by Jill Mansell
For the rest of the trip she plugged in earbuds, closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Which wasn’t easy when you were sitting next to someone whose physical presence made you quiver, for whom you’d had such high hopes and who had decided for whatever reason that he was no longer remotely interested in you.
‘Anywhere here’s fine,’ she said when they reached Market Place, in the centre of Cirencester.
‘Are you sure?’ Seth pulled over to drop her off. ‘Right, it’s one o’clock. I’ll be back at four thirty if that’s OK with you. Any problems, give me a call.’
It was as if he could hardly bear to look at her. Lainey unfastened her seat belt. ‘That’s fine. I’ll wait for you here. Thanks for the lift.’
Seth nodded, knuckles gleaming white as he gripped the steering wheel. ‘No worries. Have a good time.’
‘You too. Sorry.’ She winced, because he was on his way to give his mother tragic news and a good time was highly unlikely for either of them. ‘I hope it isn’t too difficult.’
Another brusque nod; he was gazing directly ahead, not so much as glancing in her direction. ‘Thanks. See you later.’
As soon as he’d driven off up the road and disappeared from view, Lainey hitched the strap of her bag over her shoulder and made her way across to the taxi office on the other side of the road.
Seth drove away from Cirencester, the sudden absence of Lainey in the car hitting him like a physical force every bit as intense as the agony he’d endured travelling up here from St Carys with her at his side.
Carrying on a cheerful, easy conversation with her as if nothing had changed in his life simply hadn’t been possible. He was exhausted, sleep-deprived and filled with a sensation of perpetual dread as to what the future might hold. His feelings towards her hadn’t changed, but he could no longer allow himself to act upon them. If you loved someone, how could you risk causing them years, decades even, of untold pain and anguish?
And not just Lainey either. There was also the rest of the family to consider. They would be devastated too.
As he continued to drive along on autopilot, Seth ran through the options available to him for what felt like the millionth time. First, undergo the DNA test that would confirm to him that he was Matteo’s son; having now seen a photo of Matteo with the dark Latin colouring that matched his own, he was increasingly sure they had to be related. Next, make an appointment with a geneticist and begin the long, arduous process of getting tested to see if he would develop the disease – and there was a fifty-fifty chance that he would. Nor was it a simple, straightforward process; the rules stated that many months of careful professional counselling were required before the testing could even be carried out.
Which meant the impermeable block of ice currently lodged in his chest was going to remain there for a good few months yet. And after that? Well, either all would be well and life could return to normal . . .
Or not.
Seth took a deep breath and buzzed down his window, because the faint scent of Lainey’s perfume still lingered in the car, bringing back memories of being with her on the beach, deliberately delaying the moment when he would make that first move from which there could be no going back.
So much for the best-laid plans, and thinking that the future couldn’t be more perfect . . .
The spa retreat was situated in the depths of the countryside between Lechlade and Fairford. He’d looked it up online last night and it had sounded exactly as expected: an idyllic getaway from the pressures of the outside world, enabling you to relax, expand your awareness, find your centre and nurture your soul.
Claptrap, basically, and staggeringly expensive claptrap at that, but the kind his mother was keen on. After months of drinking, partying and jet-setting around the holiday hotspots of the world, she liked to atone by devoting herself to a restorative fortnight of lettuce, mineral wraps, yoga, meditation, aura cleansing, and an awful lot of obnoxiously green smoothies.
Apparently it did wonders for one’s spiritual well-being. Seth, who would rather swallow razor blades, was pretty sure it wouldn’t do it for him.
Pausing at the imposing stone-pillared entrance to the luxury retreat, he took a phone out of the glove compartment and slid it into his shirt pocket, out of sight beneath his jacket.
‘Darling, what a lovely surprise!’ Christina greeted him at the entrance to her huge, high-ceilinged suite on the third floor. In keeping with her surroundings, she was wearing layers of ivory linen, soft and floaty. Her blonde hair was slicked back from her face, which was unmade-up and glowing with health. ‘Mind my skin, I’ve just had an oil treatment and it has flecks of gold leaf in it. What are you doing here?’
