‘If you like.’
‘We’re sending him to a boarding school because we can’t cope and because they have specialized help,’ I said, tapping my fingers on the wheel.
‘You sound so cold. Emotionless.’
It was the only way I could manage. Better than Ed’s method, which was to start drinking vodka as well as wine.
A few weeks later, I finally picked up the phone to Carla and apologized for not having returned her calls. ‘We’ve had a few problems,’ I said, and explained that Tom had got into trouble at school but that it was all sorted now.
We invited her round for dinner. I still felt tense. But it went better than I’d expected, apart from some awkward bits about Ed’s paintings and when my husband said too much about Tom. At least my husband didn’t let slip that we’ve sent our son to another school – one that’s used to dealing with ‘that kind of behaviour’ – and that Tom now refuses to speak to us on the phone.
Before that, the three of us had talked about the old days when Carla was a child and we were a newly married couple. It reminded me of our difficult start and, at one point, I reached under the table for Ed’s hand to squeeze it. I’m sorry, said my squeeze, that I’m on edge. It’s not just the case. It’s Joe Thomas too. But of course, Ed didn’t hear any of that because I didn’t have the guts to say it out loud.
Meanwhile, Carla chatted away about her studies. And we talked about poor Tony Gordon and where Carla could find him, because she wanted to visit to give a message from her mother. Really? What had happened to that unlikely pair after our awful row in the corridor? Had Francesca and Tony kept in touch? But I didn’t like to ask Carla. Besides, part of me still feels bad for having interfered at the time.
So slightly against my better judgement, I gave Tony’s contact details to our guest.
Why not? I reassured myself. Carla is a nice girl. How could she possibly harm a dying man?
34
Carla
November 2013
Carla had only been to a hospice once before. A friend of Nonna’s had been in one, just days before she died. Mamma had taken her to visit. It was disrespectful, she said, that her friend’s family couldn’t look after her at home themselves. But the daughter-in-law was English. What could you expect?
‘I am here to visit Tony Gordon,’ she said firmly to the woman on reception.
The woman glanced at a sheet of paper in front of her. ‘I’m afraid I can’t find you on the list.’
Carla summoned up one of her most charming smiles. ‘I am an old friend, visiting from Italy, and I do not have long. Please. I would be very grateful.’
The woman returned her smile. Smiles were catching, Carla knew. Mamma had taught her that many years ago. ‘Tony is resting at the moment, but you can go in for a few minutes. You might not get much sense out of him, mind you. One of our volunteers will show you the way.’
Gingerly, Carla walked down the corridor. As she passed open doors, she glanced in. A young woman was lying on her back, her mouth open, dozing noisily. And then the volunteer stopped. ‘Just in there,’ he said.
Was that really him? Larry with the shiny car? Larry who had been so tall and imposing?
Carla stared at the grey man lying on his back in the bed. There was no hat. No hair either. But there was a strange box-like thing attached to his throat. His eyes were closed, but as she approached they snapped open, then froze.
‘Larry,’ she said grimly.
‘This is Tony,’ whispered the young man behind her.
Carla whipped round. ‘Please leave us,’ she said firmly. ‘I need a private conversation.’
The young man nodded and closed the door.
Carla fixed her gaze on Larry again. His eyes were frozen, she realized, with fear. Good.
‘Yes, it’s me.’ Slowly she forced herself to touch the box on his throat. ‘You cannot talk, I hear. Throat cancer. That means you will have to listen.’
Her voice felt like it belonged to someone else. Someone cruel. A bully. Like the ones who had tormented her at school. ‘You promised a future to my mother, Larry. But you did not deliver. Do you know what that meant?’
His ill, milky eyes were staring up at her, scared. ‘It meant she had to go back to Italy, downcast and despised, because she had a child and no husband. Mamma wasted the best years of her life waiting for you to leave your wife. But you did not do that, did you? And why? Because you wanted to have your cake and eat it, as you English say.’
There was a small movement. So small that it was barely noticeable. The eyes were still rigidly fixed on her. Carla could almost smell his fear. But it didn’t give her the satisfaction she thought it would. Instead, she almost felt sorry for this curled-up, shrivelled shell of a man.
‘My mother has sent me here with a message.’ Her hands clenched inside her jacket pockets. ‘I am to tell you that she still loves you. That she would like to see you again, if you were to come to Italy. But I can see now that this is not possible.’
A silent tear began to roll down from Larry’s left eye. And then his right.
Carla swallowed hard. She had not been expecting this.
‘I just hope you regret your behaviour,’ she said quietly.
Then she turned on her heel and walked fast down the corridor. Past the dozing young woman. Past the lady at reception. And out of this hellhole as fast as she could possibly go.
Four nights later, her mobile rang.
Lily’s voice at the other end was quiet. ‘I thought you ought to know, Carla. Tony Gordon died last night. Did you manage to see him before he went?’
‘No.’ Carla began to tremble. What if they tried to blame her for upsetting him? ‘No. I didn’t.’
‘That’s a shame.’ Yet Carla could tell that Lily was relieved. In fact, she’d been surprised when Lily had given her his details so easily. ‘It’s sad really. Tony Gordon wasn’t a saint, but he had his troubles.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘His wife has had multiple sclerosis for years. It couldn’t have been easy for him. Ironic that she’s outlived him, really. Poor woman is in a wheelchair. It will be hard for her without him.’
Something faltered inside Carla. Larry had needed something his wife couldn’t offer. Laughter and company. Yet he couldn’t leave his wife. Not if she was an invalid. Had her mother known all this?
‘The funeral is next Wednesday, if you would like to come.’
35
Lily
‘Live each day as if it were your last.’
The words of the hymn reach out to me. It’s a salutary reminder that the past is only a second ago. The present merely exists for a brief second too, before being relegated to history.
Tony apparently chose the hymns himself.
I look around the church at the other mourners. From the outside, it’s a rather lovely grey building which rises with a calmness of its own next to the busy Aldgate street that runs past. I’ve walked by it a few times but never been inside before. Now I wish I had. It’s surprisingly peaceful, with a beautiful stained-glass window of the Virgin Mary to the right of me. I find myself praying for Tom, and for Daniel, and for Ed, and for me.
Somehow I never had Tony down as the churchgoing type. But according to the vicar’s eulogy, he went every Sunday. Was generous, too, to local charities. Especially one for multiple sclerosis.
Silently, we all watch the pale ash coffin pass by, carried by six men of varying ages. Friends? Colleagues?