Messy, Wonderful Us

by Catherine Isaac

  The doorbell rings. She scrambles up to the settee and hides out of sight behind the door, not wanting the postman to peer through the front window and see her. She curses herself for even ordering a parcel, one of the blouses she got sucked into buying from the internet, another pointless distraction.

  But it’s insistent. And eventually she hears Joe’s voice through the letterbox, raised and urgent. She frantically rises to her feet and wipes her cheeks, feigning normality, as she opens the door to find her son-in-law, gaunt with cold shock.

  ‘It’s Allie,’ he says. ‘There’s been an accident.’

  Chapter 72

  Ed

  There is a glinting light beyond Ed’s eyelids but he cannot lift them. He imagines that he’s lying on the beach with Allie by his side, a high Italian sun beating down on the pebbles under his heels. Although he has a vague memory that he travelled to Italy because he was troubled, he can’t recall what those troubles were.

  But he can remember the smell of her sun cream as she smoothed it on her arms. The way she would roll over and say something that made laughter tumble right out of him. How the light would reflect in her hair and she’d wiggle her painted toes in the water as the surf lapped against her ankles.

  But there are certain things he can’t reconcile with the idea that he is still in Italy, lying in the sun. The weight of his limbs. The clammy, cold slick of his skin. The faint beeping noises beneath his ears. The fact that his eyes are so hot and heavy that he doesn’t even want to open them up. He hears voices around him, but does not have the energy to listen or interpret their distended talk about fractures and morphine and swelling on the brain. He does not try to communicate, at least not until he hears crying then recognises his mother’s voice, sobbing.

  ‘I had a dream last night that he woke up. Then we had to break the news to him that he wasn’t the only victim of the crash. It was terrible . . . I just can’t bear it.’

  He realises he wants to reach out to her, to take her hand in his and tell her it will all be okay. But he’s not strong enough. So his eyes remain closed and he allows himself to slip back into a world where he can sail through time and across the Ligurian sea, with Allie by his side.

  Chapter 73

  As the sun sets over Portofino, Stefano sits alone on his tiny terrace nursing a Rossese. But the wine, for all its aromatic intensity, is not lifting his mood. Nor is the view, usually an infinite source of fascination.

  From here, he can sit and watch the gentle bustle of the harbour, the boats coming and going from the turquoise inlet, the changing light as it settles on the buildings and the rich, green forest that rises above the rooftops. His garden is small, a place for contemplation, with pungent, brightly coloured bougainvillea sweeping the walls, a modest patch of lawn and a rocky slope beyond the iron rail, lush with olive trees. A tiny paradise, high above the sea.

  But not even this beauty can settle his unease.

  He never had any desire to meet his birth mother and that remained as true when he rose from his bed this morning as it did when he was twelve years old.

  Vittoria was his mamma in every way that counted, and more beyond. He might have been born in England, but he loved her as only an Italian man loves his mother. Their bond was unbreakable. She knew him better than anyone else, he soaked up her adoration for most of his life and would admit that in the early days of his marriage it was the source of not a little trouble.

  While the two women in his life managed a reluctant truce, Rosa had to accept that his mother was more special to Stefano than any other woman would be. Growing up, he’d never argued with her – she was always right. She’d taught him everything: how to make a risotto, how to confront his bullies at school, how to be kind.

  Even as she lay dying, the idea that he’d return to Peggy after she’d gone had consumed her. A stab of emotion behind his eyes makes him think about the conversation they had, three days before her death.

  ‘I know you must have been intrigued over the years,’ she whispered. ‘You probably wondered what happened to them. But what we did . . . separating you, bringing you back to Italy, away from them. It was the only way. It was best for all of us. It still is.’

  He kissed her hand. ‘I know, Ma.’