‘I was in the area.’ Seth landed a tentative kiss on one shimmering cheekbone. ‘Thought I’d call in and see how you’re getting on.’
‘Well it’s completely ghastly, of course, no alcohol and nothing anyone in their right mind would ever choose to eat, but that’s the whole point. The place is stunning, though. Some of the people are a bit dreary, going on and on about the wonders of spirulina like they’ve got shares in the stuff . . . oh, but there’s a gorgeous chap I’ve got my eye on. So that helps!’
There was always some new gorgeous chap or other in Christina’s life. Seth indicated the table and chairs next to the open sash window. ‘Shall we sit down?’
‘Of course! I can’t offer you anything exciting to drink, but we’ve got plenty of this stuff.’ She opened the mini fridge and held up a jug of what looked like pureed Savoy cabbage. ‘It has twenty-seven different vitamins in it!’
‘No thanks.’ He briefly debated telling her there weren’t twenty-seven different vitamins.
‘And eighty-three enzymes and micronutrients, apparently. We had an hour-long lecture about it.’ She nodded vigorously and grabbed two clean glasses. ‘Try some, you might be surprised. It gives you a whole-body boost!’
Once they were sitting down with the untouched smoothies in front of them, Seth said, ‘Mum, Shelley was wondering where you were. She was trying to get in touch.’
‘Well that’s not my fault. I told you,’ said Christina, ‘they don’t let us have our phones in here. Did you know, every time you go on social media, your brain is bombarded with literally trillions of negative electrical thingummys? I had no idea.’
‘I don’t think that’s quite right.’ Seth shook his head.
‘It is, though! This psychotherapist guy called Zebedee gave us a talk about it yesterday; he knows everything there is to know about negative electricity.’
‘Mum, Shelley couldn’t get hold of you, so she called me.’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake, is this about the liposuction? She wants me to go along with her so we can have our legs done at the same time, but the thing is, I don’t need lipo on my legs.’
‘It isn’t about that.’ Seth waited until he had his mother’s attention. ‘It’s Matteo. Shelley had another text from his sister. I’m sorry,’ he said gently. ‘Matteo died.’
‘Oh.’ Christina sat back, silver bangles clinking as her hand fluttered to her mouth. ‘Oh, right. Well, that’s sad. Poor Matteo.’
‘Yes.’ Seth exhaled.
‘How about you? Are you . . . OK?’
He nodded. ‘I’m OK.’
A tear trickled down her tanned, shimmering cheek and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. ‘We knew it was going to happen. I can’t believe I’m this upset. But he was a lovely boy. Always fun to be with. And such beautiful eyes.’ She raised her gaze, and Seth knew she was comparing his eyes with Matteo’s.
‘It’s a private funeral,’ he explained. ‘Family only. But if you want, you can send flowers. I mean, I could send them on your behalf.’
‘Yes, darling, that’s a nice idea. I’d definitely like to do that. Where’s the funeral being held?’
‘Santa Maria Rezzonico.’ Seth reached into his jacket pocket and took out his mobile.
Christina’s eyes widened. ‘Oh my Go
d! How did they not take that off you?’
‘They asked me to hand my phone over at reception, so I gave them my old one.’ He switched on the phone and found what he was looking for. ‘Here you go. Shelley forwarded the email from Matteo’s sister so we’d have all the details.’
He passed his mother the phone, displaying the photo of the death notice in an Italian newspaper, and gazed out of the window at the tranquil rose garden below while she read it. Beyond the rose garden, in a far corner of the grounds, a t’ai chi class was in progress. Over to the right, people were sitting cross-legged in a circle, presumably meditating. In the distance, a tiny plume of grey-blue smoke drifted up from a clump of bushes, indicating that some desperate soul was hiding behind them having a forbidden cigarette.
