'I can't give you a cuddle Mum, so you'll just have to do with this.' He kissed his hand and blew it to me. I was sure - I almost felt it, the brush of something infinitesimally delicate on my cheek.
Brighton 2005
I kiss Alan gently on the cheek, he doesn’t respond. He’s sat by himself, bunched up in the window seat, playing with Stephanie’s keys, the house key she only used once, the little padlock key she used to chain her scooter up at school. Not much locking and un-locking to show for ten years of life. He’s turning them over and over in his hands, rubbing them, squeezing them into his palm. His gaze never moves from the window. Mourners move about him, chatting in hushed voices, not registering him, as if he’s a ghost. I find his grief more unbearable than my own, I am still numb, unable to really process what has happened. We are both hollow in our different ways; me because I seem incapable of feeling, he because he is turned inside out by Stephanie’s death; as if he is wearing his organs, nerves and blood-vessels on the outside. So vulnerable and sensitive it is almost impossible to be near him. Despite this I remind myself that I am his wife, it is my fault, I have to try to be there for him, to make it right.
‘Alan?’ I squeeze in beside him on the window seat, take hold of his hand and stroke it.
‘Please don’t Maddie.’
‘I know this is hard…horrible,’ the words come sluggishly out of my mouth, I am incapacitated, ‘but I’m hurting too and we need to help each other get through this.’
He looks up at me, his eyes are flat and empty, I can’t read his expression, is it surprise? Anger? ‘We’re the reason she’s dead Maddie! We can’t be there for each other, because we weren’t there for her’ People are starting to look over at us. The flow of quiet conversation starts to fragment.
I look at him beseechingly. ‘Please don’t say that Alan. That’s not fair, it was an accident!’
‘An accident that shouldn’t have happened. If it wasn’t for our selfishness…’ His voice has started to rise now, he stands up suddenly, spilling me onto the floor. ‘…Stephanie would still be alive. We were thinking about ourselves, our own stupid, inconsequential needs and we let her down.’
I stand up, everyone’s watching now, their faces frozen into myriad emotion masks; shock, pity, disgust, sadness. I take hold of Alan’s hands again but he shakes me off. ‘Alan…I’
‘I think we should get a divorce Maddie.’ His voice is cold and fierce now. ‘We’re not right, we never were right. Our hearts are cold.’
I start to sob, I can’t help myself, I’m crying like a baby. The hollowness inside me is suddenly flooded with equal measures of pain and shame. I don’t know what to do, where to go, Alan is still glaring at me. Then I feel a strong arm around my shoulder, and I know without looking around that it is Dan. I burrow my face into his chest. His voice reverberates against my cheek.
‘I think you should all leave now.’
I feel an overwhelming wave of gratitude. He is going to make everyone go away. ‘This has been a difficult day for everyone.’ He looks at Alan, hands him a set of keys. ‘I think you should go too Alan, you both need time to think. Get some things and go and stay at my place tonight, I’ll look after Maddie.’
It’s midnight now, my voice is gluey with wine but I’m strangely cognisant, like this is a moment I am supposed to remember. It’s mild and pleasant in the garden. Dan has lit tea lights and put them on the patio table. Occasionally their soft light catches the erratic movement of bats as they fly to their roosts. There’s a slight sweetness in the air, the remainder of the scent of the jasmine brought out by the earlier sun.
Dan sighs and stretches his legs out, leans his head back into his hands. ‘He’s right in a way you know.’
My stomach clenches, ‘about Stephanie?’
‘No, no’ he says almost impatiently. ‘About you and him, I never felt you were quite right for each other.’
I’m too tired, emotional and confused to argue, and anyway, he might be right. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘I think he was your mercy mission. You thought you could mend him, like you couldn’t mend mum.’
I started to cry again, not dramatically any more, there was so little left, the tears roll silently down my cheeks. ‘It’s not just that, I wanted a family. I wanted to be part of that, to give family another chance.’
‘After losing Mum you mean?’
‘That, and because of Dad’s affair. I wanted to be part of something that’s loyal and honest.’ I stop abruptly. I shouldn’t have said that, what was I thinking? To my surprise Dan does not respond angrily.
‘I know, it’s sad that Dad did that, but I kind of understand.’