  A thin smile appeared at her lips. ‘You asked about her once, you know. Your birth mother. You were young, about seven, I think. Do you remember?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘You wanted to know her name. I said I didn’t know, but that it didn’t matter anyway. Because I loved you more than any other woman could love a child because I’d wanted you so badly. I chose you. So you were special. I still believe that.’

  At that moment, his yearning to protect her, not from death but from what she feared most, filled him up. And he knew it would remain with him for as long as he had the ability to breathe.

  *

  Stefano’s eyes divert to a swift in flight, its anchor silhouette arcing across the sky before disappearing behind the house. He realises that for the first time in his life he feels a discomfort about a subject upon which his views have always been crystal clear.

  His brief conversation with Peggy yesterday did not involve anything beyond alerting her to the fact that her granddaughter had come looking for him. But the tone of her voice betrayed more than just shock. There was something else. Sorrow. Longing. He could hear her stretching out for dozens of unspoken words that she couldn’t reach.

  Then there is Allie, who appeared in his life, out of the blue. Despite her dark hair and honey skin, she reminded him so much of the young Christine. Her voice was identical to her mother’s, with the softest of port city accents and all its mysterious intonations, each with a dozen or more origins. And those eyes, though not blue like Christine’s, had all the same contradictory qualities: vulnerable, determined.

  Yes, Allie had reminded him of so much about the past, including a single uncomfortable truth. That Peggy had never wanted to give him up.

  Chapter 74

  Ed

  It is Julia’s perfume that almost rouses Ed for the second time, eleven days after he was admitted to hospital, though he has no concept of that time passing. His only awareness is of his dream, the one in which he’s waiting in a pale, sunlit room. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. It wasn’t unpleasant being there, far from it. It was tranquil, leaving him in a state of deep relaxation quite unlike anything he’d experienced before.

  Now the scent of his wife whispers into his head. It’s a pleasant enough fragrance, with floral overtones that remind him of the penny sweets he loved as a child, though Julia wouldn’t appreciate that comparison. The smell doesn’t put him at ease. As he drifts halfway back to life, he doesn’t think about her and feel compelled to rush into her arms. But he does think about her and remember something. He is going to be a father.

  The moment that realisation explodes into his head, the idea of opening his eyes becomes a completely different prospect. But as he attempts to lift his eyelids, a straightforward act he’s performed every morning of his life, he can’t. He tries again, but when he fails, all he can do is call out, shout for help.

  ‘His face looks terrible,’ Julia replies, almost in a whisper. Then he realises she isn’t replying at all. She hasn’t even heard him.

  ‘He had multiple broken bones and a fractured jaw.’ It’s a male voice.

  ‘Is there a chance he might not wake up from this, doctor? Tell me honestly.’

  There is an ominous pause. ‘The next few days are crucial. We’re doing everything we can. He’s in good hands.’

  Ed wonders if they teach them these clichés at medical school. Either way, he needs to protest, because he hasn’t got a few days, he needs to get back to work. He’s been off for too long already. He opens his mouth to talk, to give his opinion, but nothing comes out and that makes him feel suddenly as though he’s suffocating. That those around him are oblivious to his distress only increases his panic.


  ‘Well, his mother’s coming back soon, so I think I’ll disappear before she arrives,’ Julia sighs. ‘She’s hard work at the best of times.’ If the doctor replies, Ed can’t hear it.

  He imagines Julia’s profile, the neat ponytail, soft silk blouse and immaculate complexion. He opens his lips to speak again but they stick together.

  Then a memory punches him in the head. Or was it a memory? It could just have been another dream, one of the strange places into which his mind plunged when he’d lost his capacity to think rationally. Either way, his mother’s words are on repeat in his brain.

  ‘He wasn’t the only victim of the crash.’

  A chill stipples along his spine as he hears the click of Julia’s shoes on the floor next to him, feels her thin, cold hand clasp his fingers. Where is Allie?

