The Road from Midnight

by Wendyl Nissen

  “Oh, so that’s why there are no pictures of her in the house,” I said.

  “Yes. But don’t think we don’t miss her and grieve for her as much as you do, my darling,” said Dad, giving me one of his rare hugs. “On the surface we don’t acknowledge it, it’s just easier. But she is in our hearts and I wanted to show you this.”

  He led me over to a small and tender looking tree in the corner of the yard.

  “I planted this for Charlotte. It might look tiny now, but it’s a totara and it will grow big and strong and perhaps one day, Charlotte might come to see … ” he paused to clear his throat. “I’m sorry, I promised myself … ” he said while two small tears rolled down his craggy old farmer’s face.

  “Oh Dad, what you’ve had to put up with, I’m so sorry.” I held onto him, burying my head into his shoulder, feeling the rough wool of his shirt tickle my nose just as it had when I was a little girl.

  After my first roast lamb dinner in more than a year, and Marco’s first in five years we went to bed early at nine when my parents retired. Now that I knew Mum’s situation it was much easier being around her, and Dad even broke out a bottle of Wohnsiedler from the back of the drinks cabinet for dinner, which tasted terrible, but we appreciated the gesture.

  Mum had made up the double bed in the spare room for us, having assumed that Marco and I were a couple. She had no reason not to, I suppose, as I talked of him often in my phone calls and we were, after all, living together in Venice.

  “Looks like I get to enjoy the wonder of your gaseous outbursts for yet another night,” joked Marco as he set up Charlotte’s photo and candle in the window sill.

  “Shut up, it’s so cold I’d be grateful for the warm gas if I were you,” I laughed as we leapt into bed with hot water bottles, socks and jumpers on. Central heating was unheard of here. You just rugged up and wore lots of wool.

  As we lay there warming up Marco put his arm out.

  “Snuggle?” he said with a smile.

  I moved my head onto his chest and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  “It was a good idea coming home Marco, thank you for making me do it.”

  “You seemed a lot better after your walk with your Dad, what did he say?”

  I filled him in on Mum’s breakdown and we talked about how close my parents seemed to be.

  “They’ve always been very much in love, even if they don’t show it,” I commented.

  “They are very lucky,” he said.

  “Marco?”

  “Jane?”

  “Why do you think we keep ending up in the same bed?”

  “I have no idea,” he said producing his cheekiest smile. “But I’m enjoying it immensely, I’ve never been snored at or farted on quite so much in my life,” he laughed.

  I rolled over, a little disappointed that he wasn’t thinking along the same lines I was.

  “Night, sweetheart, sweet dreams,” he whispered. As I drifted off to sleep I felt Marco reach for my hand hold it tight and whisper: “Ti amo.”

  We spent the next few days walking along the wild St Kilda beach and watching the most hardened surfers ride the waves in freezing cold waters fresh from Antarctica. We had our fish and chips on the beach and then returned back to the farm with Marco determined to give my Dad a hand with some of the bigger jobs that needed doing around the farm. Both of us felt refreshed, invigorated and re-connected to the land we had grown up on.

  While they were outside I spent most of my time in the kitchen with Mum, cooking batches of scones, baking cakes, and never once mentioning my daughter. I just enjoyed spending time with her, watching her potter around her kitchen and tend to her house plants and reconnecting with her in a way that was safe.

  “Mum?” I said, as we sat playing poker at the kitchen table by the coal stove one afternoon waiting for Dad and Marco to return. “I love you.”

  “I know, dear, I love you too,” she said, her glazed eyes sharpening up as she looked at me. “Full house!”

  Marco and I decided to drive rather than fly up to Christchurch to see his parents. We couldn’t resist the chance to spend six hours on the road reminding ourselves of what a beautiful country we were born in by driving up the east coast of the South Island, stopping at the huge Moeraki boulders to have more fish and chips and a walk along the beach. As we pulled into his parents’ driveway we looked at each other and grinned. Marco’s home was always the complete opposite to mine.