‘Really? You’re not angry with him?’
‘Not any more. I was when he first told me, but I think he did it out of loneliness and despair. He needed company and reassurance. Mum’s illness was so hard on him.’
‘You mean it happened while Mum was ill?!’ It’s Dan’s turn to wish he could take back his words now. He puts his head in his hands briefly.
‘I’m sorry Maddie, I presumed…Look, don’t be too hard on him, don’t you think he’s suffered enough? Punished himself enough? He loved Mum so much, but she was…you know…quite distant with him. Life’s not black and white.’
‘It is in some ways. It’s black and white when it comes to Stephanie.’ I want to prostrate myself, offer myself up for sacrifice, do anything to ameliorate my feelings of guilt and shame.’
‘No it’s not Maddie, what a stupid thing to say! You can’t tell me you really believe that?!’
‘How can I not? You saw Alan’s face. He didn’t get to school in time to pick her up, and that was my fault!’
‘She was ten years old Maddie, she should have been walking home by herself for ages! It was only a few minutes walk, she was desperate to have some independence, but Alan wouldn’t let her, he was too protective, surely you realise that?’
‘I suppose, a bit.’ I refill Dan’s and my glass shakily. He is filling his pipe, jabbing at the tobacco angrily, his forehead crinkled into a frown.
‘He wrapped her in cotton-wool, because of her mum abandoning them. Despite your being there for her, loving her like she was your own daughter, for four years, he never let that go. He carried on being the wounded party, didn’t move on. Stephanie should have been allowed a bit of independence, she walked in front of that car because she had no road-sense, he hadn’t let her. You’ve got to stop taking all the blame sis, or it’ll make you ill.’
‘But they were my last chance Dan!’ I sob, ‘My last chance to have a family. I can’t have one of my own – and then they were there – an instant family. And now they’re both gone, just as suddenly, I can’t bear it!’
‘I love you sis, and you’ll always have me, you know that, don’t you?’ Dan puts down his pipe and kneels in front of me, takes my hands in his big dark ones and presses them against his cheek. ‘I know a self-absorbed, eccentric gay brother isn’t much of a consolation,’ I laugh despite myself and take away my hand to stroke his close-shorn head. ‘And I know we’re very different, but we work well together don’t we Maddie? We always have.’
Italy 2007
I woke up to find Nonna sitting on the edge of the bed, the smell of the morning's freshly baked bread emanating from her neat black dress.
'So amore,' she said, idly waving the screwdriver in her left hand, 'what have you really been up to with this in the middle of the night?'
I gaped for air, like a landed fish. Too much had happened in the last few weeks. I was running out of everything – energy, courage and deception - to name but a few. She put the screwdriver down with a sigh and placed her hand on my stomach. 'It is time you told me what is happening Maddie. I may be a little psychic, but I am also not stupid, and I have known since I first see you at at my door that you did not come to visit just to see Sergio's grave, or pass the time of day with me as you say in England. '
I shook my head dum
bly.
She smiled at me, a little sadly. 'Your future is inside you, Tsoro, and yet you are doing something...something very hard. I can tell. You need help. So you had better ask me for it before it is too late.'
'I can't Nonna. It's too dangerous.'
She laughed loudly then, throwing back her head so that the wrinkles in her neck smoothed to a fine crepe. 'Too dangerous! Too dangerous for little old ladies but not for pregnant women?!'
‘I mean it, this is my problem. I won’t make you a part of it, not yet.’
‘At least tell me why you are here, why you are really here. Then, when you are ready to tell me what you are doing, I will understand.’
‘OK, but I don’t know where to start.’
‘All’inizio my dear. It is always the only place.’
I had just switched off my mobile after calling my father (he reminded me that I had five days left where I was allowed to fly, and threatened to come over if I wasn't on a plane before then) when the Amarena's house came into view. A jolt of anxiety ran through me at what I was planning to do, could Nonna sense it? Rosa was waiting outside for us, her expensive ox-blood leather court shoes shining against the gravel of the drive. 'Oh Mamma! She said reprovingly. ‘Why you drive that old thing? I told you Fabrizio would come and get you!'
