Who's Sorry Now (2008)

by Lightfoot, Freda

  Despite her disgraceful behaviour that morning, Carmina evidently had every intention of going to the dance. She sat on Marc’s knee humbly apologising for breaking Papa’s best glass dishes, contriving to put the right degree of sincerity into her voice in an effort to win over her big brother’s support. Sweet-talking her way out of trouble as she had done all her life.

  ‘It was Alessandro’s fault and Patsy made things worse by interfering.’

  ‘Hey, I was only trying to calm things down between the pair of you.’ Even though she knew it to be unwise, Patsy couldn’t resist leaping to her own defence. She hated to think that Marc might assume Carmina’s assessment of their dispute was accurate.

  ‘You’re always interfering in matters which don’t concern you,’ Carmina snapped. ‘Yet you aren’t even family, so keep your nose out of my affairs.’

  ‘Carmina!’ scolded her mother. ‘That is no way to speak to your cognate.’

  ‘She isn’t my sister-in-law,’ Carmina yelled. ‘Not yet!’

  ‘As good as,’ Marc quietly put in.

  Carlotta gabbled something furiously in Italian that Patsy didn’t understand but which made Carmina flush bright red.

  She was grateful for Carlotta’s support as she seemed to have found a particular rival in Marc’s sister. Carmina was jealous of the fact her big brother had a new love in his life, viewing Patsy as some sort of rival for his affections, which was ridiculous. Surely the love of a sister was vastly different to that of the woman you intended to marry?

  Momma put down her sewing to frown at Carmina, and speaking in her halting English, said, ‘How can you go to the dance? You have the tantrum in front of everyone. You break Papa’s best glass dishes. You insult a customer.’

  ‘Carmina is quite right though, I shouldn’t have interfered,’ Patsy said, rather stiffly. ‘The matter has nothing at all to do with me.’

  ‘She stay home with Gina. They both naughty girls.’

  Gina was seated in a corner, hemming a pink bridesmaid’s dress by the light of the standard lamp. She glanced up at mention of her name but made no comment. Like a bird in a cage her dream of freedom was a fragile thing.

  Looking at her, Patsy’s heart filled with pity. It was too easy to overlook Gina, to forget that she was even there, which was unfair. She was a young girl, after all, like any other. And she did wonder if Carmina had had a hand in her sister being banned from attending the dance. The two certainly didn’t get on.

  Carmina, delighted by Patsy’s apology, yet sensing a coolness in her brother’s tone, judged it wise to manufacture a few tears. ‘If you tell Papa, I will die! Why does nobody love me?’

  The ploy worked as Marc put his arms about her, assuring Carmina that of course he loved her, they all did, but that she must learn to guard her quick temper and not be nasty to people.

  Marc cast Patsy an anguished - what are we to do with her? - kind of look; shrugging his shoulders in that expressive Italian way. ‘I’m sure Patsy didn’t mean to interfere,’ he said, attempting to placate his sister.

  ‘Yes, she did. She’s always doing it. All I needed was enough time to get ready but she absolutely refused to help, even though I begged her to, and explained how important it was.’

  Patsy was still watching Gina, saw how the big cinnamon eyes seemed to widen, the lovely dark eyelashes fluttered as if with surprise, before she dipped her chin to concentrate on her sewing. A tear dropped on to the pink satin and, horrified, Gina wiped it quickly away. Patsy longed to say something, but dare not.

  ‘If it is so important,’ Marc was saying, ‘then you should behave better. You must earn the right to go. When Papa finds out how rude you have been to his customers, he will agree that you must be punished.’

  ‘Oh, but please let him punish me in some other way. I can’t miss the dance, really I can’t, Marc. I’ll scrub the steps, fill the coal bucket every morning, wash up for a week, anything.’

  Marc laughed, knowing how much his beautiful, spoiled sister hated menial household tasks.

  Carmina flounced off his knee in a huff. ‘Stop laughing at me, I’ve bought a new outfit, shoes, bag, everything!’

  ‘So have I,’ Gina said, but not one of her noisy, quarrelsome family heard her.

  ‘You cannot always have what you want, much as you might wish to,’ Marc gently pointed out, still sounding highly amused.