  “He’s here!” screeched his mother as she came running out to meet us. “Oh my boy, my darling boy, look at you, oh, Marco,” and that was the last I saw of Marco for about 10 minutes as he was hustled inside to a house full of family. His three older brothers, their wives and children were all there, and so was his dad, looking as always slightly bemused by all the fuss.

  “Ah, Jane, how lovely to see you again after all these years,” he said helping me in with the luggage. “We are so sorry for your loss, a terrible thing to happen, losing a child,” he said, putting his arm around me in a protective Kiwi male way.

  “Luisa! Put that boy down for a moment and come and say hello to your son’s girlfriend!” he yelled over the din going on in the living room.

  “Jane, I am so sorry, I am so excited to see him, how rude of me,” said Luisa as she bustled out to me, all plump and soft and motherly. She was, and always had been a very beautiful woman with her long curly black hair which was now streaked with grey. Marco had inherited all her good looks, and even now, as she had aged and put on a bit of weight she was gorgeous. And, it seemed her dislike of me when we were younger had disappeared completely.

  “My darling what a terrible time you have had, I am so sorry about Charlotte. I hope that my Marco has been looking after you well?”

  “Oh yes, Luisa, very well. You have a wonderful son.”

  The next few days were spent in a whirlwind of food, wine, laughter and reminiscing. As a complete contrast to our stay with my parents, the house was always full of people and conversation and some much needed warmth. Throughout it all I would catch Marco looking at me over the top of a niece or nephew who had climbed onto his lap and send me one of his beautiful cheeky smiles. It was good to see him so happy and to find that all his fears about facing his mother were unfounded despite an initially tense discussion in the kitchen shortly after we arrived when she chided him for “that work you do on those silly old churches.”

  “Mama, don’t say that,” said Marco sticking up for himself. “I would have thought you would be proud of me working to preserve some of the most beautiful buildings in the world and in your country as well.”

  “Well, yes but when I grew up old buildings were everywhere. They mean nothing to me,” she continued.

  “They mean a lot to your people,” he said casting me a look for support.

  “The work he does over there, Luisa, is astonishing. He is one of the most sought after restorative architects in Europe. He has made a real name for himself,” I added, hoping to swing her around.

  She looked at me, then at Marco and a spark of understanding came into her eyes.

  “Oh, of course I am proud of you. Are you really a big name over there?” she asked.

  “Mama, it’s not about that, it’s about the work I do.”

  “Oh my Marco, of course it is. Come here and give me a kiss, it is just because I miss you so much that is all. I am sorry if I seem so harsh.”

  And once again we found ourselves cuddled up in the spare room, not having sex.

  “Luisa will burst into the room in a minute with a cup of hot chocolate or something,” I laughed.

  “Either that or she’s got her ear to the door as we speak” added Marco.

  “Oh, she’s not the nosy type. In your face, yes, intrusive, yes. But not nosy.”

  “Well I wouldn’t be too sure,” he said. “I overheard her in the kitchen today discussing us with Dad and it seems I’m not the only one in the family with bisexual leanings,” he whispered.

&nb
sp; “What did she say?” I said intrigued.

  “She was talking about how when we were younger she didn’t like you because you seemed so driven and selfish and she worried that you would put yourself before me, you know all that bullshit she used to say.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “And then she said how lovely you were and how losing your child has brought out a softer, more relaxed side in you and she’s never seen you look more beautiful.”

  “Well of course,” I said, relieved.

  “And then she told him that she had never seen a couple more in love, not even all three of my older brothers. Something to do with the way we look at each other.”

  “Oh.”

  “And then she said she was so relieved and that she hoped we got married soon, because she always wondered if I had the same problem as her uncle Roberto in the old country.”

  “NO!”

  “And my father said ‘For the last time Luisa it is not a problem and Roberto was gay and you should stop going on about it.’”

