Girl Unknown(70)

‘Zo?.’

I reached for my glass.

Since our departure from Ireland, her name hadn’t been mentioned: an unspoken rule between the four of us – a rule that even Robbie had adhered to. We needed to get away from her, if only for a short while.

‘Are you going to call her back?’

He began pressing keys with his thumb then seemed to think better of it. ‘No. If it’s urgent, she’ll try again.’ Putting the phone down, he reached for the bottle.

Later, we sat in a companionable silence, reading our books and finishing the wine. The afternoon stretched out long and lazy and there was no sign of the kids returning. I thought about walking down to the harbour, but when I suggested it to David, a slow smile spread across his face. ‘I’ve a better idea,’ he said.

The house was caught in the white glow of the afternoon sunlight, stillness and quiet filling the rooms. In our bedroom, we undressed with the shyness of new lovers. It had been months since we had made love and we were nervous, despite a long history of intimacy and the loosening of inhibitions brought on by the lunchtime wine. In the quiet of the late afternoon, as our bodies came together, I felt an enormous sense of relief. We held each other beneath the sheets, moving towards a new understanding, another layer of meaning added to the complexities of our bond.

We were dressed by the time the kids returned, tiredness quietening them as they slumped in the armchairs, their faces glowing from the sunlight, Robbie’s arms tanned against the white of his T-shirt.

‘There are pizzas in the freezer,’ David told them. ‘Your mother and I are going out.’

We set off hand in hand, still feeling the heat of our afternoon reunion. Something had sparked to life between us, passion rekindled. As we walked through the deserted streets, the noises of domesticity trickled out of open windows – saucepans clattering, voices raised in talk. His hand in mine, I basked in the renewed familiarity. Warmth from the sun still hovered in the air as we reached the square and took our seats at one of the tables outside the bistro.

I ordered moules frites while David had steak, and with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc in an ice bucket between us, we talked of the village and of Alan’s house, speculating as to how he had come to own it. Property on the island was phenomenally expensive – when we had peered through the window of a local estate agent, we had come away reeling. Conversation flowed easily between us. David voiced his opinion that Alan had inherited his house and this led on to a discussion about Ellen, David confiding his sense of loneliness in the wake of her death, that with his parents no longer alive, and no siblings, he had been cast adrift.

‘You’re not alone,’ I assured him, and he reached across the table, placing his hand on mine.

‘Being away like this,’ he said, ‘it’s made me wonder whether I should look into taking a sabbatical abroad, maybe take Giancarlo up on his offer to do some research in Siena.’

‘Are you serious?’

He shrugged. ‘Why not? After Mum … I just need something to clear my head, take a break from UCD for a while.’

‘What about the kids? What about school?’

‘Robbie’s got three years left until he finishes – there’s time enough before he needs to start thinking about exams and university. Holly’s still in primary school. Now might be the perfect time for us all to go.’ He had finished his steak and pushed his plate to one side. ‘I think it would be good for us, Caroline. It might be just the break we need.’

With the wine in my bloodstream and the heat of the sun still in my bones, the idea made me giddy with excitement. ‘Won’t it take time to organize?’

‘I’m sure I could square it with the university. We could be out there by Christmas. And it doesn’t have to be for a whole year. Six months would do, don’t you think?’

Six months in Italy sounded like a dream.

We leaned towards each other, talking excitedly about what would need to happen – arrangements with the school, perhaps let our house. It was all fantasy, really, and I think we both knew that. But for just a while, it was good to fool ourselves that we could live unfettered lives, shrug off the things that held us down. The conversation alone felt restorative, nourishing.

It was dark in the square as David signalled for the bill. Strings of brightly coloured lights reached across the boughs of the plane trees forming the perimeter. A hush had come over the gathered diners.

‘What about Zo??’ I asked quietly. Even mentioning her name felt like a gamble. Our afternoon reunion, the flow of conversation between us, the warmth that had returned – it was still tentative.

He looked down at the receipt in his hand, folded it in half and pushed it into his shirt pocket with his wallet. ‘I think she’ll manage.’

His voice sounded heavy and I knew it was not just tiredness. He sat back, casting his eyes upwards at the lights looping through the trees. ‘I thought it would be easier. It didn’t seem like such a big thing to have her in our lives. Pretty na?ve, huh?’

I waited for him to go on.

‘It’s not like having a child you’ve known from birth. With Zo?, I don’t feel I’m ever really going to get to know her.’

‘You’ve tried hard with her, David.’

‘And I’ll continue to try. It’s just that …’