The Silent Wife(10)

‘I’d love to see Anna’s face if we started running a B&B. Are you managing all right for money now we’ve moved out? I’ve got a bit put by if you need it.’

‘Get off with you, lovey. I don’t need your cash. Got a new job looking after some poor old soul who thinks the Germans are coming for her and keeps hiding all her jewellery in the porridge. Nearly blew up the microwave the other morning because her earrings were in the bowl.’

God bless my mum. She always had a little story, an adventure to recount. Word of mouth kept her employed, with grateful families taking her on to help out with relatives that they didn’t have time to look after.

‘How’s Nico? Have you got used to being a wife yet? Has he got used to having another one?’ Mum started to laugh, with a Benson and Hedges cough rushing to join the party.

I filled her in on what Anna had said to me.

‘Bloody old bag. Forced him to marry you, my arse. He’s lucky to have you. I hope you told her that you come from three generations of single mothers. Never mind the frigging Farinelli family in their ‘avenue’, the Parkers have lived on Mulberry Towers council estate for over sixty years without the need for a husband.’

She sat back victoriously as though she’d just proved, beyond any argument, that Anna was a total fool. You had to hand it to Mum. Her arguments always had been a triumph of illogical conviction.

I had to laugh. ‘I don’t think parading our family’s historical failure to blag a husband is going to win Anna round.’

Mum’s face softened. ‘I’m glad you did find a husband though, love. Nico is a nice lad. A bit fancy with his food, but not bad for an Eyetie.’

Mum hadn’t yet recovered from the one and only time Nico had invited her to dinner here and he’d served poussin. She spent the entire drive home telling me how she could have bought four chickens from Lidl for the price of ‘one of them bony little pushions’.

‘He was born here, Mum. He’s British.’

‘Well, whatever. As long as you’re happy.’ She paused, her eyes narrowing. ‘You are happy, aren’t you?’

I took a deep breath. I struggled to find my no-nonsense voice, didn’t want Mum to think I’d lost my Parker grit and gone all soft now I was a ‘wife’. ‘Of course I’m happy! Nico is really lovely. Just need to win over the rest of the Mafia now and we’ll all be riding off into the sunset on fat little ponies.’

My mum patted my hand. ‘Oh pet. It’s early days. Francesca’s had two years without a mum but Caitlin was ill for nearly a year before that. It’s a lot for any child of her age, poor little mite. Give her time. She’ll come round.’

I nodded. ‘I hope so.’

Mum sniffed. ‘And don’t worry about that Anna. She was all for standing there wringing her hands, but I never saw her roll up her sleeves when there was puke to clear up. None of the women were any cop. That daughter-in-law, what’s her name, Lara, didn’t help out much. Just left it to me to sit with her and tell her that Francesca would be fine, she’d done enough, she could go peacefully.’

I felt a twinge of shame for cringing when I’d heard Mum say ‘Hello duck’ to Anna; for wishing that she’d get her weight under control; for frowning at the woolly hat that made her look old. The ability to be kind, practical and stoic was worth so much more than any amount of draping skill with a scarf.

‘Was Nico really distraught?’ I wanted to take that question back as soon as I’d asked it.

Mum frowned. ‘Don’t get yourself into a “Who did he love more?” competition, Mags. I know Nico loves you. He did find it hard at the end. Everyone did. She was so young. Nico relied on his brother a lot though; Massimo was always popping in to give him a break. Made me feel guilty that you’d never had any brothers or sisters for when I go.’

‘Oh God, Mum, let’s not even go there!’

I cut off the oxygen to that conversation by sticking my head in the fridge to find the vegetables for the soup. We soon fell into an easy rhythm of peeling and chopping, while Sam dashed in and out, telling Mum how he was goalie in the school football team, how Nico was going to take him to a proper match, how he was enjoying walking to school now we lived nearer.

As the soup bubbled away, I laid the table, wondering whether Anna would faint onto the floor if I put out paper, rather than cloth, napkins. Mum was buttering bread rolls, with Sam giving her chapter and verse about the cars Sandro had for his Scalextric next door. ‘I like the Ferrari best, which is an Italian car. I’m half-Italian now, aren’t I?’

I kissed his head. ‘It doesn’t quite work like that. Still, it’s nice Lara’s happy for you to go round there and play with it.’ Although I found the way she delivered exact timings so uppity: ‘Would Sam like to pop round at three-thirty? Till five o’clock?’ On our estate the kids just wandered in and out of each other’s houses until the parents called them home for tea.

‘She likes me going because Sandro hasn’t got the hang of the Scalextric Massimo bought him yet. Every time he goes round a corner the cars fling off and I help him sort it all out. She said I couldn’t go when Massimo’s there, though.’

‘Why not?’ Mum asked.

Sam shrugged. ‘Dunno. I think he finds me too noisy.’