  “Marco, how weird.”

  “I know, who knew? But the good thing is that she approves of us, and don’t you think it’s nice that she thinks we are so much in love, even though we’ve never even made love?”

  “Well, we have actually. Nearly 20 years ago,” I laughed.

  “Jane, I’ve been thinking,” he said, looking into my eyes.

  “What,” I said innocently fiddling with the alarm clock.

  “Oh nothing,” he finished, rolling over and turning off his light.

  “No really, I’m listening,” I said hoping like hell he had finally got on the same page as me. But he had fallen asleep.

  It was my turn to hold his hand and whisper: “Ti amo.”

  20

  The next day we flew back into Auckland for one last night before heading back to Italy. Our departure from Marco’s family was as momentous as our arrival and Luisa only stopped crying briefly to hold my face in her hands and kiss me on the lips with a “my beautiful girl!”

  We checked back into the Sheraton with mixed feelings. Staying with our families had released a lot for both of us for different reasons. I felt grounded with my parents now that I had checked in on their progress. Marco felt for the first time that his mother understood who he was, and he had her blessing to live in Italy after all this time. And with me, which was a bonus.

  We had one more hurdle to overcome, and that was Lawrence. He had hounded me with phone calls while I was at my parents but I refused to talk to him. Then he tracked me down at Marco’s parents’ house but again I told him I would ring him back.

  “You have to talk to him, Jane,” said Marco on the flight back to Auckland. “He was your husband, and Charlotte’s father. He might be the biggest dick in the universe but you at least owe him a conversation.”

  “Okay, but you’re coming with me,” I warned.

  So once again we were in the Sheraton hotel dining room and as we waited for Lawrence to flounce in full of self importance, we agreed that we would have dinner then bolt.

  “Hey guys great, great, good to see you,” yelled Lawrence as he strode into the restaurant and sat down in our booth.

  “Sorry, mate, we haven’t met properly, I’m Lawrence and you must be the mystery man ha ha.” Lawrence addressed Marco talking very quickly. I put it down to nerves after not having seen me for so long and his appalling behaviour around the loss of Charlotte.

  “Pleased to meet you, I’m Marco,” he said eyeing Lawrence cautiously.

  “Yes, I heard of you in Venice, just never met you. Now can’t stop, I know I said I’d stay for dinner but I’ve got this thing I have to go to, total bore, but I said I’d be there, charity thing,” continued Lawrence in his staccato speech, barely pausing for breath.

  “The thing is, Jane, thing is Charlotte,” he paused briefly before launching off again. “I’ve got some funding for a documentary about her, you know about her going missing, and you and me and what we went through, and anyway I need your permission to use some of the footage. Crazy I know, because I took it and technically it’s mine, but the bloody network is insisting you sign it off. Seems they think you might cause a problem down the track. So here are the forms,” he said pulling some documents out of his back pocket.

  “Here’s a pen, so if it’s okay with you can you just put your signature here, here and here.”

  Silence.

  I looked at Marco. He looked at me. An alien with three heads and custard dripping out of his arse couldn’t have produced more of a stunned reaction from the two of us.

  I shook my head and put it in my hands. Something I remember doing a lot when I was married to Lawrence. Marco took my lead.

  “Lawrence, it’s not going to happen,” he said.

  “What, mate, it’s just a signature, come on, it’s nothing!” Lawrence said nervously.

  “It is everything, that’s where you have it wrong, and don’t call me mate, because I am not your mate. We would like you to leave now, and take those pieces of paper with you.”

  Lawrence looked at Marco and then he looked at me and his face twisted into a look of hatred.

  “Lost your voice, Jane? How unlike you.”

  I didn’t reply.

  “She was my daughter too, you know. I should be allowed to do what I want with her memory and this doco is a sure top rater, the network said so. Now I can’t finish it, and why? Because you are still the most selfish, sad, pathetic woman in the world.”

