‘That … it all sounds great,’ I reply, thinking that it sounds perfect.
‘Do you have any questions?’
‘How old are the boys?’
‘Five. And I should warn you—they’re a bit of a handful. The last six months or so have been particularly challenging. What they need is some … stability, shall we say.’
‘I understand,’ I reply, thinking that I don’t really understand what she means at all.
‘You do plan on staying for a while?’
‘I hope to.’
‘Right. Well, Stella spoke very highly of you, and I trust her judgement. This is what I’m proposing for a weekly salary,’ she says, grabbing a fountain pen and scribbling down some dates, times and a figure. ‘Thoughts?’ she says, turning the paper around to face me.
I scan the page and nod. ‘That all looks great.’
‘Could you start by doing a trial morning shift tomorrow?’ she asks, her hands clasped on the table.
‘Really? I mean, of course, I can’t see why not.’
‘Wonderful,’ she says, the slightest hint of a smile spreading across her lips. She reaches out to shake my hand as though she’s performed some kind of business transaction in a boardroom meeting.
‘Let me introduce you to Massimo and Alessandro.’ She calls out to them from the bottom of the staircase. ‘Bambini! Come down, please. I want you to meet your new nanny!’ A minute later, looking dishevelled and extremely guilty, the boys tumble down the stairs.
I stand up from the table. ‘Hi, I’m Mia. Now, which one of you is Alessandro?’ I ask, trying to sound as bubbly as possible.
‘Me!’ replies the dark-haired boy.
‘Massimo!’ barks Clara. ‘That’s Massimo, and this is Alessandro,’ she says, motioning to the green-eyed boy as she keeps a tight grip on the boys’ shoulders in an effort to still them. I want to laugh at Massimo’s mischievousness, but I hold every muscle in my face tight in an effort to stop myself.
‘Nice to meet you, Mia,’ says Alessandro, piercing me with his emerald eyes. I smile back.
Clara nudges Massimo towards me, her glare sharp enough to still him for all of ten seconds.
‘Nice to meet you, Mia,’ he says, eyes on his feet.
‘Can we go now?’ asks Alessandro innocently. I already have a soft spot for this gentle soul.
‘Don’t you think you owe Mia an apology first?’ asks Clara, the sternness in her voice now more apparent.
‘Sorry, Mia,’ says Alessandro, fidgeting.
‘Yeah, sorry, Mia, but it’s just water,’ says Massimo. As much as I feel like laughing at his response, I hold myself back. Clara sighs deeply.
Without waiting for another reprimand from his mother, Massimo takes off up the stairs, Alessandro trailing behind him.
‘It’s the attention … or lack of it,’ she says, sighing again. ‘Bert, my husband, who you may get the chance to meet before Christmas if his job permits, isn’t around much these days. I suppose, to some degree, the boys miss their father.’
Christmas is six months away. Clara briefly drops her gaze before she asks whether she can drive me home. I tell her I prefer to walk.
‘Well, it’s been lovely meeting you. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,’ she says.
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ I say, meeting her eyes.
She returns a gentle nod and closes the door behind me.
I text Luca.
I got a job. I get to stay.
TEN
When I arrive at the Balduccis’ the following morning, I close my eyes and wait for the shower of water that never comes. Instead, the boys both jump out from behind the planter with a loud, ‘Boo!’
‘Oh, you scared me!’ I say, dropping my art satchel on the ground. I clasp my chest and stumble backwards, playing along with their game. They both dissolve into hysterics. Clara opens the door to find us giggling uncontrollably but refrains from joining us. Underneath the mask of makeup and pretty lip colour, she looks tired this morning.
‘Boys, boys, boys!’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Good morning, Mia. I’ve left all the numbers you might need on the fridge. If you can prepare lunch for the boys at twelve, that would be perfect. I’ll be back exactly at one. There’s some coffee in the pot if you’d like some.’
