On the upside, she was no longer downright rude to me. I couldn’t deny it was a pleasure to be able to whip out the Bisto without being told that Caitlin made her flipping gravy with the chicken juices and flour. And she’d never brought up the flaming jewellery box again. In fact, Francesca was so furious about Caitlin having an affair with Massimo, she never mentioned her at all.
Nico tried to talk to her but she either blanked him or gave him both barrels, leaving him subdued and distant for days afterwards. ‘You let her do it! How could you not notice that she was screwing Uncle Massimo? Did you even care? She probably wouldn’t even have stayed with you for so long if you hadn’t had me. I bet she wished I’d never been born, then she could have gone off with Uncle Massimo.’
Initially, a small walnutty bit of my mean little heart had been glad Caitlin was no longer the pinnacle of all things wonderful. But when I fished all of Francesca’s photos of Caitlin out of the kitchen bin, I managed to locate my inner grown-up. It was a fair bet that, long term, equating your mother’s affair with your uncle with proof that she didn’t love you would more than likely lead Francesca into the path of unsuitable men, ill-advised cocktails and dodgy substances.
I started up the oak staircase. I suddenly became aware of the sound of my flip-flops slapping on the wooden treads. No music from the landing. My heart leapt. It was all too quiet. With the exception of Sam, none of us had made any real connection with Francesca for months. A great wave of foreboding surged through me. All sorts of horrible headlines about teenage suicide ran through my head until a scream started gathering in my throat. I burst into her bedroom without knocking, my eyes scanning the beams. I nearly fell to the floor with relief when I discovered her sitting on the other side of her bed, flicking through the photos of Caitlin I’d rescued from the bin and put in an envelope in her dressing table.
‘Francesca!’ I knew by the way she looked so startled I’d shrieked rather than spoken. I concentrated on getting my words out at a normal volume. ‘Are you all right, love? There’s cake downstairs if you want some. We’re being very rebellious and eating it before the barbecue.’ Relief made me rattle on without waiting for a reply. ‘Anna’s doing her nut but trying not to say anything…’
Francesca looked at the photos in her lap. ‘I’m fine.’
I tried again. ‘I’d love it if you joined us. You don’t have to, but I know Anna would like to see you and Lara and Sandro are on their way. With a couple of special guests.’
That piqued her interest for a moment. But it didn’t last. ‘Maybe later,’ she said, sweeping the photos into a pile at the side of her.
I hesitated but the Parker need to get everything out on the table won the day. ‘You don’t need to feel ashamed of missing your mum, whatever she’s done.’
Francesca looked at me properly for the first time. ‘I hate her for what she did. It’s just so disgusting and, well, weird. Sleeping with my dad and my uncle.’ The face she made as she contemplated her mother having sex was so teenage and outraged I struggled to keep a straight face.
I sat on the bed, glancing down at the photos of Caitlin’s elfin face, all her features so like Francesca’s – the neat nose, the definite chin, the well-defined eyebrows.
‘Can I say one thing?’
Francesca nodded.
‘It’s so hard when your parents mess up because you feel they should be so much better than that, that they should know all the answers and have grown out of making mistakes. And they certainly shouldn’t make ones as obvious as falling in love with your dad’s brother.’ I pressed on, hoping that Francesca might feel better if I made out Caitlin had been caught in some star-crossed lover scenario rather than being some over-sexed floozy having it off next door at any opportunity. ‘But it doesn’t mean she didn’t love your dad in her own way. It’s often not that black and white. It definitely doesn’t mean she didn’t love you.’
She fidgeted but I was sure she was listening.
I carried on, hoping I didn’t sound like some cheesy relationship counsellor who wanted everyone to ‘own their feelings’. ‘Grown-ups sometimes don’t know what they want. Often they’re just bored. Sometimes they’re drunk. Maybe they find it hard to be satisfied with what they have. Some people don’t take well to being married, they feel trapped even though they love the person they’re married to, they still hanker after freedom, adventure, the unknown. It’s a big expectation to stick with one person for a whole lifetime and never fancy anyone else ever again.’
Oh shit. I didn’t want her thinking that a couple of years down the line I’d be walking along Brighton seafront eyeing up the blokes in their Speedos.
I paused for a little backpedal. ‘Obviously I met your dad when I was knocking on a bit so it won’t be so hard for me.’
Francesca looked puzzled. Jesus. I was probably putting her off marriage for life.
‘What I’m trying to say is that we don’t know what made your mum do what she did. We don’t know why Massimo hurt your dad like that either. But one thing I know for absolute certain is that your mum loved you so much. All she talked about to Beryl when she was ill was how you’d cope without her. She wasn’t perfect, but none of us are. You should be proud that your mum loved you so much. And that you loved her. All the other things that happened shouldn’t and don’t change that. You wouldn’t miss her so much if you hadn’t loved her. And it’s okay to love someone even if they do bad things.’
I still had more to say. But Francesca got up and sat next to me on the bed, leaning forward with her head in her hands.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘Do you think you’ll love me one day? Even though I’ve been so horrible?’
‘I already do, sweetheart. I always wanted a daughter.’
50
LARA
Climbing into my Fiat 500 still made me smile. Maggie had encouraged me to buy a bright red one rather than the silver one. ‘Make a statement! No more grey and beige for you!’ She’d also persuaded me to be adventurous in my new flat near the seafront. We’d chosen some bright butterfly-patterned fabric and she’d made me some curtains for the French doors that led onto my balcony. I loved sitting there after Sandro had gone to bed, breathing in the sea air, listening to the sounds of the city below, secure in the knowledge that a peaceful evening wouldn’t inexplicably go awry.
For someone who hadn’t had a lot of education, Maggie could have made a formidable divorce lawyer. At her insistence, I didn’t let on that I had no intention of fighting Massimo for a house where every kitchen cupboard I’d been pushed against, every cushion I’d rushed to straighten reminded me of how I used to lie in bed in the morning trying to judge what mood my husband was in by the sound of his footsteps on the landing. Anna had been so terrified I’d force him to sell the house in Siena Avenue and he would move away completely, she instructed Massimo to buy me the home I wanted outright.