  “That’s enough,” said Marco pushing the table away and jumping to his feet. “Get out before I smash that pretty face of yours all over this table,” he spat.

  “Steady on mate, get a grip,” said Lawrence backing off and changing tack. “Jane, please just sign it, I need the money. Work’s not that great at the moment, I really need the money.”

  Marco took a step forward.

  “Okay, don’t have a cow, I’m out of here,” said Lawrence leaping to his feet and tottering backwards making for the door.

  But it wasn’t quite over. As he walked away he turned to look at me over his shoulder.

  “You know she’s dead don’t you? She’s never coming back, Jane, and the sooner you realise that the better!”

  And he was gone.

  “Jesus!” breathed Marco as he hastily grabbed my arm, signed for our drinks and led me quickly into the lift and up to our room.

  “I think he had a camera on us,” I said when I finally found my voice.

  “How do you know?”

  “I didn’t live with Lawrence all those years without learning to spot a camera crew.”

  “I think he was on something, like speed or something. Did you see how dilated his pupils were and he couldn’t sit still,” said Marco.

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised. He’s certainly not the Lawrence of old.”

  “He was pretty cranked up for sure.”

  “Hey, thanks for taking charge down there, I don’t know what happened to me, I just couldn’t get the words out,” I said.

  “It’s okay, it felt good being able to stick up for you. And I guess it was nice that you let me because the old Jane wouldn’t have. Maybe Agapeto did you some good after all bossing you all the way around Europe.”

  “Whatever,” I said, letting us into our room and collapsing on the bed, suddenly exhausted after the last few days of reunions and still very angry with Lawrence.

  “I’ll run a nice hot bath and then it’s into bed with you for a good sleep,” said Marco.

  I was too tired to complain. There was plenty of time back home in Venice to see if we might make something of the great love Luisa had seen between us.

  We left the next day for our long journey back to Venice and got off the plane in Hong Kong for 10 hours of stopover before we connected with a flight home.

  Marco suddenly took my hand and directed me towards the arrivals hall to collect our baggage.

  “I thought we were just staying in
transit, Marco. We don’t have time for sightseeing,” I pointed out.

  “No, we don’t have time for sightseeing my sweet,” he laughed. “But we have exactly two days and two nights for some time just for us,” he shouted, picking me up and swinging me around in the terminal.

  After Marco had put me to bed the night before, he had slipped downstairs, managed to re-arrange our flights and book us into the Hilton which had kindly sent a limousine to pick us up.

  “You lovely, creative, special man,” I swooned as we helped ourselves to champagne. “This is just what we need, the perfect midway breather between our home in New Zealand and our home in Italy.”

  Once we were settled into our room and I discovered that once again, we would be sharing a double bed, I knew something was up. This time it couldn’t be blamed on parents or travel agents. This was deliberate.

  Marco came out of the shower looking steamy, hot and incredibly sexy.

  “What’s this all about?” I inquired.

  “What?”

  “This room, one bed, what have you got planned for us, Marco?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” he replied reaching for the champagne and two flutes as he joined me on the bed.

  He looked at me. Eyes sparkling, the hint of a smile on his luscious lips, his black hair falling in perfect damp curls around his neck.

  “Well, are you going to come clean?”

  “Sshhh … ” was all he said.

  I sipped my champagne awkwardly and looked at him as his smile disappeared.

  “Jane, I need to tell you something,” he said, abruptly serious.

  Oh God, I thought. Here it comes. He is gay after all, not bisexual, he doesn’t want me, he just wants to be friends.

  “Stop it, Jane,” he interrupted my mad train of thought.

  “What?”

  “Worrying that I’ve had second thoughts and I’m actually a proper gay.”

  “Wasn’t”

  “Were.”

  “Wasn’t”

  “Jane I’m trying to be serious for a moment so will you let me?”

  “Yes,” I said, unconvinced.