Glancing back at his mother, Seth saw that she was bent over the phone, texting at lightning speed. ‘Mum, what are you doing?’ He whisked it from her grasp in case she was messaging something hideously inappropriate to Matteo’s sister, then checked the screen and shook his head in despair. ‘Facebook? Are you serious?’
‘I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help myself. It’s hard going cold turkey. OK, fine.’ Christina heaved a long-suffering sigh. ‘You can delete it.’
The message was to one of her female friends, complaining that the retreat didn’t serve wine with dinner and the nearest shop was miles away, which meant she hadn’t even been able to sneak out to buy crisps and chocolate.
Clearly not that devastated about Matteo then.
Seth deleted what she’d typed and returned to the email from Matteo’s sister. This time he angled the screen so Christina could see it, but made sure he held onto the phone.
She leaned closer, reading for several seconds in silence. Seth waved aside a bluebottle that had just flown in through the open sash window and landed on the table. The fly darted around ninja-style before alighting on the rim of his smoothie glass, which gave him an even better excuse not to try it.
‘This says Matteo Romano.’ His mother looked up at him, puzzled. ‘Who’s that?’
‘It’s him,’ said Seth.
Christina’s hoop earrings jangled. ‘Well that’s not right. My Matteo was Matteo Mancini.’
Seth blinked. ‘What? But Shelley said it was him. Matteo with the hair.’
‘Yes, he had hair! Long hair, loads of it, like a rock star!’
Inside his chest, Seth’s heart rate began to speed up, because this wasn’t making any sense. ‘But his sister sent the email. She knows who her own brother is.’
‘Well this is just weird. It’s definitely not his surname.’ Christina pointed at the death notice on the screen. ‘And that isn’t his date of birth either.’
‘Are you sure?’ Remembering birth dates had never been her forte.
His mother looked outraged that he could doubt her. ‘Of course I’m sure. Matteo’s birthday was on New Year’s Eve, that’s why I wouldn’t forget it.’
Chapter 43
Seth’s heart was by now thudding like the blades of a helicopter preparing for take-off. Grabbing the phone back, he scrolled down to the photograph that had been attached to the bottom of the email. With an unsteady hand, he held it up in front of Christina, who peered intently at the screen then let out a yelp of recognition.
‘Oh my God, this is so wild,’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s not him, that’s the other Matteo!’
The other Matteo . . .
‘I remember him,’ she went on triumphantly. ‘I don’t think I ever even heard his surname, but he used to go to all the same clubs as us, so we knew him to chat to. He was one of the Carnaby Street punks, darling, bright blue hair in a foot-high Mohican! I mean, he was a lovely boy but I never slept with him.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Bit too skinny for me. Poor Mattie, though, it’s sad that he’s died. We’ll still send some flowers, shall we, even though it’s the wrong one?’
Seth couldn’t trust himself to fully comprehend what he was hearing. He’d almost forgotten to breathe. When people discovered that the numbers on their lottery tickets matched the winning ones, how many times did they feel the need to double-check and check again before finally believing they’d won?
Christina was tapping his arm. ‘Seth? Will you call a florist and organise it? Something big and flashy, lots of red and blue?’
He nodded, looking again at the photograph of Matteo-who-wasn’t-his-biological-father, who had never slept with his mother and therefore whose genes he categorically didn’t share. The photo had been taken decades ago, presumably before the illness had taken hold. He had prominent cheekbones, short dark hair and a large aquiline nose, but it was those dark eyes that had convinced Seth of the resemblance when Shelley had forwarded the email to him the other day.
Without thinking, he reached for the glass on the table and almost took a gulp of putrid-looking green smoothie before spotting the upturned fly on the foamy surface. Stone dead, which didn’t bode well for any resident tempted to drink the stuff.
‘Ha, how funny!’ Christina was now chuckling to herself. ‘Imagine if I’d travelled all that way and turned up at a funeral for the wrong Matteo!’
One last check. It had to be done. Seth said, ‘So the other one’s surname is Mancini.’
