“Diana,” Clarissa said, “your life changed in a matter of days when you met Leo. You were ticking along thinking you would never meet anyone and then he turned up. I’m sure this will happen again. Just give yourself time to get over things and you never know what is around the corner. And you know that Nigel and I will do whatever we can to help you in the meantime. You only have to ask.”
“Thank you,” Diana said. “But I just cannot see beyond what’s happening now.”
“And Diana, please look after yourself and don’t wear yourself out. It sounds as though you’ve taken on a huge burden helping out with the funeral arrangements. Don’t forget you’ve only known Leo and his daughter a few months. Surely there must be other people there – family members – who can help?”
Diana suddenly felt stung at Clarissa’s words. “It’s complicated,” she said, trying not to sound as hurt as she felt. “But thanks, I appreciate your concern.”
When she hung up she quickly did her hair and then put on a plain navy dress and pearls and headed back to Leo’s house about half past seven. As she walked along the quiet streets she mulled over the conversation with Clarissa. The suggestion that she had taken on far too much and had become over-involved in Leo’s funeral made her feel naïve and almost foolish. But she couldn’t be too angry with Clarissa because she was one of the kindest people herself, and obviously had her best interests at heart. But Diana had to admit that the comment had struck a raw nerve with her.
As she turned the corner into St Aiden’s Avenue, it began to dawn on her that several other people had made similar comments about how good she was helping out at the house and looking after Maria. She suddenly wondered if Bernice and Mrs Lowry thought that she was pushy and too involved in things? They had seemed to welcome her help and had asked her advice on a number of occasions. Surely, she thought, they did not think her foolish as well? Did people think her own life was so sad and empty that she was filling the gaps in her own life with Maria even though Leo was no longer there?
No, she reasoned with herself, she could not allow herself to think like this. Given that she was so closely involved with Leo over the last number of months and had got close to Maria as well, it would seem strange if she deserted the girl now when she desperately needed support. People who had known about her relationship with Leo, like Mrs Lowry and Franco and his wife, had all seen them coming and going together and had all told her individually that they had been delighted for her and Leo.
Even the girls in La Femme and Gladrags had been delighted when she brought Leo to the shop and when Maria had started calling in. Even this evening they were telling her not to rush back to work, and to give herself time to recover from her loss. It was only people who didn’t socialise with either of them on a regular basis or people like Nigel and Clarissa who hadn’t been used to seeing them as a couple who took that attitude. As she came in sight of the house, she determined that she would stay as long as she was needed and then see what happened.
There were already about twenty people gathered for the prayers, so she had a few words with anyone she knew and then went into the kitchen. Bernice was there at the sink on her own, washing a pile of cups and saucers and glasses. She was pleasant as usual but looking tired which made Diana feel guilty for having deserted her. She told Diana that Maria had gone upstairs for a rest and that Mrs Lowry’s son had collected her to sort the evening meal at home, but she would be back any time now as she wouldn’t want to miss the Rosary.
“Is there anything I can do?” Diana asked. She picked up a tea towel. “I’ll dry these for you.”
“Would you mind checking first if anyone else would like tea or a drink or anything?” Bernice said.
“No problem.”
When she checked and came in for two cups of tea, Bernice turned to her and said, “I’m glad you’re back, Diana. You’re such a great help here, because half the time I don’t know what to say to people. I’m not so good with strangers, and you have a really easy way with them.”
Diana paused as she poured the tea and looked at her. “I was worried earlier that people might wonder what I was even doing here. I’ve only known Leo such a short time – only a matter of months.”
“But what does that matter?” Bernice said. “And anyway, it seems much longer because you’ve fitted in so well.” She glanced at the door. “And Maria’s taken so well to you. You’ve been such a help to that poor girl.”
Diana felt her eyes fill up. “Thank you. You don’t know how much better you’ve made me feel saying that.”
“Oh, don’t go getting upset again,” Bernice said, half-laughing, “or you’ll only start me off.”
Diana blinked back the tears and smiled. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” She started pouring again. “Let me take this tea through and I’ll give you a hand to dry the cups and tidy up.”
She came back a few minutes later.
“Everybody is fine in there – they’re just chatting quietly,” she said.
“Thank God.” Bernice rolled her eyes. “Let’s hope we don’t have any more dramas like we did with Maria’s friend. Wasn’t that unbelievable? The poor girl faints and then the mother has a go at her boyfriend who was only trying to help!”
“I think there’s a bit more to it than that,” Diana said. “But hopefully they’ll get Stella sorted out at the doctor’s and then her mother will be a bit calmer. Jane Maxwell is one of my regular customers, and to be fair she’s usually a nice enough woman, but she’s been worried about Stella for a while, and I think the shock of what happened to Leo made her more highly strung than normal.”
“You could be right there. I suppose people react in different ways.” She halted. “The girl, Stella, is very, very thin, isn’t she? Has she been ill?”
