She nodded. ‘Always good to surprise husbands just when they think they know you! We’ll have to meet round the corner, because I swear Anna has CCTV cameras trained on me to check I’m not flogging the family silver.’
I felt a thrill of excitement, a starburst of rebellion, sing to me, like the bars of an anthemic song drifting in from a distant party where everyone was stamping their feet, thumping their fists in the air as though the lyrics were written for them alone. I’d work out a way to squirrel enough money from the food shopping to apply for a provisional licence before I talked myself out of it. If I showed Massimo I was determined to take back control of my life, to stand up to him, he’d respect me more.
I was sure he would.
19
MAGGIE
Over the next week, I dithered about telling Nico I was going to teach Lara to drive as soon as her provisional licence came through. I didn’t want him to blurt it out to Massimo and spoil her surprise, but in the end I felt I’d already deceived him enough over that bloody box.
He laughed. ‘God help us. She’ll think that riding two inches from the bumper in front is normal.’
I swatted him with the newspaper. ‘You Farinellis are a bunch of bloody chauvinists. It will do Lara good to do something for herself, instead of just running around after Massimo and Sandro. And she’ll be able to see her dad more often.’
He reached for my hand. ‘I think it’s great and you’re very kind to do it. And don’t worry, mum’s the word. Massimo will be delighted – poor man won’t have to take her to the supermarket every Saturday.’
‘Yeah, that is a bit weird. So old-fashioned.’ I did peer into my heart and double-check that I wasn’t just a tiny bit jealous that Massimo loved doing mundane things with her. And was actually available to do mundane things with her, rather than being absent every Saturday, driving Francesca to yet another swimming competition.
I shooed away conflicting thoughts: that I didn’t want Nico hanging around me and that I’d like him to want to hang around me. Marriage was obviously turning me a bit soft in the head.
Nico stuck out his bottom lip. ‘Wouldn’t you like me coming to pick out my blueberries and raspberries with you?’
‘Sorry, but no. Maybe I’ve been on my own for too long, but I don’t need a bloke to help me choose what sort of lettuce to buy. Massimo and Lara do take that couply-couply doing everything together to a bit of an extreme.’
Nico shot to Massimo’s defence. ‘You’ve got to remember that Dawn walked out on him. It really shocked him. He’s just trying not to make the same mistakes again. He puts in much more effort with Lara. And I think she finds Sandro hard-going, so she needs a lot of support.’
I crossed my arms. ‘I know your mother likes to make out Lara can’t sort anything out by herself, but is that really true? I saw her take charge at the nursing home and I think she’s more capable than you all give her credit for.’
Nico frowned. ‘What’s this, a Farinelli-bashing session? Are you going off us already?’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, but motherhood is hard. Everyone is so quick to point the finger and have a go if your kids doesn’t eat peas, can’t spell onomatopoeia or, like Sandro, can’t swim. I think she needs a break. No one is tut-tutting at Massimo and saying he’s done a crap job. Somehow it’s Lara’s fault that Sandro isn’t a county swimmer like Francesca or doesn’t really like dogs.’
Nico started clearing the table. I felt an unexpected desire to start a row with him. It just seemed so unfair Lara was always putting herself through hoops to please everyone and no one could see what a lot she had on her plate.
But Nico, lovely man that he was, actually listened to what I was saying.
‘You’re probably right. Lara does put a lot of pressure on herself to be the perfect mother. Anyway, I’m sure they’ll sort it out. We’ve got our own kids to worry about.’
I did love it when he talked about the children as ‘ours’. He’d come to Sam’s parents’ evening with me the week before and I’d barely been able to concentrate on whether Sam had got the hang of metaphors and similes because I was ridiculously proud to have Nico with me, sporting him like the winning rosette. For the first time, I felt as though his teachers wouldn’t be seeing any failings on Sam’s part through the filter of single motherhood: no dad around, lives on that crappy estate, what can you expect? Even though deep down I knew he had more love from me and Mum than half the kids whose dads never looked up from their iPhones and still thought ironing was an activity defined by gender. But just for once, it was lovely to have someone else’s ears on whether Sam could get into the grammar school, someone who didn’t think education was an optional extra, who – unlike my mum – thought books weren’t just for propping up the broken leg on the sofa.
Thoughts of Lara continued to gnaw away at me. I wondered about having a quiet word with Massimo, to let him know how upset she was about her dad. She seemed to have some old shite going on about not bothering him. Personally, I hoped Nico would want to know if I was distraught about something. I’d take Lara over to see her father as often as I could, but once his foot was better, maybe she could have him over to visit for the day if I got Mum round to help. I was sure Mum would love to be involved.
But all these thoughts were wiped out when I went up to bed and saw the ladder to my workshop pulled down. I always put it back up when I’d finished. The light was on up there. I hesitated at the bottom of the steps, my imagination conjuring up burglars in balaclavas popping through the hatch waving machine guns. I shouted to Nico. ‘Someone’s up in my workshop.’ I heard a crash, the sound of something scattering across the floor. ‘Nico!’ He came charging out of the bathroom, my white knight in a stripy bathrobe, and hurried up the ladder.
I don’t think I’d ever heard him raise his voice before. ‘Francesca! What on earth’s happened up here?’
I couldn’t hear the response, just a low growl, followed by some sharp, then softer words from Nico. I started to climb up, but Nico appeared above me. ‘Don’t come up for the moment. I’m just sorting Francesca out. I think there’s been a bit of a miscommunication. Francesca thinks you’ve thrown out her mother’s jewellery box. She says she’s been asking for it and you keep fobbing her off, and it’s the design display tomorrow so she’s come up here to find it.’
My heart lurched. The image of me glancing around to see if anyone was watching, before flinging the box into the skip rushed into my mind. How could I admit what I’d done without connecting a gigantic tin opener to a writhing can of worms?