When Nico’s team were celebrating their twentieth goal, with Massimo clambering back on for the umpteenth time, the winning kids set up a chant of ‘Losers, losers, losers’.
I was watching Sam, laughing and thumping the air. I was torn between delight he was having a brilliant time and a slight unease at the football hooligan thuggery of it all. I wasn’t sure Sam’s primary school with their ‘everyone’s a winner on sports day’ ethos would be impressed with the ‘learning objectives’ of this particular birthday party.
Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw Massimo slip off the beam, barrelling into Nico, which sent him flying backwards with a dull thud. Nico cracked his head on the edge of the rockery as he fell, groaning as he landed like a pair of bellows forcing out the last gasp of air.
I shot over to him, my feet slipping on the mud in my panic.
Massimo leapt up, offering his hand to Nico. ‘Sorry, mate. Are you all right? I missed my footing.’
Nico lay on his back, grunting, without reaching up for Massimo’s hand.
The children went quiet. One of the girls giggled. Nico touched the back of his head, and looked at his fingers, which were covered in blood.
I knelt down next to him as Lara came rushing up with a tea towel and some water. Anna soon came witching out, screaming at the children to move back in a way they’d probably be recounting to their psychotherapists in later years to explain their fear of footballs.
Massimo hurried out an explanation. ‘I overbalanced and fell into him. He went toppling over and cracked his head. So unlucky.’
Despite Anna shouting at them, the kids edged closer in horrified fascination, with variations of ‘Ugh!’ ‘Yuk!’ ‘Gross!’ plus one little sod who shouted out a delighted ‘Wicked!’
I dabbed at Nico’s cut. He’d gone pale. I stared into his eyes, which thankfully weren’t rotating backwards in their sockets. ‘Are you okay? Do you think you’re concussed? Do we need to take you to hospital?’
Nico shook his head, then winced. ‘No, I think I’ll be all right. Just need to take it easy for a minute.’
I was torn between fear that he might have done himself serious damage and frantically trying to work out how we could take him to A & E when there was the small matter of thirty-five kids to keep under control for another hour.
Francesca was hovering next to him, looking as though she was holding back tears. I forced out a smile to reassure her. ‘Your dad’s going to be fine. Just nip and get Beryl for me – I think she’s in the garage wrapping up an extra pass-the-parcel.’
Within moments, Mum came thumping down the garden, her flip-flops clattering. We helped Nico into a sitting position, while Lara called in the kids for food. I loved the fact that a sausage sandwich held far more interest for ninety-five per cent of the people present than ascertaining whether Nico was going to live through the next half hour.
Massimo sat beside Nico, saying the same thing over and over again, ‘You’re all right, mate. Sorry. Lost my footing. When you’ve recovered you can crack me one.’
Anna was patting Massimo on the shoulder, ‘Amore, it was just an accident.’ She turned to me. ‘Poor Massimo, he’s going to feel so awful about this. Nico always makes such a fuss about things.’
I looked up at her, then back to Nico, who was gritting his teeth in pain.
Before I could answer, Mum turned to Anna. ‘Give the poor lad a break. He’s got a nasty gash there. I’ve seen you make more fuss about burning your tongue on a cup of coffee. I don’t think he’s bust anything though. Let me take him home and see what the wound looks like once we’ve given it a bit of wash. Mags, you stay here with Sam.’
I could have wept with gratitude that she was making things easy for me.
I squeezed Nico’s hand. ‘Will you be all right with Mum? Or do you want me to come back with you?’
Before Nico could respond, Massimo said, ‘You’ll be fine, won’t you, Nico mate? Don’t spoil the party for Sam and Maggie. You get home and I’ll look after them both for you.’
Deep down in my stomach was a thread of discomfort, a feeling something wasn’t quite right, a vague sensation that I struggled to define. But like a five-pound note snatched out of my hand by a gust of wind, it danced and whirled just out of reach, until I had to admit defeat.
27
LARA
Beryl went off with Nico and Maggie stayed to supervise Sam. I could see she was torn between dashing next door to check on Nico and not dumping us with the responsibility of all the kids, so I tried to persuade her to go home. But Massimo stepped in. ‘Nico wouldn’t want you to miss out. A bit of rest and he’ll be as right as rain.’ She was too polite to disagree but as soon as most of the parents had picked up, Maggie disappeared.
‘Sorry to leave you with all the tidying up. I’ll pop back when I know Nico is okay. Thank you so much though.’
Massimo waved her away. ‘You really don’t need to come back. My fault for being so clumsy, it’s the least I can do.’
‘It was just a mistake. I’m sure he’ll be fine.’
‘Will you ring me and let me know? Make sure you take him to the hospital if he starts being sick.’
Maggie nodded and rushed off, shouting her thanks over her shoulder.
A few parents lingered, sipping the wine Massimo pressed on them despite the ‘just a drop, I’ve got to drive’ protests. A handful of mothers remained, giggling at his stories, openly envious that I had a husband who got involved in children’s parties, let alone one who did all the shopping and preparing of games. ‘You’ll have to rent yourself out as a children’s entertainer.’ ‘When you see Tony, you tell him that he’s in charge of Louis’s eleventh birthday party. You won’t see him for dust!’
One mother bent down to Sandro. ‘Aren’t you lucky to have such an amazing dad?’
Sandro shrank away from the gaze of the little crowd in the kitchen and didn’t answer. After a few moments, he sidled out of the kitchen unnoticed. My heart sank. There’d be a price to pay for being too shy to speak and ‘making everyone think you’ve got the worst dad in the world!’
I busied myself sweeping up, while Massimo stood in the kitchen like a ringmaster, saying, ‘Excuse Lara tidying up, she’s a bit OCD. She can’t bear it when everywhere’s a mess. Come and sit down and have a glass of champers, darling. You’ve worked so hard today, done a fantastic job. I’ll help you clear up later.’ He patted the bar stool next to him.
There was a collective gasp of admiration as Massimo made a fuss about opening some more bubbles, rambling on about vintages and only the best for ‘my wonderful wife’. Massimo was holding court, calling the women by their names, singling out their children for ‘brilliant ball control’.