I nod at each instruction, hoping that it all goes smoothly. She takes her phone off the charger and picks up her leather briefcase. Outside, she gives each of the boys a kiss, ruffling their hair as she leaves. I’m astounded when a minute later she leaves on an almond-coloured Vespa, heels and all, her briefcase positioned between her ankles.
I clap my hands together. ‘Okay, boys, what should we do first?’
There’s no answer. ‘Boys!’
‘We’re playing nascondino!’ shouts a voice from somewhere in the garden.
‘Um, what’s nascondino?’
‘Hide-and-seek! You have to find us, Mia!’
‘Right! I’m counting to twenty, watch out!’
We spend the next hour playing games amongst the manicured lawns of the English garden. When my stomach aches from laughing so much with the boys over the silliest of things, I think to myself that maybe this is the perfect job for me right now. Once I catch my breath, the boys start showing off their dance moves. I can tell they’ve been craving attention by the way they’re competing with each other for mine and the slew of ‘Look at mes!’ After a game of soccer, we sit down under a tree and sip on lemonade.
‘So, boys, tell me about your dad. Do you get to speak to him much?’
‘Not that much. Just sometimes on the phone,’ says Massimo.
I turn to look at Alessandro. ‘He’s got too much work to do now,’ he says, shrugging his shoulders.
‘And before?’
‘Before, he wasn’t always at work. Just sometimes,’ says Massimo. I don’t press them any further for answers because keeping them still is impossible, and Alessandro is already running off, challenging his brother to yet another game of hide-and-seek.
It’s almost eleven by the time I call the boys inside for some downtime, but it takes another fifteen minutes to get them to actually listen to me. ‘How about we make a deal? Every morning I will play with you. Whatever game you want. But when I call you inside for morning tea, you have to promise to listen and you need to behave. No tricks, pranks or making a mess like this,’ I say, pointing to the remainder of their breakfast, now strewn across the kitchen floor. ‘Or this,’ I say, picking up the toy cars surrounding my feet.
‘Or what?’ asks Massimo.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, surprised at how he’s already pushing boundaries with me. I thought this would be straightforward.
‘If we don’t listen, what happens?’ asks Alessandro.
‘There’ll be consequences. Big ones. And I don’t think you’ll like them very much,’ I warn.
‘Like what?’ asks Massimo.
‘Well, I’ll have to take away your toys, and there’ll be no TV or playing outside,’ I say, trying to sound as firm as possible. I’m hoping my spur-of-the-moment rules are convincing enough.
‘Oh yeah. We know this stuff.’ Alessandro shrugs.
‘Good,’ I reply. ‘Now listen, while I get you a snack, you can watch some TV,’ I say, trying to figure out the remote.
‘Here, like this.’ Alessandro takes the remote and shows me which button to push.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
He smiles as he settles on the sofa. His brother, on the other hand, is jumping all over it.
‘Massimo. That’s strike one. Get to three and you’re out. That’s your warning,’ I threaten as I turn my back, ignoring the questions he calls out in an attempt to test me.
I slice fruit and give it to the boys to eat, tidy the kitchen and make the boys’ beds. Strewn across the floor is a pile of dirty clothes. By the time I finish the household chores and put on a second load of washing, it’s time to prepare lunch. By now the twins have grown tired of wat
ching TV, and I manage to come up with a strategy to keep them entertained.
‘Who likes cooking?’ I ask.
‘Play cooking’s for girls,’ says Massimo, screwing up his face.
‘No, I mean real cooking. I need some help from two chefs. Proper ones. But if you’re not up for it …’
‘Yes! Yes!’ shouts Alessandro, jumping up and down. ‘We have aprons here.’ He slides open a drawer. I tie one of Clara’s aprons around his neck and do the same for reluctant Massimo.
The boys help me prepare a salad, and I fry the polpette Clara had prepared in a pan while they do an average job of setting the table—a must-do, because we are, after all, in Italy.
‘Who wants another rissole?’
Both boys shake their heads so I tidy up the kitchen before joining them outside.
I almost drop the jug of water I’m carrying when I see them throwing stones at each other. They’re covered in dirt.