‘My Matteo, yes.’ She nodded and waved her arms extravagantly around her head. ‘Long dark hair like a lion. And a beautiful chest.’ Reminiscing fondly, she added, ‘He used to wear black leather trousers too.’
Seth keyed the name into Google and came up with several options, so went to Images instead and showed his mother the page of photographs.
‘I did have a go at looking him up a few years ago but couldn’t find him . . . Ooh, now he’s rather gorgeous!’ She pointed to a Californian orthopaedic surgeon. ‘But it’s not him, worse luck. Hmm, not him, nor him . . . eurgh, definitely not that one. Oh . . .’
‘What?’ said Seth, because she’d suddenly gone quiet.
‘Found him.’
‘Really?’
His mother nodded. ‘Oh yes, this is him. Wow.’
Seth sat back; from this angle, he couldn’t see the screen. ‘What does wow mean?’
‘He has a restaurant in Naples. And a big family. He looks . . . older.’ Christina sounded put out. Sometimes she still had the ability to astound him.
Having never been remotely interested in learning any details about the man who could well be his biological father, Seth now reached across and angled the phone so they could both see the photo. The family were posing in front of their restaurant, arms around each other’s shoulders as they beamed for the photographer. Two strapping sons, three striking daughters, a curvaceous dark-haired wife . . . and Matteo Mancini, the proud father, with thick greying hair swept back from his face and a broad smile that felt instantly, subliminally familiar.
‘He’s gone grey and put on a few pounds.’ Christina’s lip curled.
Seth clicked on the link beneath the photo, which took him to a website. This in turn led them to a gallery containing more photographs of staff and diners at the cheerfully decorated restaurant. He scrolled through the photos, stopping at an extra-celebratory one featuring a banner with FELICE ANNO NUEVO! written across it and Matteo taking centre stage beneath balloons bearing the words BUON COMPLEANNO!
Happy New Year and Happy Birthday.
Which was pretty much case closed.
‘I mean, I suppose he’s still good-looking,’ said Christina, ‘but he was even better when he had all that wild hair.’
There was a knock at the door and she called out, ‘Come in,’ before belatedly realising Seth still had the phone in his hand. He dropped it into his jacket pocket and they both turned as the door opened.
‘Sorry to disturb you, but I’ve brought tomorrow’s menu choices.’ A smilingly serene woman approached them with a sheet of paper. ‘I can thoroughly recommend the tofu and dandelion stir-fry with wheatgrass and—’
Seth’s phone began to ring and the woman’s smile promptly vanished.
‘Sorry,’ said Seth, not sorry at all.
‘We don’t allow phones at this retreat, sir. I think you already know that.’
‘I didn’t realise I had it on me.’
‘If you hand it to me for safe keeping, you may continue with your visit and collect it from reception when you leave.’
Seth pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. ‘Thanks, but there’s no need. I’m leaving now anyway.’
Once out of the grounds of the retreat, he drove for a few miles before pulling over at the side of the road and switching off the ignition.
His head was buzzing with adrenalin, relief, the realisation that he’d been given back his life. He felt free and overwhelmingly grateful. The horror and the agony had been lifted, leaving him filled with joy and new appreciation for . . . well, just about everything.
But especially his family.
And even more especially Lainey.
Oh God, though, how indescribably lucky he was. Now he found himself considering all those less fortunate than himself, who didn’t get the kind of get-out-of-jail-free card he’d just been handed. A great wave of sympathy swept through him; for every two people who underwent the genetic testing, one would receive the news they and their families feared most of all.
Life was cruel, life was unfair – sometimes almost unbearably so. But he knew he’d never forget how he’d felt for the past three weeks. Nor would he ever stop thinking about those affected by such a devastating diagnosis.
Seth gazed through the windscreen at the waving field of corn spread out ahead of him, at the birds flying high in a turquoise sky, and felt his throat begin to tighten. He hadn’t shed so much as a tear for years, not since Tony – his real father – had died, but it could be about to happen now. The overwhelming relief was breaking him. His own life wasn’t in pieces after all.