by Karen Aldous
The fish is so fresh; I love it. There’s no better breakfast than a beer with barbecued mullet, or bream, lightly seasoned with garlic thyme and lemon. I expect you’re horrified I’m drinking beer with my breakfast.
Oh, and one final thing: I’m now learning how to make jewellery. Run out of paper again. I think my writing is getting bigger.
Love to you both,
Roz xx
Finding them more and more entertaining, they were getting used to the language and reading them faster.
Rosalba Bianchi
Ibiza
Sept 76
Dearest Mamma and Papa,
I got your letter. I couldn’t write because I have something important to tell you and I couldn’t face telling you, even in a letter. Two important things: we are very pleased and excited as I expect you will be once you get used to the idea. I am expecting a baby in January.
You will be pleased to know Steve has proposed and I have said yes. We are to be married as soon as we can in England. I will visit the Italian consulate when I get to London. So, although I know you will feel very disappointed in me, I’ve known now for several weeks and I couldn’t be happier, and I hope you will be happy for me.
We will decide where to get married when we’re in London. I hope it will be near the New Year celebrations and you will be able to come. Steve is being a responsible father. He will find work full-time so that he can support us and we will be good parents and save for a home. I hope to find an evening job waitressing. It is a shock to you I’m sure, but we are intent on building our future together.
He thinks he may be able to get his job back in the bank in the city, but Steve can turn his hand to many things and so you should not worry. Steve’s parents still think he is working in Ibiza in a boatyard, which is what he was doing when he came out here. Now, of course, he hasn’t earned enough and we can’t yet buy anywhere to live. We are going to ask his parents if we can move in with them, at least until we can get up on our own two feet. Steve assures me their house in Bermondsey has plenty of space and will be fine for us in the short-term.
I thought you might be interested to know more about the family I am marrying into. I know you will be curious, and so I asked him what his parents did in London, for work I mean. His father is in the print. I think he means newspaper printing or magazines. His mother is in the civil service, which means she works for the government at County Hall. He said their homes were near the London Docks.
During the war there were many bombs dropping close to them, even one in their street. They were lucky they and their homes survived. They married just after the war, bought their house and have stayed in the same jobs since. He said they are really lovely people and they will like me.
We are saving hard. Our group have clubbed together here since mid July and all of August until this week and hired a stall between us in the markets in Es Caná and San Carlos. We’ve sold clothes and gifts, jewellery, anything we can get hold of while it’s busy. For Steve and I, it will pay for our flights to London and we hope to be able to fund a small wedding and some essentials for the baby.
We will leave for London next week. Steve is sure we can buy baby items in the charity shops. The baby is due on the 14th of January so it would be nice if you could come and stay in the New Year for the wedding and until the baby is born. Maybe we can book the wedding for the week before so you can be there. Please say you’ll come and don’t be too mad that this has happened.
Love always,
Roz xx
PS: New address in London is: 24 St. George Street, Bermondsey.
‘Wow, home.’ Olivia wriggled as her skin crawled. It seemed such a crazy era. She sighed and gulped down a mouthful of cold coffee. ‘Such a shame there’s no video footage with these. Wouldn’t that be amazing? I’d loved to have been a fly on the wall.’
‘Well you would have heard it all, in the womb.’ Hugh grinned.
‘Can babies hear?’
‘Once the organs have developed, of course.’
‘I suppose,’ Olivia said opening the next.
Rosalba Bianchi
London
Oct 76
Dearest Mamma and Papa,
We have arrived in London safely. Your letter was waiting. At first, I was very angry after I read it. In all the excitement and foray, I didn’t realize how blasé I had become, and how deeply I had hurt you. Immediately I drafted an angry letter back, but luckily Steve walked in and read it and prevented me from sending it.
We argued; you know how passionate I am. And those were unpleasant words you used. I couldn’t believe you felt so strongly as to disown me. It wrenched my heart as, I imagine, I have yours. Steve tore my first response up and told me to write you another in a few days when I was calmer and understood things from your perspective.