Nonna, appearing to ignore her daughter, reversed the little Fiat coupé expertly into the parking space next to Fabrizio's metallic gold Mercedes. 'Rosa, non fare tante storie.' she called as she wound up the dusty driver's window.
'Who wouldn't fuss with a mother like you! I suppose I should at least thank God that you didn't buy a motorbike.'
'That was my first choice,' said Nonna begrudgingly, 'but I would not have been able to fit all my shopping in that silly little box behind the seat.'
Rosa clicked her tongue and ushered us into the house. 'It is just me and Fabrizio tonight I'm afraid,’ she said as she led us into the living room for a drink. ‘Colette is back in England. You are looking well Madeleine. I am sure you have...' she gestured with her hands, 'how do you say in English - yes, dropped – don't you think Mamma? Don't you think her belly is low now?' I saw that Fabrizio was sitting in a leather armchair near the window. A sense of intense interest emanated from him as he studied my stomach. It took all my self-control to machinate something as simple as a smile. I prayed he wouldn't touch me, but he came straight over and held me tightly. Like an automaton I moved my arms up to his back and with a tremendous act of will made them apply a little pressure. 'Perhaps the baby has engaged now Madeleine!' Rosa continued.
‘I’ve got a month to go yet.’ I felt anxiety well up inside me, I felt a little nauseas. ‘So that's pretty unlikely.'
'Sergio was six weeks early.' Rosa said quietly. 'It is possible.'
'But we do not want Maddie to be early!' interrupted Fabrizio, almost violently. 'We want our grandson to be big and strong, so no more talk of being early!'
Rosa visibly shrank.
Fabrizio’s demeanour shifted in an instant. ‘Ah Nonna!’ He smiled beneficently. ‘How good to see you.’ He embraced her too, kissed her on both cheeks.
Only I could see her expression. She now knew her son-in-law was a rapist and a crook. Her composure was incredible. 'Where is the famous Amarena hospitality then? I have not been here for dinner for months and still there is no drink in my hand!'
It was a painful and difficult dinner. Never had it been more important for me to appear relaxed and happy to be in the Amarena's company; and never had it been harder to do so. Not only was I oppressed by my loathing of Fabrizio, and my inability to accept him as both the grandfather of my child, and father of my brother, I was also filled with fear at what I was soon to do. Only Nonna made it bearable. Every time I felt myself flagging, every time I had to suppress the urge to run from the room, she would do or say something so fantastically dry, or sarcastic that it would save me from myself; her reputation as an eccentric and grumpy old woman rendering her immune from criticism.
After the first course I made the excuse of needing the toilet. Instead of turning left after the corridor from the dining room, however, I turned right. This took me to the main hallway, which I crossed, swiftly, into the lounge. This was the only room in the house that was carpeted, and I made my way silently through the deep pile to the French Doors. As quietly as possible I pulled up the bolt at the base of the door and slipped the small key of the lock into my pocket.
It was the second time that I had snuck out on Nonna when she was sleeping. I felt bad this time, bad about deceiving her. She had wanted to help me, but putting myself and my baby at risk was more than I could bear as it was. I couldn’t add her to the list. I assuaged my guilt by leaving her a note on the kitchen table. Explaining what I was doing, saying sorry, telling her to call John if I wasn’t back by morning. I had become scared of involving Dad now. I didn’t know how he’d react when he found out about the rape. It would be out of character, but he might lose it, do something he regretted. Dad would come over anyway if I didn’t call him by 7pm the next day, but I reasoned that if the worst happened, and I wasn’t back at Nonna’s by morning, John would have a head start on my Dad and would have a chance to smooth things over before he arrived. If I got Dan out, if we made it to Nonna’s safely, Dad wouldn’t even need to come at all. I could keep him out of Fabrizio’s lair.
I walked as quickly as I could back to the Amarena’s, it took just over half an hour. There was a section of tumble-down wall at the back of the house that I had noticed on previous visits, and which let me avoid the noisy gravel of the drive. I clambered over it, and crossed the garden anxiously through the blank-eyed stare of the sleeping house with its dark windows. The lounge’s French doors opened easily.