  Carmina allowed the tears to fill her big brown eyes and slide down her cheeks. Papa will understand. He knows that all my life I have desperately wanted friends.’ She began clasping and unclasping her hands in a display of heart-rending anguish, her wide, sensual mouth down-turned in an agony of self-pity as she went first to her mother to beg forgiveness, then back to her brother. She beat his broad chest with small clenched fists, sobbing as if her heart was broken.

  All the younger children watched in awe and admiration. Giovanni and Gabby paused in their game of Sorry, Lela let her dressing-doll flutter to the floor and Marta stopped sticking stamps in her album. Patsy too thought it a fine show, and, judging by the glances mother and son were exchanging, it was producing the desired effect.

  Carmina twisted their heart-strings one more notch. ‘For so much of my childhood I felt like an outcast because my beloved papa was held prisoner, interned for no better reason than his nationality. No one would even speak to me for years.’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate,’ Carlotta scoffed. ‘The people of Manchester, they good and kind to we Italians. Not like the stupeed government. Your papa, he the one to suffer most. He the one locked up in that bad camp, and you just a child.’

  ‘But I felt so alone. Now, at last, I have found some friends and you’re all trying to spoil things for me.’ Carmina sank on to a stool and put her head in her hands in a gesture of utter despair. ‘Oh, it’s so unfair. Why do you all treat me so badly? I don’t understand.’

  Patsy half expected violins to start up and was beginning to find great difficulty in keeping a straight face throughout the entire over-dramatised performance.

  ‘You would keep me a prisoner too, like Gina, over one broken dish.’

  They all looked across at Gina and smiled at her sympathetically, as if it was taken for granted that she must stay in.

  ‘Two dishes,’ her mother robustly reminded her.

  ‘Two,’ Carmina grudgingly agreed. ‘But how will I ever find a man to marry if I’m never allowed to go out?’

  Gina quietly remarked, ‘How will I ever find a boy friend either, if I’m never allowed to do anything?’

  ‘You are sick,’ Carlotta said, dismissing her with a sad shake of the head. ‘The boys and the marriage they are not for you, my precious one.’

  Marc dryly remarked that Carmina’s complaint might be something of an exaggeration since she was always out somewhere with these friends of hers. Patsy could tell that he was weakening, unable to bear the dispute for much longer. No more could she. Carmina’s tantrums were always emotionally draining.

  ‘I’ll work extra hours tomorrow,’ Carmina promised, ignoring Gina and offering Marc her most ravishing smile. ‘And I’ll bring you a cup of tea in bed every morning.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ Marc laughed. ‘Enough! Let us settle this matter once and for all, without bothering Papa. Perhaps if you say sorry to Momma, she will forgive you and allow you to go to the dance.’ He glanced enquiringly up at his mother who let out a heavy, resigned sigh. Carmina squealed with delight.

  Instantly flinging off the mantle of contrived self-pity she flew about the room, this time giving excited little hugs and kisses all round. Carmina had got her own way yet again.

  The argument had ended almost as quickly as it had begun, in typical Bertalone fashion. They were never cross with each other for long, never held grudges. Now Momma was serving out the lasagne, Marta was busily laying the table, Antonia was curled up in a chair reading a Chalet School book, Lela cuddling her father and Giovanni and Gabby were happily working on an Air-fix kit in a co
rner, content with each other’s company and ignoring everyone.

  Once supper was cleared away Patsy sat with Momma, helping her to embroider flowers along the hem of her wedding gown.

  ‘You can begin your penance by clearing away the dishes,’ Momma said, attempting to sound stern while Carmina rained kisses upon her plump cheeks.

  Carmina happily collected up the plates but on her way to the kitchen she passed close by Patsy and somehow contrived to trip over her own feet. A fork slid from the top of the pile of dishes and dropped onto the white satin wedding gown, staining it with a splash of orange pasta sauce.

  ‘Momma Mia!’ Carlotta cried, leaping up to rescue it while Patsy sat paralysed with horror. ‘Don’t fret, don’t fret. It is only a small stain and we can cover it with some appliqué flowers. No one will notice. It was an accident.’