  ‘Oh, Ed,’ she whispers and he realises in a blur that she is next to him, stroking his hair. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so very sorry. Please wake up, won’t you? There are so many of us who want you alive.’ She expels a long trail of breath. ‘If only I had some better news to tell you.’

  Chapter 75

  When Rosa arrives home from a shopping trip the following weekend she is in high spirits.

  ‘New shoes?’ Stefano asks.

  ‘How often do I buy new shoes?’ she hoots. ‘Hardly ever.’

  ‘So you don’t have new shoes then?’

  She tentatively walks towards him and plants a kiss on his cheek. ‘Not for me. Only for Roberto.’

  ‘You only bought him some a few weeks ago,’ Stefano protests.

  ‘If a grandma can’t spoil her only grandchild, then something’s really wrong.’

  She is about to walk away but he grabs her by the hand and gently pulls her down into a kiss. Her thick auburn hair is swept back into a bun, but a strand falls down and brushes against his cheek as her lips find his. Her skin smells of the same bergamot soap she used when they first met, the one she still swears by.

  ‘What was that for, you old romantic?’ she laughs, pulling back.

  But how does he broach the subject that has been troubling him for a week now? If he tells her about Peggy, he has to tell her about Christine and Allie. How could he explain to his wife that he once had a relationship with a woman who turned out to be his sister? What would that knowledge do to her, or indeed their children, if they ever found out? Do they really want to know about that side of his life, particularly as he’d kept it secret until now?

  He looks back at Rosa’s bemused expression and hesitates. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asks.

  He squeezes her hand and the flicker of concern in her eyes confirms his decision. ‘Nothing, my love. Nothing at all.’

  Chapter 76

  Peggy removes the tray of roast potatoes from the oven and takes out a spoon to baste them in sizzling oil until they are golden and crunchy. It was the one thing she always knew she could cook well, a time-honoured skill she developed when Christine was a little girl, something she could do in her sleep these days.

  Christine loved the way she made these every Sunday. She’d snap them open and watch as a cloud of steam rose from their fluffy centre, then wolf them down, asking for seconds and sometimes thirds. Peggy never denied her – her daughter was always as skinny as a rake and she’d be the first to admit her swell of satisfaction as she watched the potatoes disappear.

  She wipes away the heat from her forehead and slides the tray into the oven, before taking out the roast chicken. As she’s closing the door, she becomes aware that her hands are trembling. Her heart is racing and her chest rising, so much so that she has to keep her back turned away from the others hovering in the kitchen.

  It was Gerald’s idea to try and get back to normal and she’s trying her best. She still can’t sleep from the drama of it all. First the call from Stefano, then – just when she thought life had lost the ability to throw its worst at her – the terrible news about Allie.

  She closes her eyes and pictures herself scurrying down the corridor of the hospital, trying to keep up with Joe. Turning the corner and being told by the doctors that they had to wait, that they were doing everything they could.

  When she finally got to see her, her beautiful granddaughter, she entered her room and saw her lying in the dim light. She looked like a sleeping angel.

  ‘Are you all right, Peggy?’ Joe’s hand is on her shoulder. She looks up and sees the creases of exhaustion around his eyes.

  She sniffs herself into shape. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Shall I carve this chicken?’

  She wants to answer but she can’t. The best she can offer is a mumble before she goes to compose herself in the bathroom. There, she looks in the mirror and realises how old she looks. Yet, in some ways she still feels exactly the same as she did when she was twenty-two. She still loves the taste of Ovaltine. She still bristles at the feel of the wind against her cheeks on a cold spring day. She still wants to cry at unexpected moments, but swallows back her tears, another skill that has stood her in good stead over the years.

  She opens the cabinet and pulls out a lipstick, twisting up the gold tube. It was a gift, never used. Then she slicks some on her lips and presses them together, edging the waxy colour to the top of her cupid’s bow.

  She needs to pull herself together, give herself a good talking to. She needs to stay strong, for everyone’s sake.

  She slams shut the cabinet and goes downstairs.