I was about to move through the room and into the hall when I heard voices and footsteps beyond the door. Heart hammering, I pulled the door to and dropped behind the nearest object I could see that would conceal me, the Amarena’s enormous sofa. Despite its length and deep plush cushions, it wasn’t very high, and I had to lie down on my side between it and the wall to be fully out of view.
I wriggled awkwardly to get to my mobile phone, which was in the pocket of my smock top, turned it off quickly and put it back. I wondered how long I was going to have to wait behind the sofa. How would I know when the coast was clear? Would I be able to see the light going out in the hallway beyond the room? Suddenly I felt very foolish, like a child, hiding to spy on a grown-ups party; though the consequences of being found hiding in this instance were infinitely more serious.
I was trying to move my right arm, which was wedged uncomfortably underneath me, when to my horror, the light came on and I heard people enter the room. I froze, someone, I presumed Fabrizio, sat down heavily on the sofa and sighed. I heard the other person clinking glasses at the other side of the room.
'Vino?' I heard Rosa say.
‘Grappa, grazie' replied Fabrizio thickly, as if he had something in his mouth. His arm appeared against the top of the sofa and I saw that he had lit a cigar. It was wedged firmly between his thick dark fingers. I felt a rush of terror and revulsion.
They were of course talking in Italian so I could only understand snatches of what they were saying. 'She looks tired' Rosa said first. 'She...better in Italy.' ‘Of course!' he replied. Then Rosa again: 'You know these English...' and Fabrizio chuckled and said chillingly: 'She will stay.' This talk was punctuated by Fabrizio taking deep sucks on his cigar and sending tendrils of creamy smoke into the air above the sofa. At one stage ash fell off the tip of the cigar, landed on me and started to smoulder on my skirt. I was scared to brush it off in case it set fire to the carpet, and for a few seconds was in an agony of indecision. Luckily it went out before the heat became unbearable. The talk continued for about a quarter of an hour, moving on from me, to Rosa's never ending list of complaints about her mother; bills that had to be paid; relatives that must be invited to stay. Fabrizio said little; punctuating his wife's oration with the
occasional grunt, which I imagined I could feel vibrating through the heavy, expensive upholstery of the couch.
I was now desperate for the toilet. In the latter stages of my pregnancy, the baby often, and without warning, would put its whole weight onto my bladder. It created a sense of urgency that I last remembered feeling as a child. It was beginning to hurt. When were they going to go to bed? What was the time now? It must be nearing midnight.
Then I heard a phone start ringing. It sounded like it was in the room. 'Who could it be at this time?' said Rosa with obvious irritation. ‘Don’t worry.' Replied Fabrizio shortly. 'You have had a long day...go to bed now.' Rosa did another one of her tongue-clicks, clearly her universal signal for anything that exasperated or annoyed her. She capitulated though, and I heard her stilettos clicking in the hall beyond the room. Fabrizio didn't answer the phone for a few more seconds. I presumed he was waiting for her to leave the room. I couldn't feel my right arm any more and the contorted position I was in was becoming unbearable. Every second, I was convinced that Fabrizio's face was going to appear, grinning over the top of the sofa. I barely dared to breathe, and the pressure on my bladder was sending stabbing sensations shooting up my back.
Finally the phone stopped ringing. I could hear the lilting murmur of the person on the other end of the line. Fabrizio responded regularly; 'Si...Si.' His voice was quiet but insistent. 'Si..' he said again, 'Io capriso.' The call went on for another few minutes. Every now and then I felt the sofa judder faintly against my stomach, he must be nodding I thought a little hysterically by now; they're talking about something very important to him. 'Yes yes Tomorrow!' said Fabrizio almost angrily, his voice rising despite himself. 'He must be moved Tomorrow!' A thread of cool went down my spine like mercury. 'Listen Mario...' then an undecipherable torrent of Italian from which the only word I could glean was 'Polizia'. His authority however was obviously unassailable. After a perfunctory 'buona notte' Fabrizio slammed down the phone. He muttered to himself for a while. The silence that now settled on the room seemed to suck away any hope I had of continuing the deception. Surely he could hear my heartbeat, my breathing, the whooshes of my stomach, digesting the rich three-course dinner? Rosa and the phone call had provided some protection. Now I felt hideously exposed, as if I was lying naked behind the sofa.
The Soul Room Page 19