The Olive Branch

by Jo Thomas

  ‘Only this time I’m not acting on impulse. I’ve had months to decide. This place is home now. I can’t go back.’

  He steps towards me and hugs me.

  ‘Go back to Annabel. Go and get married. Don’t be scared!’ I tell him.

  He gets into his car and starts the engine. Then, with a beep of the horn, he sticks his hand out of the window and waves. I glance back at the masseria and see that Marco is standing on the front step, looking like he’s always belonged. I turn back and watch Ed’s tail lights moving up the drive and stopping at the gates. In my hand is the olive branch, the one Marco left in the envelope. I look down at it. Am I doing the right thing? Can I really stay here knowing that Marco doesn’t want to be with me?

  ‘Ed, stop!’ I shout suddenly, and run down the drive waving my arms and the branch.

  ‘Changed your mind?’ Ed looks confused but smiles, holding his mobile as it pings into life with message after message.

  ‘Ruthie!’

  There’s a shout from behind me, and Marco is running towards me. He’s standing right in front of me now, and I’m willing him to find the words to tell me how he’s feeling. He’s looking at me and I’m looking at him. My heart is thundering, banging away like the funeral band the day of his grandfather’s funeral.

  ‘Don’t!’ he says finally.

  ‘Don’t what?’ I search his face. He has to tell me how he feels. I can’t guess this. He can’t run away from his feelings for ever.

  ‘Don’t do it!’ Every word is hard for him.

  ‘What?’ I need him to say it.

  Suddenly Daphne butts him from behind and he grabs my elbows. Our faces are up close.

  ‘Don’t leave.’ And suddenly the words begin to come to him. ‘You belong here as much as I do. I don’t want this place if it means having it without you. I offered you half what you paid for it. I will only buy half, if you will share the other half with me!’ he finally manages to say. For a man who can talk endlessly about olives, those words took a long time coming. But as I’ve learnt, anything good here takes time, and when it comes, it’s worth it.

  ‘What do you say? Will you stay? With me?’ His eyes search mine.

  For once, I’m lost for words. I can’t speak. Instead I just nod and then let my lips do the talking as I reach up and he bends to meet me. Ed’s phone is pinging with more messages. I know this time I’m not acting on impulse. It’s destiny. However this turns out, I have to take the chance. I couldn’t bear not to try. I have to jump off the diving board.

  ‘Sooo,’ Ed interrupts us as we pull apart, smiling like loons. ‘It’s Annabel. She’s wants me to come home. I’m going to get married, Ruthie.’ He waves the phone.

  ‘That’s great!’ I beam. ‘I’m staying put too, here, home.’

  Ed frowns. ‘So why exactly did you run after me?’

  ‘Oh, I was thinking you could deliver the bottles to your colleagues, seeing as you’re going home.’ I shrug cheekily.

  Marco steps back and looks mildly affronted.

  ‘You mean . . . you weren’t leaving?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t leave. I still have so much to learn about pruning!’ I tease.

  ‘Yes, you do!’ He laughs too and kisses me all over again.

  We wave Ed off and then walk back to the masseria hand in hand. The sun has come out, autumnal and bright.

  ‘Marco!’ Anna-Maria calls. ‘Will you be here for dinner? You too, Ruthie?’

  Marco looks at me.

  ‘Not tonight, Mamma.’ Then he drops his voice. ‘Family is all very well and good, but there are times when being alone is better.’ We nudge each other and grab a kiss that turns into a longer one.

  As the sun starts to dip in the sky, Marco lights the fire pit again, and the tea lights in the olive tree. He lays a sheepskin rug from the trullo beside the fire and then kisses me deeply, like I’ve never been kissed before. We make love, slowly and gently, under the olive tree, and as the wood smokes and crackles in the fire pit, little sparks fly up and bigger sparks explode inside me. I look up at the flickering candles as our bodies finally fit together and know that I never want this night to end.

  Later, wrapped in jumpers and blankets, we eat potatoes cooked in the fire and sausages fried over the flames. And that night, as soft snowflakes start to fall in the olive grove and we make love all over again in Marco’s little trullo, I know I’ve finally come home for good.

  I close the door on the trullo and walk carefully across the stepping stones Marco has laid, in my light blue ballet shoes and sheer floral dress, pulling my pashmina around me.

  Everything is ready. The wind is lifting the white ribbons that I’ve spent all morning tying to olive trees around the terrace at the back of the masseria. It’s now tiled in cream stone, with stone seating like an amphitheatre along one side. Out here there are speakers neatly disguised by two white rose bushes. Fairy lights lead the way into the courtyard, where more lights are strung and more white ribbons lift gently in the breeze. The intense heat has gone out of the day and the breeze is very welcome.