  Patsy looked up into Carmina’s artfully contrite expression and knew it had been anything but. Her new rival had deliberately taken her revenge for Patsy’s alleged interference.

  Chapter Eight

  Carmina was jubilant. She’d won that little battle and here she was bopping to Elvis Presley’s Hound Dog. She spun about making her can-can petticoats swirl to reveal long shapely legs. She felt daring and wonderfully attractive.

  Some of the girls were in stiletto heels, others in bobby sox, jeans and Sloppy Joe sweaters. Carmina was wearing the skirt she’d bought from Dena Dobson: polished black cotton printed with red cabbage roses, her favourite colour. Her white blouse, with its neat Peter Pan collar, strained over her full breasts, cinched in at the waist with a three inch wide black patent belt that matched her new strappy shoes and clutch bag. She felt young and beautiful, aware of boys’ eyes hungrily watching her, dazzled by her own power.

  A queue of ardent admirers were already hovering in the hope of claiming her as a partner. Unfortunately, Luc wasn’t among them, but Carmina meant to win him too, one way or another.

  It was all so exciting. She’d danced every dance so far, played by Terry Hall and his skiffle group. The Hand Jive, The Stroll, lots of bopping and rockin’ ‘n’ rollin’, and of course the sexy Cha Cha. Arnie had bought her a milk shake, Jake Hemley had told her that she looked the mostest and she’d even smooched with Kevin Ramsay, who must be twenty-five at least, although only so that she could let Luc see how much in demand she was.

  As she made her way back to her friends Carmina spotted him. He was weaving his way through the crowd, making a bee-line straight for her, and her heart quickened. She’d known all along that it was herself who Luc Fabriani really fancied, and not Gina at all.

  He was wearing a draped blue jacket with long lapels fastened with a single link button, and smartly tailored black trousers. He looked incredibly sexy and fashionable but unusually conventional, not nearly so cool or with-it as she remembered. His hair, almost black, was flicked up into an artfully disordered quiff, although he seemed to have shortened his sideburns.

  He reminded Carmina of the dreamboats in her magazine, a pin-up every bit as exciting as Ricky Nelson and Troy Donahue whose pictures she had stuck to the wall of their bedroom. Gina was more of a Pat Boone fan.

  Folding her arms, she looked him over from head to toe. ‘What happened to the leather jacket and the black turtleneck sweater? You never used to go out without them?’

  ‘Gina doesn’t care for them.’

  Carmina felt as if he’d struck her. She couldn’t believe that he would actually change his appearance to suit any girl, let alone her boring sister.

  ‘Has she not come then?’ he asked, looking around as if half expecting to see her.

  Carmina went quite cold inside. This was not what she wished to hear. Tilting her head provocatively, she fixed him with a radiant smile. ‘She doesn’t really care for dancing, not with the leg, you know. Anyway, why would you want the monkey when you can have the organ grinder?’

  She saw Luc wince slightly at her caustic comment so that she almost regretted saying it. But then he surprised her even more with a sharp retort of his own. ‘She never seems to let it stop her doing stuff as a rule.’

  ‘Depends how much she wants to do whatever it is, I suppose,’ Carmina snapped right back. ‘She didn’t seem too bothered about missing this dance, or you for that matter. In fact, Gina asked me to tell you that it’s all over between you. She wants to finish with you, as you really aren’t her type.’

  Silence. Had she not found it so incredibly hard to believe, Carmina would have said he looked stunned, and deeply disappointed.

  Carmina stepped closer, fluttering her eyelashes as she flicked him a flirtatious smile, allowing him ample opportunity to catch a whiff of her favourite Max Factor Primitif perfume that she’d almost drenched herself in before coming out. She thought it so delicious and romantic he’d surely forget about Gina and be quite unable to resist her.

  Luc glowered down at her, deep creases etched between those dark enigmatic eyes. ‘Why?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Why would Gina want to finish with me? We were getting on really well.’

  Carmina gave a little shrug. ‘She seems to think you’ve been a naughty boy, which I’m sure you have. When did you ever stay faithful to a girl? You certainly never were to me.’ That had been a big bone of contention between them at the time they were going out together, the way Luc was always off chasing some bit of skirt or other.