I’m sorry I have shamed you. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Not yet at least. I was stupid. Both Steve and I should have used protection, but it has happened, we are very much in love, and there is nothing you can say that will make me return to my life in Italy. It would be impossible. I didn’t realize just how unhappy and lonely I was until that holiday in Ibiza. With Steve I feel loved and alive, so very alive, and so I’m sorry you feel so sad and feel you have nothing more to say to me. I can only hope you change your mind and, in time, want to get to know Steve and your new – and only – grandchild.
I’ve bought some stationery so that I could send you a photograph of us both. I love this one of Steve. He looks like an American film star, whilst I am beginning to resemble a penguin, bursting out of all my clothes. I will send you photos of the baby when it is born. I couldn’t bear for you not to at least know what your grandchild looks like.
You don’t have to write me letters but I will continue. Steve and I want you to know that we are trying to understand how you feel and, in time, hope we hear from you. For now, I will tell you, we are just beginning to settle in. London is chilly and very different to anything or anywhere I have lived, but we will make it our home.
I miss you very much and hope you can come and visit. Steve’s mamma and papa seem nice and have extended their welcome to you both in their home. They are called Nora and Ronnie. They are so happy for us, and are making a big fuss over me. I feel totally spoilt. They’ve practically done everything for me since I arrived and insisted I put my feet up. I suspect they are glad to have their son home.
Hope you both stay well and find it in your hearts to forgive me. I will write soon. Love and miss you.
Roz xx
Olivia blinked away a tear, then realized Hugh was still there. She looked back at the tumbled pile. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, you must be wanting to go.’
‘I think I should make you a drink. These are obviously draining you.’
‘No, really, I’m fine. Oh look.’ She gathered the letters and put them down to one side. ‘Photos.’ Taking a handful, she immediately spotted one underneath that she recognized. ‘Do you just want to see them before you go?’
‘I’m in this far.’
‘So, this is me with my mum and dad. My gran had this one. I was only a month old.’ She flipped her wrist so he could see the photo. ‘Quite an ugly baby wasn’t I?’
Hugh leant forward. ‘No uglier than the rest of us. Your parents, especially your mother, look very young.’
‘She was. I think she was seventeen when she had me. Dad was about seven or eight years older.’ Olivia shuffled the photos moving on to the next. ‘Me, Nonna, and Nonno. Don’t they look proud? And look, Nonno is squeezing Nonna. Those two were so in love.’
She peered down at the next. ‘Oh, who’s this?’ She lifted the photo closer for inspection. ‘No, that’s not me, no, nor that. That’s my mum and dad with two young babies but no idea who they are. And look, a few years later, the kids are older, two or three, maybe. Both look much thinner there. Mum and Dad, that is. That must have been just before Dad died in his accident.’
She
handed the photo across to Hugh. ‘That was fascinating, reading Mum and Dad’s story. Nonna wasn’t happy, but my mother wasn’t budging. She was determined wasn’t she?’
‘She was, and look there’s a resemblance. This baby looks like you.’ Hugh pointed to the infant her father held.
Olivia’s forehead furrowed. ‘No, that’s not me. I must be … three, no, four, oh hang on, nearly five. This must be among the last pictures we have before Dad died.’ Olivia glanced up and stared vacantly at the wall. ‘It was just before Christmas. I was at school in London. They lived in Italy by then. His motorbike slid on ice on a mountain road apparently and he veered under an oncoming lorry. My gran, who was my dad’s mum, cried for weeks. She was the one I lived with in England: Granny Nora.
‘I remember Grandad picked me up from school and he never did that. When we got home, Gran was hysterical but then they told me and I cried. I hated seeing her so unhappy. I didn’t want to celebrate Christmas or my birthday in January. I think I was more upset for Gran – seeing her cry. It was terrible. It hurt me more to see her suffer I think than the fact that it was my dad who was killed. But then I suppose I’d hardly seen him.’
‘A tragedy. I’m sorry,’ Hugh said and Olivia noticed a twitch in his top lip as she glanced at him momentarily.