  But before she enters the dining room, into which they’ve all now drifted, she stands at the threshold of the door for a moment and takes them in. Her husband, who would do anything for her, who has given love all her life, even in those times when she must not have been very lovable. Joe, for whom the title son-in-law feels entirely insufficient. It does nothing to describe in rich enough detail his kindness, his goodness, everything he did for her daughter and now her granddaughter.

  She walks around the table and takes her seat next to Allie. Who is brave, clever, beautiful, funny and more fragile than she thinks. But, most importantly, is alive. Her brown eyes might have dulled and her arms become painfully thin, but she’s living and breathing and right here now, which is more than can be said for Christine. Or indeed Ed. Poor Ed, who came out the worst of all of them.

  Peggy has no idea what happened between them on their trip to Italy, but they all know that it was something. Why else would Allie stay away, even though he’s now been in a coma for two weeks? The boy who was her oldest friend, the man who – her father aside – meant more to her than anyone else.

  ‘Has the doctor said how long he wants to sign you off work, love?’ Gerald asks, as Joe starts dishing up food.

  Allie shakes her head. ‘I think it will be a while.’

  ‘I bet you’re itching to get back there, aren’t you?’

  For the first time in her life she looks as though she doesn’t know how to respond to that question. ‘I . . . to be honest, Granddad, I think it’s probably best if I take some time to get back on my feet.’

  ‘Oh, of course! I mean, you must. I wouldn’t dream of suggesting anything else.’ Gerald looks genuinely concerned that he’s said the wrong thing.

  ‘I know, Granddad, don’t worry.’ She takes a sip of water, before lowering the glass. ‘It’s not a great time at work anyway. The big project we were working on has basically all come to nothing.’

  Joe looks stunned. ‘Didn’t it work?’

  ‘Not as well as we’d hoped,’ she says solemnly. ‘All the initial signs had been that our gene-editing technique was more efficient than anything else. It was at first. Then the results started to dip and just kept dipping.’ She picks up her fork and gently pushes it into a carrot. ‘We’re no further along than anybody else now.’

  ‘I’m sorry, love,’ Gerald says, but as she places a morsel of food in her mouth and puts down her fork again, she looks almost numb to this development, as if it hardly matters.

  Peggy slides her hand across the table and clutches her
granddaughter’s fingers briefly, the cutlery rattling as she snatches it away. Allie looks at her and for a moment the worry in those eyes disappears.

  ‘What was that for, Grandma?’

  ‘I’m just glad you’re here, that’s all.’

  She smiles softly. ‘Me too.’

  Peggy picks up the bowl of potatoes and adds an extra one to Allie’s plate. Then she sits back in her seat, knowing that this is her role now, to look after this girl. This is what God intended for her. Peggy might be a daughter without parents and a mother without children. But she still has this rabble. This mish-mash. This family.

  Chapter 77

  Allie

  My grandparents’ street smells of barbecues and cut grass as Dad and I leave. Their neighbour Mrs Hopkins is in her front garden, unplugging tiny weeds from the gaps between her begonias with a trowel. There are a couple of kids skateboarding along the pavement, dodging wing mirrors. Dad clicks open the lock on his car and I slide into the passenger seat.

  ‘When’s your next hospital appointment?’ he asks.

  ‘I’ve got to go in again tomorrow so they can look at my shoulder. Which is good because I can’t actually look at it myself, at least not without feeling queasy.’

  ‘It’ll heal. The human body is surprisingly resilient.’ He freezes momentarily, wondering if that was the wrong thing to say, before checking in the mirror and pulling away from the kerb. ‘Have you heard anything more from the police about the investigation?’

  ‘No, but I don’t really know whether I’m supposed to. I haven’t a great deal of experience of this kind of thing.’

  When I gave a police officer my initial account of the crash, at some point in the dark hours after it happened, I was still rigid with shock and can’t now even recall what I told them.