“Not as far as I know.” Diana was choosing her words carefully now, not wishing to break any confidences between her and Jane.
“Well, at least Stella has her mother and father and they will see that she’s all right. What’s going to happen to poor Maria? Of course Franco and I could take her in, but we’re not family. Mrs Lowry and me and Franco were talking this afternoon and we think we need to get in touch with the family in Ireland. I know her mother and Leo didn’t have anything to do with them, but they are her flesh and blood.”
“It’s the last thing she wants,” Diana said, “if you remember how she reacted before.”
“Franco is going to have a word with Father O’Donnell, so we’ll see what he has to say.”
Diana glanced up at the kitchen clock. “I’ll go and see if Maria’s ready to come down.” Then she looked back up at the clock again and gave a sad sigh. “This time two nights ago I was just heading into the restaurant to meet Leo. I would give anything I could to be able to turn all the clocks back those forty-eight hours.”
Chapter 29
The evening passed with tears and talk and sympathy, and ended for those who loved him with yet more tears. And in the midst of the sorrow and the pain there was always the practical that had still to be dealt with. Mrs Lowry and the other women kept the domestic side of things running, letting the normality of the chores carry her and those with her along.
A devastated but dignified Franco consulted Maria on all the appropriate issues, and plans were put in place for the church service. Father O’Donnell guided them in the Catholic burial traditions whilst incorporating all the Italian traditional customs that were suggested by Franco and the other Italians.
One such custom was that of keeping an all-night vigil by the coffin. So it was arranged that Franco and Marcello Biagi, an older man who had known Leo from his early Ancoats days, would stay the night.
Mrs Lowry left straight after the Rosary and Bernice had also gone home to spend a night with her children, so Diana and Maria sorted Franco and Marcello with food and drink for the night ahead.
At one point Franco drew Diana aside and asked her to stay downstairs for a few minutes after Maria had gone to bed as he n
eeded her advice on something. She said she would after she had made sure Maria was settled for the night.
Diana gave Maria time to get washed and into her pyjamas and then went up to check she was okay.
“I wish I still thought it was all a dream,” Maria said as she climbed into bed, “because now I know this is the way it’s always going to be about my dad, and I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.”
“You will manage – somehow,” Diana told her. “It’s best to just take it one day at a time and don’t think too far ahead. Just try to get a good night’s sleep and that will help.”
As she tucked the bedcovers around Maria and kissed her on the forehead, it suddenly dawned on her for the first time that she was probably old enough to be Maria’s mother. And, as she closed Maria’s door and tiptoed back down the corridor towards the stairs, that thought set her mind to wonder what Anna Conti had actually been like. She knew from the photographs Leo and Maria had shown her that she was a striking woman with thick tawny-coloured hair and vivid green eyes.
When she came back downstairs, Franco beckoned her into the dining room, and when she went in he closed the door behind her. He sat down at the table and then he indicated a small pile of documents.
“I have some papers I want to show you which are about Maria,” he said. “When I was looking for the birth and marriage certificates I found papers which were left by Leo should anything happen to him. There is one letter addressed to me and inside it there was one for Maria that I haven’t opened.” He rubbed his chin. “It was a shock to me when I read the letter, and I am just not sure what I should do about it.”
She shrugged. “What does it say?”
“Read it, please . . .”
Franco lifted a long white envelope from the top of the pile and, when he handed it to her and she saw his name written in Leo’s neat, distinctive handwriting, her heart lurched. She slid the two pages out and began to read.
January 1st 1968
My Dearest Franco,
I am so sorry you are reading this because it is something that I prayed would never happen. It means that I am gone and Maria is alone in the world. So now, I have to ask you, as my oldest friend and Maria’s godfather, to do certain things for me.
I have decided to write this in English in case you choose to show this letter to Maria at some stage.
Since Maria is not yet eighteen, she will not be of a legal age to live independently, and it is my wish that she spend the time until she reaches that age with her mother’s family in Ireland.
I know this will sound strange to you because, as you know, Anna had no contact with her family for years and it seemed they wanted nothing to do with her because she married a foreigner. Of course some old-fashioned Italian people can have similar ideas, so I did not take this personally and I encouraged her to go back home to visit them many times, especially after Maria was born. But, if you remember, Anna did not like travelling even in cars. She had a terrible journey when she first came on the boat to England and she told me that she could not face it again. I offered to pay for the aeroplane flight back to Ireland, but she said that was worse.
I did of course wonder why her family did not visit her, but she became upset each time I mentioned it, saying it was because of my being Italian and because she had chosen to stay in England, and there was nothing we could do. She seemed happy enough so I did not wish to upset her, but it did trouble me that Maria and I visited my family in Italy every year and my brothers came to stay before they left for America, and yet Maria never knew her mother’s side of the family.
