could feel himself becoming agitated, losing control. Everything was so messed up.
After they managed to haul Foster up from the beach and put him in the guest room on the ground floor, he resumed his search, wandering from room to room in agitation. It was only when he wandered outside to the terrace that he saw her, on all fours, scrubbing red wine stains from the pale stone slabs. A flash of anger took hold of him as he saw the state of her knees, the skin red and raw from being scraped against the rough floor.
‘What are you doing?’ He stalked straight over, grabbing at her arm to pull her up. A look of shock came over Cesca’s face as she scrambled to her feet, shrugging his hand away from her bicep.
‘I’m cleaning, what does it look like?’
‘You don’t need to do that, the garden crew can do it tomorrow.’ He scowled at her scraped knees. ‘Do they hurt?’
Cesca brushed the dirt from her skirt. ‘Not really. And I can’t leave it – if I don’t scrub it now the stain will set, and then the whole slab will have to be replaced.’
‘Can’t one of the staff do it?’ Sam looked around at the bustle of activity surrounding them. The team of waiting staff had somehow morphed into the cleaning crew. Not one of them was standing around doing nothing.
‘I am the staff, remember?’ Cesca said pointedly. ‘This is what I’m being paid to do.’ Her voice turned gentle as she looked at him. ‘How’s your family doing?’
Sam swallowed. ‘Not great. It’s a mess, Foster ended up blurting out everything. Now everyone knows he’s not my father. He’s lying in bed comatose, my mother is in pieces, and my sisters can’t understand what the hell’s going on.’
‘I’m so sorry. It’s everything you didn’t want to happen, isn’t it? How are you feeling?’
‘I don’t know. I think I’m in crisis control mode at the moment. I’ve left my sisters on their own for a minute, but I’ll have to get back to them. They deserve some kind of explanation, but they keep crying.’
‘Of course they do. They’re your sisters and they love you. This must have come as such a shock to them, no wonder they’re so ups
et.’
‘I need to see you before you leave.’ He glanced around, looking at all the people surrounding them. The terrace wasn’t exactly the most private of places right then. ‘Can I catch up with you later?’
Her face fell. ‘Oh, yeah, OK.’
‘Are you sure? It’s just that I said I’d go and talk to Izzy again in a minute. And my mom, she’s started on the wine, I want to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.’
‘Of course, family comes first, always. You should go to them, they must need you.’
But he needed her, too. Not that it was the time to say it. He was already uncomfortable enough, whispering family secrets among the local staff. ‘I’ll catch you later, OK?’
‘Of course.’
There was an expression on her face he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Her breath was fast, and her fingers were grabbing tightly onto the cloth she’d been cleaning the stone with. But what really got him was the way she wouldn’t quite meet his gaze. Her eyes kept darting to the left, as if she was waiting for something, though what it was he didn’t understand.
Whatever it was, it felt as though he was losing control. Again.
Sam didn’t like that feeling one little bit.
*
‘They’ve all gone.’ Sandro walked into the kitchen, a look of weariness weighing down his features. ‘I’ve locked everything up. Time for bed, I think.’
Cesca glanced up from the sink, where she was washing the plates that wouldn’t fit into the already-full dishwasher. Gabi was next to her, drying the crockery with a thin towel before gently piling them in the cupboards. ‘We’re almost done. Cesca, why don’t you go to bed now? I can finish here. You and Sandro have an early start in the morning if you want to get to the airport in time for check-in.’
Her stomach dropped at the thought of her flight home, only hours away from now. Upstairs in her bedroom, her case was packed, with only her night and travelling clothes left hanging in the closet. She glanced around the kitchen, trying not to let the tears come to her eyes. Somewhere, somehow, in the past couple of months, this Italian villa had come to feel like home.