As Carla stood at the back of the church (there weren’t any seats left), the priest’s words boomed out around them on the microphone.
‘Wonderful family man … respected pillar of the community … unwavering in his fight for justice …’
What a hypocrite! To think that all she’d have to do was run through these crowds, jump up into the pulpit and tell the congregation all about Tony.
‘Makes you sick, doesn’t it?’ said a tall man, squeezing in next to her. He had very short hair and a clipped way of speaking. ‘If only they really knew.’
Carla started with surprise. But although he appeared to be talking to her, his eyes were fixed on a figure further forward in the congregation. A woman wearing a beautifully cut suit that set off her blonde hair and slim figure perfectly.
Lily! Did this man know her? Or was she merely a symbol of everything that he clearly despised?
‘What do you mean?’ she whispered.
Those dark eyes now turned their focus to her. ‘I think you understand perfectly.’
He was speaking as if they were old acquaintances.
‘But –’ she began, mystified.
‘Shh,’ hissed someone.
And before she could say any more, the man with the short haircut slipped out of the church door behind them, as silently as he had come in.
‘What are you doing for Christmas, Carla?’
It was the phrase on everyone’s lips, from the auburn-haired boy with the floppy fringe who had started following her around at law school, to Lily when Carla – frustrated at not having heard from her old ‘friend’ since the call about Tony Gordon’s funeral – had called to check on her postcode ‘so I can send you and Ed a Christmas card’. With any luck, it would prompt another invitation.
‘What am I doing for Christmas?’ she repeated for effect. ‘I was hoping to go back to Italy, but my mother is visiting a widowed aunt in Naples and says it would be better if I stayed here.’
Carla didn’t have to fake the note of sadness in her voice. Indeed, she had felt a pain in her chest when Mamma had written to outline her plans. Never before had they spent Christmas apart! Her mother’s loopy writing made her feel homesick. She so desperately wanted to feel Mamma’s soft cheek against hers. To speak her own language every day. To eat Nonna’s bread which she baked herself. Not only that but she was broke! Studying abroad was so expensive and the small allowance from her grandfather was running out. If it hadn’t been for Lily and Ed’s ￡ 1,000, she wouldn’t have been able to pay the hostel fees or even eat. What would happen when she’d got through their money?
‘Then you must come with us to my parents’ home in Devon.’
Yes! Yet there had been something in Lily’s tone which made Carla feel that the invitation was slightly reluctant, made out of politeness. Ed, she was sure, would have been warmer. She’d noticed last time that out of the two, he had seemed the friendlier.
‘There’s just one thing,’ Lily added. ‘Tom, our son. He’s … different, as I said before. We never quite know how he’s going to behave in front of strangers. So be prepared.’
Different? Carla understood ‘different’. Had she not felt different for most of her life at school in England, even when she had tried so hard to be the same?
And now here she was, on a train heading out of London along with lots of other passengers, who were, unusually for English people, chattering away. Asking her where she was going for Christmas, and didn’t she think the lights in Oxford Street were beautiful?
In her bag, she had some small presents. An embroidered purse for Lily, an artist’s notebook for Ed and a plane kit for Tom. All clever buys from a charity shop in King’s Cross. She was particularly pleased with the plane kit. It had been hard finding a present for a boy. Besides, she couldn’t remember exactly how old he was. Still, even if he didn’t like it, it was a gesture. Meanwhile, Carla sat back in her seat and watched the green fields roll past. ‘We are by the sea,’ Lily had said. ‘You will love it.’
‘You must ask them for more money,’ Mamma had reminded her in another letter which had arrived just before she left.
But that would be so awkward, thought Carla as she opened her law books and began to study, despite the rocking motion of the train. How was she to just come out with it? You’ll think of something, sang the train as it rocked along. You’ll think of something …
‘But why can’t it fly?’ demanded the tall, skinny boy, waving his arms around in frustration.
‘I’ve told you, Tom. It’s only a model.’
‘But the picture on the box shows it in the air.’
‘That’s to make it look exciting,’ Ed groaned.
‘Then they shouldn’t show it like that, should they? We ought to report them to the Advertising Standards Authority.’
Carla was impressed. ‘You have a point, Tom! You’ll have to be a lawyer like your mum.’
‘Heaven forbid.’ Ed grimaced. ‘One in the family is more than enough. Sorry, Carla, no offence intended.’
She flashed him a smile. ‘None taken.’
Up until Tom’s outburst, her present of a model plane set had been a great success. The boy had assembled it in ten minutes flat, even though it was much more complicated than she’d realized. But it was afterwards that was difficult. All these questions! Questions that could not be answered. It was exhausting for them all, including Lily’s parents, who had been kindness itself to her.
When she’d arrived at this beautiful house, Carla had been astounded. She’d thought the place in London was lovely, but this was extraordinary, with its huge sash windows, a hall that was big enough for a whole family to live in, and a large airy conservatory facing out over an expansive lawn! Just the kind of house she would love to own.
‘My grandparents used to live here,’ Lily had explained.
They must have been very rich, thought Carla, to have afforded such a palace by the sea. It stood high on the cliff overlooking the water; the view from her bedroom was staggering. Below twinkled the lights from the town, just as the lights would be twinkling in the Florentine hills right now. But Carla had forced herself to bite back the homesickness and concentrate instead on the tall Christmas tree in the hall – what a wonderful smell of pine! – with the presents at the bottom. There was even a small pile with her own name on it.
The drawing room, as Lily’s mother called it, was tastefully furnished with a sage-green carpet and old mahogany wood hinting of lavender polish. There were pictures hanging on the walls; not Ed’s, but older ones, showing scenes of fields and setting suns.
‘Copies,’ Ed had said dismissively when she’d admired them, although he’d spoken in a low voice so no one else had heard.
There were photographs too. Everywhere. On the mantelpiece. On the side tables. Pictures of Lily as a child and also pictures of a boy who was a little taller than she was. ‘That’s Daniel,’ Lily’s mother had said in a bright voice.
Daniel? Dimly, Carla remembered a conversation she’d had with Lily about her brother, all those years ago when she’d first lived in England.
I don’t want to talk about him.
Wasn’t that what she’d said?
‘Is he coming here for the holiday?’ Carla had started to ask, but her question was drowned in confusion because Tom had suddenly started ripping open his presents, even though they hadn’t been to Midnight Mass yet.
And now there was all this fuss about why the model plane couldn’t fly. It had become heated, Carla noticed. Tom was getting increasingly upset, tugging at his own hair and pulling out strands. Lily was really edgy, although she’d been like that since she’d picked Carla up from the station. She didn’t remember Lily being so irritable when she used to know her. Lily’s mother, who looked just like her daughter, with the same height and hair colour, was apologizing profusely.