Sometimes I could shake that people-pleasing ‘mustn’t put you out’ nonsense out of her. ‘It’s your dad. If Massimo has a problem with it, perhaps you should point out he only has to see your dad a few times a year, whereas we have to put up with his old witch of a mother 365 days, 24/7.’
She nodded. ‘You do have a point there.’
Thank God my own mum was such a breeze with her retiring nature and understated opinions.
40
LARA
I continued trying to catch Massimo out. Kept informing him of what I was doing, buying, deciding without consulting him, waiting for him to turn on me. But apart from the occasional raised eyebrow, he just hugged me and said, ‘Whatever makes you happy.’ He’d had the odd flash of temper – no one could be expected to behave perfectly all the time – but it was never aimed at me, just a rant about work, the sort of behaviour I’d see from Nico, a moan about the incompetence of colleagues, a curse about the broadband going down. But for me, just praise and kindness. He’d walk up and massage my neck, bring me flowers, ladle out compliments about how I was the most attractive woman he knew. He went wild on gifts when he came back from trips – handbags, a watch, even a red and green coat, which felt a little flamboyant to me but that he thought made me look ‘Italian stylish’.
But I couldn’t relax. Couldn’t quite believe the man who’d killed my cat had come back to me with all the bad parts sieved out and the gold nugget remains gathered in one place. It was as though a dandelion of distrust was lodged deep within me, scattering seeds every time I tried to tug up its insistent root.
But today I couldn’t think about any of that. I needed a clear head for my driving test. I’d managed the theory, thanks to Maggie quizzing me every time we drove to see Dad, but now I had to perform for real. I’d deliberately booked the practical for a Friday in October when I knew Massimo was away for work. I had enough trouble keeping my own self-doubt at bay without worrying about his reaction to my little surprise. As Maggie dropped me off at the test centre, it was as though she could see into my brain. She had a way of staring that made me want to shrink away from her gaze, in case she could see the truths buried within me. Fear of failure, fear of change, fear of getting it wrong. Her fingers were drumming on the steering wheel.
‘You’re talking yourself out of it. I can see the cogs whirring. “I won’t be able to do my three-point turn.” “Dad always told me I didn’t need to learn to drive.” “Massimo might be cross we’ve done it behind his back.” Come on! Do this for you, for Sandro, for your dad. It will be so good for you to have a bit of freedom. You don’t want to be that person depending on other people – you’re smart, you’re educated, you don’t have to be that little woman at home. God, if I had your brains, I’d be running for Prime Minister.’
I nodded, wiping my hands on my trousers. She pulled me into a big hug. I still had to instruct myself to relax into her exuberance. I envied the way she scooped up everyone into an embrace, throwing herself on Sam, gathering up Beryl, giving Nico a cuddle when he came in from work. Just a casual ‘glad you’re back’ greeting. Not the full-on kiss Massimo favoured, with its implied message of sex at its heart.
I got out of the car. ‘I’ll give it my best shot.’ I clung onto my determination, forcing myself to muffle the negative voices crowding in as I stood at the desk, giving my name.
When I drove back into the test centre, Maggie was sitting on the wall smoking, which I had only seen her do once before when she’d had too much wine. She leapt up. I tried not to look at her before I’d parked and put the handbrake on. She wanted me to pass so badly, I wouldn’t have put it past her to bang on the examiner’s window and press her face on the glass to see what he was writing. I leant back in my seat while the examiner finished ticking a few boxes on his clipboard, my mind switching between potential mistakes – pulling away from a junction too slowly, not looking in the rear-view mirror enough, getting too close to a cyclist. And then he said, ‘I’m delighted to tell you, Mrs Farinelli, that you have passed.’
If I’d been Maggie, I’d have hugged him. As it was, I put out my hand and said, ‘Thank you. Thank you! You’ve made my day!’ Which for me was quite gushy.
I bounded out of the car, waving my test certificate.
Maggie chucked her cigarette on the ground, grabbed my hands and twirled me round and round in a circle like two little girls in a playground. ‘Get you! Bloody brilliant!’
I felt as though a door was cranking open inside me, filling a corner with pride where doubt used to reside.
‘Right. First thing tomorrow morning we’re going to fetch your dad and you’re going to drive him back to yours so he can see Sandro.’
I stopped. ‘We can’t just turn up there and get him. They’ll want some notice.’
Maggie shrugged. ‘I rang them last week so they could prepare all his medication. I knew you’d pass.’
‘I thought they weren’t allowed to discuss him with anyone other than family?’
Maggie laughed. ‘I didn’t let that worry me. I just pretended to be Lara Farinelli and told them we wanted to take him out for a day,’ she said in a voice that was a pretty good imitation of me.
What a different life I’d have led if I’d have had half of her gall. ‘What if I hadn’t passed?’
‘I’d have fetched him for you. I’ve got Mum on standby to help – she’ll pop round and stay as long as you need her to make sure all his meds are as they should be.’
‘Do you think he’ll need anything special?’
‘I’m quite sure seeing his grandson will be special enough.’
I loved her enthusiasm, which swept me along. Massimo was away until tomorrow afternoon. I’d be able to get through the worst of settling in Dad before Massimo had to face him. By the time he got back, he’d only have to put up with Dad for a few hours.
The next morning we got up at the crack of dawn so we could fetch Dad straight after breakfast at eight o’clock before he got settled into the daily routine of the nursing home. I forgot all about Massimo when I saw Dad in the reception area, eyes bright with excitement. ‘Am I going home? Where’s Shirley?’
I’d trained myself to block out the pain of hearing him say my mother’s name with hope, with optimistic longing. Like a microscopic shard of glass lodged deep under a fingernail I’d become so used to it I hardly registered the twinge. ‘We’re not going to your home, but we’re going to see Sandro.’ I said his name slowly to see if that would register.
Dad frowned and started fiddling with the cuff on his jacket.
Talking to him was like trying all the switches to see which one turned the lamp on.
I tried again. ‘My son?’
‘You have a son!’
And his old face lit up, making me indulge in a little fantasy of him sitting drawing with Sandro.
Then he noticed Maggie and we did the usual introductions, which Maggie, bless her heart, performed with aplomb as though it was the first, not the twenty-first time, she was doing them.