The Silent Wife(40)

But he wouldn’t hear of it. ‘I’m not having you risking your life on these busy motorways. I’d be so worried about you with all the lorries thundering past. The roads are different now – when I learnt to drive, there was so much less traffic. It’s not safe.’

How flattered I was that this charming man – who could have had his pick of the girls in the office – would get up at 5.30 a.m. to chauffeur me about. ‘You’re just like my dad, wanting to keep me wrapped up in cotton wool.’

He sounded hurt. ‘What’s wrong with wanting to keep the woman I love safe? Besides, we get time together to chat, just you and me. There’s no one I’d rather be with. Of course, if you’d prefer to hang round train stations on your own in the dark, I’ll get my secretary to book some tickets.’

Then a huffy silence descended, making me feel guilty for not appreciating him. And I couldn’t cope with that. Dad’s catchphrase when I was growing up whenever I went to someone’s house, was ‘Make sure you’re grateful; don’t forget to say thank you.’ He was terrified in case other people’s parents found me rude, the odd little girl without a mother whose father hadn’t taken care of all that ‘please and thank you’ business.

So instead of insisting on being independent, I’d convinced myself I was lucky to have someone to run me around, someone prepared to put themselves out for me. Half the women I worked with spent their lives stressing up and down the motorways or shivering on train platforms. I imagined that, sooner or later, the novelty of carting me about would wear off and I’d eventually get some L-plates.

But then Sandro was born and Massimo was convinced his screaming would distract me and cause an accident. Then he was concerned about my health. ‘You’re not doing as much exercise as you once were. Walking everywhere keeps you fit and I need you to live a long time.’ And he’d squeeze my hand, assure me that whenever I needed to go somewhere, he was at my beck and call.

Somehow, the years slipped by and the right time to bring up driving lessons again never materialised, tinged as it was with underlying tension, that wanting my own driving licence somehow insulted Massimo’s ability to take care of me.

But that was then. Now, my dad was disappearing into darkness and I was stranded, miles away, reliant on the stars, moon and Massimo’s moods aligning to give me a lift to see him.

With the unwelcome knowledge that all that ferrying about, all that concern for my safety was just control by another name.

Massimo would block me if I told him I was going to learn to drive. He’d be far too clever to announce to the world that he was forbidding me to do it. But there’d be a financial crisis of some sort that led to spending less on ‘non-essentials’, a drama that required me to cancel my lessons and, crucially, a drip feed of how I didn’t have the co-ordination, the anticipation, the reactions necessary to pass a test, topped off with ‘we know what happened to your mother’, until I barely felt safe using a vegetable peeler.

But Dad needed me.

So when Maggie offered to teach me to drive, I grabbed onto it, refusing to fall into the usual trap of talking myself out of it. My thoughts flitted about, trying to find a tightrope strung between the obstacles to overcome. I couldn’t tell Massimo I was learning because he’d dream up a way to stop me. And I couldn’t ask Maggie to lie to Massimo.

‘Would you really do that for me?’

Maggie laughed in the way that people who expect good things from the world find people who don’t funny. ‘I’d love it. It would give me huge satisfaction. Mum never learnt to drive because we were too poor and it really limits what she can do. And anyway, you don’t want to be dependent on Massimo to trolley you about when he’s away so much. You’d be able to nip over and see your dad whenever you wanted.’

I tried not to sound as desperate as I felt, aiming for a ‘Yep, great idea, I’ll have a bash at this driving lark’ rather than like someone who’d fallen overboard on a cross-channel ferry and was clinging to a lifebelt. But, to my horror, I got all choked up. It was so long since anyone had offered to resolve any of my problems rather than just adding to them. But around Maggie, I always got a giddy feeling. Her down-to-earth optimism was infectious, the sense that yes, things might get a bit troublesome but putting the kettle on and calming down would be a good starting point. That even if I was myself – rather than the me that Massimo poured into a mould ten years ago – she’d still like me.

She stopped in a layby.

‘Oh bless you, you poor thing.’

As naturally as anything, she undid our seatbelts and pulled me into a big hug. I never had any spontaneous physical interaction with anyone any more and it was as though my brain had to be told my body didn’t need to be on standby. I was permanently braced for Massimo to turn on me, ready to dart out of his way, or primed to anticipate that any affection was a prelude to a demanding sexual marathon.

I drew back for a second before deliberately relaxing.

Maggie smoothed my hair while all my confusion, my fury for allowing myself to become this person, bubbled out of me. She was so capable, even though she was always saying things like, ‘What do I know? I just sew on zips. You’re the brainbox, Lara. I’d love to be able to tell people I had a degree in accountancy and have them all look at me thinking, wow, she must be bright.’