  The honeymoon trullo is covered in more fairy lights, working their way all the way up the conical roof. Inside I do a final check, putting olive branches in a jar on the table and adjusting the cushions on the lavender-coloured bedclothes. Then, with a final nod of satisfaction, I turn and shut the door. It’s all ready for its first newlyweds tonight.

  I skip over the cobbles to where Daphne is gently grazing in her pen. She too is wearing a white ribbon around her neck and seems thrilled with her elevated position as wedding guest.

  In the house there is a buzz. Every room upstairs is full. In fact, they are all fully booked right up until the harvest. Loads of Ed’s work colleagues are due to come as working students, and we have guests staying at Lou and Antonio’s too. After that, Mum, Colin and my brother are coming to stay again. Marco and I have moved into his trullo and are planning another extension there.

  ‘Marco!’ I call.

  ‘Si,’ he calls back. I follow the sound of his voice, and as I step into the room I catch my breath.

  ‘It’s beautiful!’ I say, standing in the doorway of the little church. There is a big bunch of olive branches on the altar. Nonna and Anna-Maria have made new red and gold curtains for the back wall and I have replicated the mural from the school down the side of the room.

  ‘Our first wedding!’ I squeal.

  ‘My grandfather would be so proud,’ he says. ‘He knew what he was doing when he got you to move here.’ He slides his arm around me and kisses me.

  On cue, Nonna arrives in the church and immediately covers her nose with her big hankie and blows loudly. Lou’s dad is by her side, guiding her to a seat at the front.

  I need to go and meet the bride and groom. I sidle reluctantly from Marco’s grasp.

  Out at the front of the house there are more ribbons, and my heart soars as I see Young Luigi and Rosa arriving with their family and friends in convoy behind them. Rocco is doing car-parking duty and his daughter is handing out posies of lavender. The young waitress from Antonio’s café is handing round glasses of Prosecco.

  After the ceremony, we eat at long tables. Marco’s sister has made the food and we’ve brought in some of his cousin’s teenage children to wait on tables. It’s a family business after all. It’s not just producing, marketing and selling the olive oil that we’re all pulling together on. It’s this place too.

  Then, as darkness falls, the dancing begins. Traditional dancers waving scarves in the warm summer evening appear from behind the trees, twisting and turning, their long hair flying behind them as they tell stories of love and love lost. The dancers are barefoot, and the little bells around their waists and ankles tinkle as they dance on mats laid out on the terrace. They encourage the guests to join them, and I hand ro
und Ed’s mother’s scarves. Finally the guests call for ‘Bacio, bacio, bacio!’ and the bride and groom kiss like their lives depend on it.

  ‘And who will be the next wedding?’ Anna-Maria raises an eyebrow as we dance amongst the twisted scarves, and I throw back my head and laugh. But when I look back at Marco, he isn’t laughing.

  ‘Well?’ he says. ‘Will you marry me?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ I say, trying to hide the smile that is bursting to be set free, ‘if you can make it to the end of the olive harvest, then yes, of course I’ll marry you!’

  ‘I think I could manage that. But I’ll need a good assistant, one who’s willing to learn.’

  ‘Looks like I’m your woman then! Although you have a lot on, what with the book you’re finally writing, and getting the courses ready for next year. And we have a lot more takers on the rent-a-tree scheme, I thought you could be my assistant!’

  He picks me up and spins me around and I am as happy as if all my olive harvests have come at once, as a light breeze shimmers through the olive grove and the white ribbons flutter in approval.

  Luigi beams a wide toothless smile as he dances with Mrs Luigi, twisting her around in the scarves as she channels her inner Isadora Duncan.

  My electrician is there with his wife, as is the ironmonger and the fruit and veg seller, Franco and his family, and the headmistress from the school. Lou is there nursing her swollen belly, and Antonio and Giac move to the music. Marco’s cousins dance with Filippo and the rest of the family, clapping along as Nonna shows Lou’s dad her moves.

  Sophia and Anna-Maria have taken to the dance floor, smiling and laughing together like old friends, like sisters-in-law. Anna-Maria looks round at me and nods.

  ‘Grazie,’ she smiles.

  ‘Prego,’ I mouth back. Because sometimes in life, a bit of sun and dolce vita is exactly what you need.

  Suddenly Daphne is on the dance floor.

  ‘Who let the goat out!’

  But Daphne isn’t going to miss out on a party like this, and we all dance around her, because the goat lives here, it’s her home. As it is mine.

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