‘Boys! Come here, right now! What are you thinking? Your mum will be here any minute. Let’s go upstairs and get changed.’
‘No!’ says Massimo, running away.
‘Okay, well I guess I’ll have to cancel your surprise.’ Alessandro approaches me and I crouch down to his level.
‘What’s the surprise?’ he asks, his eyes wide.
‘Go call Massimo, and I’ll tell you both together.’
He dashes off and soon both boys are standing in front of me, ready for the news.
‘Who’s heard of Picasso?’
‘Me!’ says Alessandro.
‘How about Botticelli, Da Vinci and Michelangelo?’
‘Yes, yes, yes!’ they both exclaim.
‘Okay, well who likes painting?’
‘Yeah, I love it!’ says Massimo, bouncing up and down.
‘Me, too,’ says Alessandro, who is now as fidgety as his brother.
‘I need some painters to help me make some works of art. I’ve got some special brushes and paints that I’d love to show you. But I don’t know if I can trust you both to take this job seriously.’
‘Yes, we will, we promise,’ says Massimo, speaking on behalf of his brother.
‘Putting together an art exhibition is a big job, you know. It’s going to take us a few weeks of work. We’ll need lots of practice to get things just right. Do you think you’re up to it?’
They both nod with such eagerness that it makes me want to reach over and cuddle them.
‘All right, let’s scoot upstairs, get changed, and I’ll see whether you’re going to be able to help me with this next time I see you.’ Upstairs I take the opportunity to tell them a few stories about Italian Renaissance painters, which they listen to with intrigue. By the time we return downstairs, Clara has arrived, looking more drained than she did in the morning.
‘It looks like everything is under control here,’ she says coolly, her eyes darting around the pristine kitchen. She nods in approval, and my shoulders relax.
‘Mamma!’ says Alessandro, tugging at her top. She scoops him up, plants a kiss on his cheek, and places him back down. Massimo hasn’t even bothered saying hello and is out playing in the yard.
‘It’s been great. It’s pretty busy, but a good busy.’
‘Ah, yes, they’ll certainly keep you on your toes,’ she says.
‘How was your morning?’ I ask, sensing something is off.
‘Oh, the usual.’
I’m not sure what to make of her response, so instead I tell her about my plans for some art lessons for the boys.
She seems happy with the idea. ‘If you’d like to take them on an outing to the Uffizi or the Accademia sometime, they’d love that,’ she tells me.
‘Sure, that would be great.’
‘It would be good for them. It’s been a while since we last did something together like that as a family.’
After a long silence, which I assume is due to her pensiveness, I excuse myself from the discussion as I remember I’m meant to be meeting Luca at the officina.
She looks up from the photograph on the mantel she’s now staring at, and absently responds, ‘So, I suppose I’ll see you again tomorrow, then?’
‘He’s still there,’ says Silvio, startling me as I stroll past the bar.
‘Oh, I was just—’
‘Can’t take your eyes off him, can you, signorina?’ He chuckles as he wipes down a table. ‘Hold on a second,’ he says, dashing into the bar. He comes out holding a shot of coffee in a disposable cup.
‘Here you go, a caffé corretto, just like he takes it every other day.’ He hands me the coffee to take across the road to Luca.
‘Caffé?’ I ask Luca once I enter the officina.
Luca wipes his brow with the back of his hand and flips around to face me.
‘Silvio?’ he asks, as he tucks a spanner in his back pocket and wipes his hands on a nearby cloth.
‘Yes.’ I titter, handing him his coffee. He takes it from me and sets it on the bench beside him. Then he takes a step forward and places one of his hands around my waist.
‘How was your first morning on the job?’ he asks, his voice low and smooth. He doesn’t wait for an answer as he guides me closer to him. He cups my cheek, presses his forehead against mine and whispers, ‘It was a long morning.’ He’s smiling as he tilts my head up and kisses me.
He pulls away gently and he’s smiling with his eyes now. They wander into mine, almost in slow motion, taking me in, saying all the things that can’t be spoken but can be felt. He blinks twice, slowly, then says, ‘So … the job?’