She shrugged and met his eyes with a soft smile. ‘I imagine we’re pretty tough as kids.’ Olivia’s eyes widened and she stared into space again. ‘Until, that is, we grow up and then find all that pent-up emotion either paralyses us and our actions, or pours out disguised as some other monster.’
Hugh chewed on his lip. ‘I think you are probably right. Strange how quickly you recover as a child, yet certain things trigger something. My real father left when I was six years old. I can’t say I remember him. I only had a couple of photos to show me what he looked like. Like you, though, the one thing I recall is the debris he left behind. The initial pain and grief, the aftermath. She didn’t know, but I saw my mother try to end her life.’
‘Oh no. That’s awful. That’s really sad. So, your father, he’s never returned?’
Hugh ran his fingers through the front of his hair. ‘No. Not once. Fancied himself as a bit of a romantic apparently and took off to the French Riviera. Juan-les-Pins, I think it was. My mum has this theory that he found the man of his dreams and couldn’t admit his homosexuality.’
‘Oh dear. It was a different era though. Were they young?’
‘Yeah, well, my mother was. She was seventeen when she had me.’
‘Again, married very young. We are a pair aren’t we? Sometimes it works, though. Personally, I don’t think we really know ourselves until we’re heading for our thirties, maybe beyond.’ Olivia lowered her head, picking the next photo showing Nonna and Nonno holding the two babies. She stared at it for several seconds, her brow creasing.
‘I wonder who these children are. They wouldn’t be cousins. Mamma didn’t have any brothers or sisters …’ She trailed off, sifting through more pictures. ‘Oh, there’s more. They’re older here, look!’ She passed it to him. ‘And here. Oh my God, here too.’
‘These are the grandparents who lived here?’ Hugh asked.
‘Yes. That’s Nonna and Nonno,’ she said, shuffling through more. ‘Sorry, yes, this is their daughter, my mum, Roz, with my dad, Steve.’ Olivia squeezed her forehead. ‘I don’t know who these kids are. I don’t think I’ve ever met them. There’s a little boy, and a girl. That’s not me; I know I was darker. They look the same age, twins maybe?’ she deduced verbally, though confused. ‘Oh … unless …’
She swallowed hard and slapped her mouth. It went numb, and the inside of her mouth went dry as the thought made her reach for her stomach with one hand, clutching it. ‘Could they?’ She leaped to her feet, flicking through more photographs.
‘What is it?’ Hugh stood. She blinked at him, seeing a concerned expression cross his face. Shifting her hands quickly, she shuffled through each photo.
‘I’m …’ A lump came to her throat and her head felt as though a flame was roaring through it. ‘I don’t know. I need to speak to …’ The words wouldn’t come. She clasped the photos tightly. ‘I need to speak to Mum.’
‘What are you thinking?’
Olivia’s hand flew to her mouth again as tears shimmered in her eyes. Hugh rested his hand on her arm.
‘Could they be?’ Her voice wobbled as she tried to hold back. ‘I need to ask my mum,’ she said before the weight of the tears unharnessed and she shook uncontrollably. ‘Bloody hell, I have a horrible suspicion they may be mum’s. Why would they be here on several occasions with Nonna and Nonno?’
Hugh caught her in his arms and held her, her head shuddering against his chest.
He spoke softly. ‘Hmm, erm, this is major isn’t it? And yes, you need to speak to your mother. There may be some perfectly logical explanation. I understand if you’re upset by what you suspect is true, but you don’t know. You really need to find out the facts before you jump to any conclusions.’
‘Oh, this is odd, but it now seems obvious to me. I have a brother and sister, but I don’t understand why I was left … maybe that’s why I don’t go to hers? Oh God, have my whole family been lying to me?’
‘Surely not?’
Olivia wiped her cheek with her hand. ‘Why would she keep something like this from me, and my grandparents: Nonna and Nonno, Nora and Ronnie? God, I want to be sick.’
Hugh clutched her hand as she stood. ‘I can’t begin to …’ Olivia let the photos drop to the floor and gazed at him, her hand still covering her mouth.
‘I need to go and see her,’ Olivia said, scanning for a nearby tissue and sniffing. ‘In fact, I need to find her. I don’t even know where she lives.’