  ‘I’ve changed. For the better, I hope. Perhaps I’ve matured. OK, you and I had a bit of fun, but what I feel for Gina is different. She’s special, at least she is to me.’

  Carmina thought she might vomit all over his polished winkle-picker shoes.

  Oh, but he was so handsome, so assured, so dangerous! His mouth was full and so very kissable Carmina longed to taste it, but that wasn’t what nice girls did, was it? She must try to remember to play hard-to-get. That was the best way to catch him.

  ‘Spare me the hearts and flowers,’ she said, and tossing him a careless smile, spun on her heel and walked away. Otherwise, she might well have smacked that handsome face of his. Anyway, if she knew Luc Fabriani, he’d soon come running.

  Gina sat at home alone in her room and thought of what might have been, indulging in a bout of uncharacteristic self-pity.

  She was bored with sitting with her family night after night listening to some orchestral concert or operetta on the wireless. Tired of sewing. Tired of being brave. Had things been different and she hadn’t developed poliomyelitis when she was ten years old, she could have been attending her first dance this evening, with a boy she liked a great deal, might even be growing to love. She would have been the one getting dressed up to go out, the one putting on lipstick, and the new skirt and top she’d secretly bought for herself from the small allowance Papa gave her.

  Instead, she felt as if she were being dragged back into childhood, back to those bitter dark days of pain and suffering.

  Carmina was the one going out into the world, as always. The one who was allowed a normal life to enjoy herself while Gina wasn’t permitted to do anything: no boy friend, no dances, not even a job.

  She’d tried playing chess with Antonia but her mind wasn’t on the game. Marta had made an effort to keep her company, helping her to reorganise Gina’s collection of Whimsies. These were little porcelain animals: a hedgehog, tortoise, frog, rabbit, owl, dogs and farm animals which family and friends had bought her over the years to add to her collection whenever she’d been facing yet another operation, or having a hard time. Somehow the cheery little figures had offered a kind of comfort. Not tonight.

  Gina was all too bitterly aware that while she sat listening to Marta chatter away as she rearranged the ornaments on the shelves Papa had made specially for the purpose, Luc was dancing with some other girl, kissing someone else, someone who was normal. He probably hadn’t even given her a thought.

  As the evening progressed Carmina became quite certain that Luc was watching her, giving her the kind of measured look any girl cou
ld interpret. Maybe he was thinking better of his declaration of devotion to the antiseptic Gina. Exciting little shivers rippled down her spine as she imagined Luc’s glorious dark eyes blatantly undressing her, examining every luscious curve, the olive tone of her skin, the sheen of her hair. She came over all hot and bothered at the thought of his hands following the same track. He was within her grasp, Carmina was sure of it.

  And then to her complete delight he came over. ‘Wanna dance?’

  ‘Sure.’ She answered with a casual disinterest, as if to imply she really didn’t care one way or the other.

  It was a Johnny Mathis number, The Twelfth of Never, the kind of song where you barely moved an inch, which was exactly what she’d dreamed of night after night for weeks.

  ‘I'll love you’til the poets run out of rhyme. Until the Twelfth of Never and that’s a long, long time.’

  Oh, if only he would love her like that. He was holding her quite loosely, and he seemed to be miles away, deep in thought. No doubt wondering how he could get her to go out with him again without losing face.

  Carmina pressed herself closer so that she could feel the hard heat of his body searing through her blouse right to her bare flesh. Her can-can petticoat bunched a little around her bare thighs and he adjusted his position slightly to accommodate it, which allowed Carmina the opportunity to slip one of her legs between his. It was the most thrilling moment of her life.

  He cleared his throat. ‘You reckon Gina doesn’t fancy me any more, then?’

  Not Gina again! Carmina could hardly believe it. She really had no wish to be constantly reminded of her dratted sister. She nestled closer against his broad hard chest, breathing in the exotic scent of his after-shave.

  ‘My sister is such a home bird. Doesn’t care to go out much at all, not since she had the polio. She’s so boring! Not in the least bit interested in boys, or films, music, dancing, whatever. She loves to sew and knit, listen to the wireless, that sort of stuff. Not like me.’ And Carmina awarded him her most entrancing smile.