The Silent Wife(16)
I was keen to sound suitably grateful so I tried a diplomatic approach: ‘I’m happy to help, but do you think it’s something you might want to do on your own together? I shouldn’t have a say in what stays and what goes. If it’s a big space, you could keep some of it to one side and I’ll use the rest.’
‘If you don’t mind, it’s probably better if you do it with us, otherwise we’ll just keep putting it off. And I can’t expect you to co-exist with Caitlin’s stuff sitting in the corner. I wouldn’t want to keep your ex-boyfriend’s knick-knacks under my desk. It’s time. Francesca can put the things she wants in her room.’
I hugged him. Now we just had to pitch the idea to Francesca.
8
LARA
Towards the end of March, with Easter just round the corner, I could no longer kid myself about how long it was since I’d seen Dad. New Year’s Day. The last time Massimo had been free to drive me to the nursing home deep in the Sussex countryside.
I didn’t want to think about that afternoon and how badly Dad had behaved towards Massimo. Shouting unintelligible nonsense about ‘purple windows’ and threatening to hit him with his walking stick. I’d sat shaken and sobbing in the car on the way home while Massimo railed about the ‘ungrateful sod’, detailing how much he spent on the nursing home. ‘Do you know how much getting him a haircut sets me back even though he’s only got five strands left? Seventeen pounds!’
Massimo had always been too busy to take me again – too stressed, too away, too tied up. And ironically, because Dad had always discouraged me from learning to drive because he didn’t want me to die in a car crash like my mother, I couldn’t get there under my own steam. Of course, in the beginning, I’d had a few friends left to give me a lift. But Massimo had eventually made them so unwelcome, or caused such a scene when I wanted to see them, that over time they’d fallen by the wayside, finding our friendship too much like hard work. And I still couldn’t allow myself to think about what Massimo had done the last time I’d spent a fortune on a taxi.
So now I couldn’t see Dad at all.
But recently, Massimo seemed more amenable to everything. Perhaps he was just less stressed at work, but cups of tea in bed were becoming the norm, shoulder massages, even rational conversations about exploring possible jobs at his firm for me – ‘Let’s look into it after the summer when Sandro’s back at school.’ It was a change from his usual ‘The firm’s become so much more cut-throat than when you were there. I don’t think you’ll cope.’
Tonight, too, he was in a good mood. He’d read a story to Sandro at bedtime, opened a lovely bottle of Sancerre and I’d roasted some monkfish with garlic, just as he liked it. The perfect evening for broaching the subject of Dad.
‘I know it won’t be your favourite day out, but I really need to go and see Dad over Easter. I hate the thought of everyone else spending time with their families and him sitting there on his own with a nursing home Easter egg.’
Massimo forked in a piece of fish, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. ‘I don’t want you getting upset over Easter. You know how depressing you find going to visit him. I’ve only got the four days off and I thought we could have a little trip to London, take Sandro to the London Dungeons or the Tower of London? Get a hotel up there?’
I stared at him, being careful not to sound dismissive. The London Dungeons? Sandro would have the screaming abdabs for months afterwards. ‘That sounds great. I’ll have a look and see what’s on. Perhaps we could go to a show if you fancy it. Is there any chance we could perhaps pop over to Dad’s on the evening before Good Friday if you finish work early enough?’
‘I’m going to be right up against it on the Thursday, just to get everything done so I don’t have to work over Easter. Your dad won’t know it’s Easter, will he? You could go any time. The week after or the one after that.’
Massimo was pleating his napkin. Swigging at his wine. His knife was tapping a little tune on the edge of his plate.
It was three months since I’d seen Dad. I had to go. I tried to keep my voice calm, to stop it veering into begging or demanding. ‘Would you be okay if I got a bus to Worthing and then a cab from there, one day next week?’
‘That’s a pretty expensive cab journey. I’ve just had notice the fees are going up in the home. I think we should try and rein in unnecessary expenditure where we can.’
I took a deep breath. ‘You’ve been incredibly generous paying for his care until now, but it might be time to get some proper legal advice and get permission to use the money from the sale of his house to fund his care. That way the whole burden wouldn’t fall on you.’ I stopped myself from adding, ‘And we might be able to free up fifty pounds so I can actually visit him.’
Massimo sighed as though he was talking to someone with limited intellectual capacity. ‘I don’t think you have any idea how much it costs for him to be in that home.’ He patted my hand. ‘He could live to be ninety-five. If I don’t bankroll him, he’ll run out of money in no time. And I’d hate for him to end up in some shitty place that stinks of cabbage, where they all sit around in nappies.’
My stomach clenched. I couldn’t let that happen to my dad with his cufflinks and his ‘little spritz of aftershave’. He still insisted on struggling to his feet whenever a female nurse walked into the room. I should have worked out how to make proper provisions for Dad when we sold his house, instead of relying on the knife edge of Massimo’s goodwill. But then, as now, my husband had been so hard to refuse: ‘You’ve got enough to worry about. I’ll deal with the money side of things. It’s what your dad would want. After all, people pay me a fortune to look after their affairs. Let me share some of the stress, otherwise you’ll end up on antidepressants again.’