Some time after Anna passed away, I was sorting out her private possessions (just as you are sadly now doing with mine) and I discovered from reading a few pages of her diaries that there were reasons that she did not tell me for her leaving Ireland and never going back. She had secrets she did not want me to know, and because of this she cut her family off and would have nothing to do with them. The secrets were not important and I did not read everything as I felt it was not my business. I do not blame her now as she was a young girl when it all happened, and I am only sad she could not tell me and thought I would not have married her because of it.
I am also sad because I could tell at her funeral that her father and mother were broken-hearted and had missed her very much. But I think Anna maybe had told them that I didn’t want to have anything to do with them and they seemed very awkward. Another complication, if you remember, was that Anna’s mother had another child just after Maria was born and he had serious health problems so that Anna’s mother could not leave him. I’m not sure whether he died soon afterwards or not. I wrote to them afterwards but they never replied.
So all these years have quickly passed and I was so busy with Maria and the restaurant, and using any time off I had to visit my old parents in Italy that I never thought of Ireland again. If I am truthful, Franco, I didn’t want to go there and find out things about Anna that would make me think differently about her. But it has bothered me recently and, when I came to sort my will, I thought that maybe if I wasn’t there Maria might spend some time with them before it’s too late for her grandparents and uncle to get to know the lovely girl she is. I know they have room for her, as they have a large old house with land, and it would be good for her to spend some time in the country. You know how much I missed the Italian countryside myself and looked forward to seeing it every year.
Now, Franco, I know you – and I know you will be laughing at this, because you always told me that Lake Garda could not hold a candle to all the beautiful old buildings and statues in Florence, but who needs old buildings? That is something we will always disagree on.
You are my dearest friend, Franco – more like a brother to me – so I am asking you, if anything happens to me, to help to sort this out.I always hoped that when Maria was older she would want to visit Ireland, but she may not even think of this, so I am asking that it will be done for her now. After she reaches eighteen, if it hasn’t worked out for Maria in Ireland, then I know that you and Bernice and Mrs Lowry will all help her to make a good life for herself in Manchester.
She has had a better education than you or me and we did okay, so hopefully she will find something to do that she loves.
I suppose if I had been a sensible man, I might have remarried and Maria would have a new mother and maybe brothers and sisters to look after her, but so far I have never met any woman who could replace Anna, and Maria always preferred that it was just the two of us.
You will notice the date on this letter, I have written one every year since Anna died and I update it on the first of every year. As you know, my finances have not always been steady, but this year things seemed to be improving – so hopefully, if the worst happens, there is money to clear everything I owe.
I am of course leaving everything I own to Maria, but I have not forgotten you either, Franco, my dear brother, and have left you something in my will to remind you of me.
If we do not get time to talk before you read this, you know how much your friendship meant to me as a young boy coming to England from Lake Garda, and how much I enjoyed working with you, and I thank you for all the happy years we spent together in Leonardo’s.
I hope you remember me as well,
With much love to you, Bernice and your beautiful family,
Addio amico mio,
Leo
When Diana finished reading the letter, she did not look up at Franco because she knew how he must have felt on seeing those words – how devastated he still was at losing his dear, dear friend. Instead, she moved the pages around, reading sections of it over again. Apart from the sadness she felt for Franco, her heart was rent with the words that Leo had written before she had become a part of his life. How – up until this year – he had not imagined meeting anyone else because Anna, his wife, had still been the great love of his life.
Of course she had not expected him to announce that she had replaced his wife, given that t
hey had only known each other a short time, but something deep inside her knew that if they had been together a bit longer, then that might well have been the case. Not only had Leo told her on a number of occasions that she had totally changed his life, but also how unbelievable it was that Maria had more or less found her for him. For a moment she stopped to wonder and even let herself imagine that she and Leo would have married and then had children – those brothers and sisters he talked about in the letter.
And of course, she could tell by the things that he had written –anyone could tell by the things that he had written – that all had not been as perfect in the marriage as it seemed. Anna Conti had not turned out to be the musically talented saint that Leo and Maria and everyone else had imagined her to be. She had obviously done something fairly bad for her to leave her home and family in Ireland never to return, and then she had compounded things by lying to her husband and others about it.
Then, as further thoughts and resentments began to form in her head, Diana, with the common-sense compassionate side of her, forced them away knowing that it was unkind and demeaning of her to think like that. Who, above all people, was she to judge anyone? She who had hidden dark secrets of her own?
She finally looked up. “I don’t know what to say, Franco . . . I am shocked that Leo thinks Maria should go to Ireland and I don’t think she will want to go.”
Franco nodded. “I agree. But what is the alternative? I know the first person she will think of is Mrs Lowry, because she came to the house regularly to look after her and Leo, and things would remain the same if she kept coming. But Mrs Lowry is an elderly woman with children and grandchildren, and she isn’t really fit enough to take over the full running of a house. Leo told me last year that she was finding it harder and was hoping to give up work.”
Music from Home Page 25