‘The … what?’ I’m still floating. I try to clear my head, to recover my equilibrium. ‘Oh … yeah … I’ve got a newfound respect for people with kids now. Even if they are a little exhausting, I really like the boys. Doesn’t help that I’ve only had about four hours of sleep, though.’
‘I’ve got the perfect solution,’ he says, tossing his empty coffee cup into the bin. He grabs my hand. ‘Let’s go, Australiana.’ He leads me out of the officina and pulls down the metal roller door.
Given I have no other place to be and no other person I’d rather be with, I take my spot behind Luca on the scooter. Soon we’re cruising up and down winding country roads through the expansive Chianti countryside with postcard-perfect sunflowers that carpet faraway fields. Luca slows down and we park on the side of a gravel road.
‘What do you think?’ he asks, helping me off the scooter.
‘I love that you knew I’d adore this spot.’ My attention shifts to the hundreds of sunflowers highlighting such a picturesque landscape. The yellow tones instantly stir something in my soul, as if the flowers are talking to me.
Luca moves his arms around my waist. I’m familiar with his body by now, and my arms reach around his shoulders and play with the curls of hair at the back of his neck. He plants a trail of soft kisses from my forehead to my collarbone before taking my hand in his. ‘Come with me.’
He leads me through a space in between the sunflowers and when we reach the other side, we throw ourselves on the grass, under the shade of a tall cyprus. We lie down and I let my head rest on his chest. He starts to play with my hair, and I shift uncomfortably.
Staring at the clouds, he says, ‘You need to let go of that stuff, Mia. It doesn’t bother me.’
I have to fight hard to resist the urge to move away as he continues to thread his fingers through my hair. I don’t want to think about cancer today. My fingers doodle tiny swirls over his torso as I try to concentrate on how good it feels to be here right now with him. Luca stops my hand with his free one and slips his fingers through mine, before resting our clasped hands on his chest. Then he closes his eyes and together we doze off.
I wake up when Luca starts stroking my face. ‘How often do you have the nightmares?’ he asks.
His question is completely unexpected, and my muscles tighten in response. I sit up and lean my back against the tree. I take a deep breath and start to pick at the seeds of a dry sunflower. I’ve already
shared so much with Luca, and I don’t know if I’m ready to share anything more.
‘Talking about it isn’t going to make it worse,’ he says.
‘It’s just … I’ve never told anyone about them before. I mean, my mum and dad knew I had them, but I never spoke to them—I couldn’t tell them. It’s not as bad as it used to be. Before I came here they’d happen most nights. Usually I feel like I’m suffocating, but there’s this one dream where I’m at my own funeral and I watch the casket being lowered into the ground. The terrifying part is when I look around and see the faces of people I know. My friends all look so sad. Then I see my mum and dad. They’re completely devastated, crying their eyes out, like they’ve lost part of themselves, like they’ll never be the same. That’s when I usually wake up screaming,’ I finish, staring at the sky.
‘You were worried about the people close to you—about hurting them?’
‘Am.’ I look him straight in the eyes. ‘I think I still am.’
‘You shouldn’t have had to go through what you did, but the worst is behind you,’ he says.
‘I want to believe that. I just can’t seem to let go of the possibility that it could happen again. It’s like that messy web of my past is still wrapped around me and I can’t—don’t—know how to shake it off.’
‘What’s it going to take for you to realise how strong you really are, Mia? Look at where you’ve been and where you are right now. Those nightmares, they’ll be a thing of the past before you know it. I promise you.’
I bite the inside of my lip. ‘I hope you’re right.’
I reach across and run my fingers over his eyebrows. I trace his perfectly rounded eyes and stop at his lips.
‘Hey, can you sit with your back against the tree? I want you to look at me, exactly like you did then.’
‘You changing the subject?’
‘Nope. I’m just facing a fear,’ I say, pulling out paper and brushes from my satchel. ‘Can you take off your sunglasses?’
‘Anything else?’
The Florentine Bridge Page 9