‘Don’t you visit her at all?’
Olivia caught a strand of hair between her fingers, suddenly forced to admit she knew nothing about her mother. ‘Yes. Here.’
‘What about communication? Phone? Email?’
Olivia gave him a blank stare. ‘Nonna has always organized everything. She rings me and …’ Her eyes shifted upwards while she bit the inside of her mouth. ‘I don’t have Mum’s address.’
‘She must have called you to tell you about your nonna’s death.’
‘She did. Presumably she was already here,’ she said, trying to think. ‘She would have rung from Nonna’s. That’s the only number that comes up on my mobile.’ Olivia reached out and touched the slim handset on the table beside the sofa. ‘Although Nonna must have a number or email for her here,’ she said rushing towards the door and stopping briefly, unsure whether to dash to the bathroom. ‘I won’t be long.’
Hugh followed her out to the hall and stopped at the bathroom door.
It was several minutes before she opened the door. ‘Sorry, it was a shock. I don’t feel as sick now. Look, I understand if you want to go.’
‘I’m not leaving you like this.’
‘Sorry to be fretting around you like this. I can’t quite take it in. I need to find my mum’s telephone number that Nonna used. It has to be here.’
‘Look, don’t worry about me. Just tell me what I can do to help. There must be something I can help you with.’
‘Maybe you can help me look. Come with me.’ She hurried across the hall to the study, her breath quickening. Hugh followed. ‘Look everywhere and anywhere,’ she said, tugging at the top drawer of the desk as Hugh went across to the bookcase. ‘I’d never questioned the mechanics or logistics of our visits before. Nonna rang with a date and one of them collected us from the airport.’
‘Us?’
‘Chiara and I, or Will, whoever I was travelling with. I never came on my own.’
Hugh glanced at her with curiosity.
‘Yes, I know, I’m an adult, but I used to get these panic attacks, anxiety or whatever you want to call it. They came on when I was stressed; including things like flying, driving, going places on my own, even op
ening the front door. And, if I’m honest, I feel like I’m having a bit of one now. I’m extremely glad you stayed. If I could contact her right now and was able to get her address, I wouldn’t hesitate in disowning her.’
It seemed crazy to think there had never been a reason to contact her mum directly, she reflected. She knew her grandmother in England had always waited for her mum to ring even though they had Nonna’s landline. The only time she had used that was when Nora was ill and shortly after, when she died. Nonna had always passed on the messages to her mother.
‘When Nonna died, Mamma rang with the news and promptly collected me from the airport as usual. I bet her other children are the reason why she dragged Chiara and I away from Nonna’s funeral. I didn’t go to Nonno’s funeral; I was at school. I can’t believe they’ve all covered this up. Do you know, I’ve always had some inkling my mum was hiding something. It has to be this. So this was why she was so elusive.’
‘It’s natural to just go with the flow. I doubt you would ever question it.’ Hugh tried to assure her, as he searched every crevice in every piece of furniture and among the books.
‘But why?’ Olivia held her head in her hands as she cried, letting the tears stream down her face. ‘Why? Why did they all hide it?’
Hugh rushed to her side, throwing an awkward arm around her. ‘Shhh, I know you’re hurting and it’s not fair of your family to have put you through all this. Here.’ He turned towards her. ‘I have a shoulder, put your head on here.’
Doing as she was told, she let her heart out on to his chest, soaking his shirt and thinking back to the funeral service. There weren’t any real youngsters there, but there were people about her own age and older. She remembered a blonde woman there but hadn’t taken much notice. She imagined her to be a neighbour. But two of the congregation were sure to be those children in the photo.
Hugh held her with one arm and leaned to the side, reaching for a small pile of serviettes he saw in an open drawer.
‘Here, wipe your eyes.’
Olivia took it from his hand, sniffing and wanting to share her thoughts. They were so muddled. Would it be proper to talk about the house and its owner to someone who may possibly buy it? And why wasn’t it shared among them if they were her brother and sister? She tried to think back to any clues her mother may have given.