James had never given university a first, let alone second thought, especially after forming a group with three other music-minded friends at his upper school. They’d spent hours every night rehearsing in Simon’s old garage-office, and I made them cover the walls with empty egg boxes from the local poultry farm to stop the neighbours complaining about their racket.
When James turned sixteen, my little boy became a free man, and his first act of rebellion was to leave school with a handful of average GCSE results and all the time in the world to follow his heart. It wasn’t what I’d have chosen for him. I’d read enough over the years about showbiz casualties to know it was a notoriously unpredictable and unforgiving industry. But like I had done with my dreams and the boutique, I encouraged my son to follow his even if they’d only lead him to the unemployment office.
It took his band six long years of playing spit-and-sawdust venues before their determination paid off. A record company A & R man watched them on the bill at a small rock festival in Cornwall and spotted their potential.
Eventually, their third single, ‘Find Your Way Home’, was picked up by Radio 1, and before long their youthful good looks propelled them into the pages of magazines, gossip columns and the charts. And Top of the Pops was their first major TV exposure.
Robbie handed his grandmother Shirley and Emily tissues to dab their eyes, and they weren’t the only ones who needed them. Tom had remained in the kids’ lives even though we were no longer together and had joined us at the pub with his lovely fiancée Amanda. He’d often been to Driver’s gigs, and by the time their three and a half minutes of TV fame had ended, he and I were both in tears. Everyone in the local pub had known James his whole life and shared my sense of pride.
But I was proud of all my children, of course. Robbie had remained the quietest of the bunch, even into his teenage years. But he’d overcome his self-imposed exile and surprised us all by moving as far away as Sunderland University to study things I didn’t really understand involving computers, hard drives and mega-somethings. And with his graduation still some time away, he’d already been offered and accepted a job in South London designing graphics for games.
Emily took her mother’s and grandmother’s interest in clothing and design one step further and couldn’t wait to start her first year at the London College of Fashion. And while there was probably no easier way of attracting boys than to tell them your brother’s been on Top of the Pops, she only had eyes for Daniel, Selena’s son.
They’d been sweethearts forever, and watching them together making each other laugh reminded me of Simon and I at their age. I prayed to God Daniel would never hurt her like Simon had hurt me.
I glanced around the pub at my family and friends, happy with my lot. There was no significant other in my life, but I had three children I adored and a business that had expanded to five boutiques across the county. And with plans for three more, including one in London, my life was as close to perfect as it was ever going to be. But the greatest moments of your life are exactly that – just moments.
And by their design, moments don’t last.
SIMON
Montefalco, Italy, ten years earlier
3 July
‘That’s my lot. You win, my friend,’ I gasped, and dragged my leaden legs across the red clay and towards the iced water under the pagoda’s shade.
Stefan, my coach, smiled and gave me a thumbs-up sign while I downed the entire bottle’s contents to quench my thirst. I waved him goodbye, mopped my sweating brow with a towel and caught my breath. I cursed myself for being both a mad dog and an Englishman to schedule a mid-afternoon tennis lesson under the searing Italian summer sun.
I was constantly in awe of my surroundings. I must have stared at our breathtaking valleys and vineyards a hundred times, but I never took for granted the warm embrace of the magnificent country around me.
When we first arrived in Italy, I’d been hesitant about the prospective life that lay ahead for Luciana and me. It had been second nature for me to live hand to mouth from limited means, but suddenly I’d found myself in love with a woman who’d inherited a wealth I’d never dared to imagine. And the potential for stability would take me worryingly far from what I’d been accustomed to. I’d known the warmth of normality once, and I knew the agony of having it torn away from me.
Luciana sensed my trepidation on our arrival and squeezed my hand reassuringly as her chauffeur drove his late padrone’s Bentley through the open iron gates and up the brick-paved driveway.
I squinted as the sun played hide and seek behind the vast sprawling villa ahead of us that Luciana had once called home. Lavender plants in flowerbeds and terracotta pots filled the air with their scent.
We walked through its colossal wooden doors as she explained how a house had stood in that spot for three hundred years. It was deliberately constructed a mile above the town of Montefalco, as if to remind those living under its shadow of its owner’s importance.
As soon as Luciana saw Marianna, her housekeeper, saviour and old friend, she collapsed into her arms and cried with gratitude for her past help. It was the first time I’d seen such vulnerability in her. Together they wandered the villa’s haunted corridors, reliving lost memories of Luciana’s sister and confronting the ghosts of her father.
I’d heard no positive stories about Signor Marcanio from Luciana’s childhood recollections. But, quietly, I found something to admire in a man so vulgar through his home.
He had restored the building’s charm with sympathetic and meticulous effort. The gaping dual-aspect living room formed the centrepiece, its walls supporting an exposed beamed ceiling some twenty feet high. The fireplace was the room’s focal point, standing like a church altar ready for a congregation that would never be invited inside.
But the pristine decor lacked any personal touch and there were no family photographs or knick-knacks scattered around, only carefully selected abstract paintings, ornate glass ornaments and an exotic fish tank. Luciana had grown up within a man’s design, not his heart.
We weaved our way into the gardens, where cobbled patios cut into vast, luscious lawns, some hidden from the sun’s reach under wooden pagodas strewn with leafy vines. The positioning of the main terrace enabled a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view, and a cobbled pathway sloped downwards to a tennis court and swimming pool. And what a view it was: mile after mile of vineyards and valleys painted in alternate shades of greens and browns as far as the eye could see.
‘Do you think you could be happy here?’ she asked me tentatively as we sat perched on a wall overlooking the canyons and lowlands.
‘It’ll take some getting used to, but yes, I could. More importantly, can you?’