The Silent Wife(68)

I waited for Massimo to scoop him up and comfort him. I’d never known Lara raise her voice before but in a tone that was somewhere between a scream and a bellow she was shouting: ‘Get him out now!’

But Massimo stood back, watching Sandro flounder about, oblivious to Lara’s distress. ‘Go on! Kick your feet!’

It was like watching a scene from a 1960s orphanage where there was no warmth, no empathy, just a method – and a madness – applied to all children regardless of needs or personality. I kept waiting for Lara to shout at Massimo again or failing that, chuck her sunhat on the floor, dive in and intervene. Instead she seemed to go into a panic, flapping her hands about and looking like she was going to burst into tears.

In the end, I couldn’t bear the squelching, rasping sounds any more. In a minute, Sandro was going to throw up. I jumped in. I didn’t look at Massimo, didn’t ask his permission. I grabbed Sandro, who flung his arms round my neck, coughing water and crying.

I was about to apologise to Massimo for butting in when he said, ‘Maggie? What do you think you’re doing?’ No smile, no gentle embarrassment of ‘That particular teaching technique went well.’

I could barely speak through the stranglehold Sandro had round my neck. ‘Sorry but he was half-choking to death.’

Massimo frowned. ‘I had it under control. You women get so hysterical about nothing. That’s half his problem. He’s got no backbone.’

Sandro’s little chest was shuddering against my shoulder. For all Massimo’s intelligence, he was pretty thick about how to get the best out of his son. And I wasn’t bowled over by his view of women either: if there was one word guaranteed to make me search for a scythe with a particularly sharp blade and get hacking, ‘hysterical’ was it.

Instead of bursting in with my own insults, I tapped into my newfound maturity. If nothing else, married life had taught me to bite my tongue so often it was a wonder it wasn’t frilly. I tried to take the heat out of the situation. Not, however, without a desire to look over my shoulder and wonder where the hot-headed mamma of my twenties had disappeared to. ‘You’re brilliant with all kids, not just Sandro, but I don’t think this is doing his confidence any good. Would you let me try with him?’

I bent my head to whisper in Sandro’s ear. ‘Would you have a little go at swimming with me?’

Sandro nodded, his sobs slowing down to shallow rattle.

But Massimo wasn’t having any of it. ‘I don’t want to fall out with you, Maggie, but I do know what’s best for my own son.’

I was just about to try another tack but hadn’t bargained on Mum.

‘What’s the matter with you both? That poor little mite needs to get out and get over his fright. Mags, bring him over here now and me and him will go and have a walk down the village for an ice cream. That’s enough of this swimming nonsense for one day. He can have another go tomorrow. I’ve managed to get to nearly sixty without learning and it hasn’t done me any harm.’

Mum got to her feet, heaving her bulk out of the water. I glanced over at Lara, who was standing on the side, her eyes darting about, rooted to the spot like a mother duck whose weakest duckling was in danger of being sucked down a weir. I felt a flash of irritation that Mum and I were doing her dirty work. There was no bloody way I’d let Nico half-drown Francesca without stepping in, let alone my own flesh and blood. Sure, not everyone had the gobby Parker attitude to life, but I couldn’t ever imagine Minnie Mousing about when it came to keeping Sam safe.

Massimo stood firm and held his arms out for Sandro, who was squashing into me so hard, it would be like ripping off a plaster when I finally put him down. Just as I was debating whether I really had the guts to tell Massimo that no, I wouldn’t be handing his own son over to him, Lara finally jumped in.

She swam over to us, grabbed Sandro from me with a ‘Come on, come to Mummy.’

But Massimo wasn’t going down without a fight. ‘No wonder women never make it to the top in business. The slightest difficulty or setback and you’re running down the corridor screaming.’

And then Lara really did surprise me.

‘At least I don’t need to bully a seven-year-old to feel good about myself.’





33





MAGGIE




I hadn’t seen Lara since the swimming pool ‘incident’ that morning. I’d walked past her bedroom but hadn’t wanted to knock in case she was having a nap with Sandro. I’d heard Massimo screech off across the gravel before lunch and had been ridiculously pleased to have an hour alone on my sunbed, dozing in the sun while the kids dived for pebbles in the pool.

With the opera starting at nine, we were having an early dinner, which delighted Mum who thought anything later than five was eating ‘just before bedtime’. Nico and I were at the table as instructed on the dot of six. I’d filled him in on Massimo’s foray into swimming coaching and was gratified to hear him pronounce Massimo ‘a knob’. I didn’t launch into agreeing too heartily as I knew from experience the Farinellis drew up the drawbridge the second an outsider breathed a criticism.

‘Honestly, I don’t know what gets into him sometimes. But I also don’t get why Lara doesn’t put her foot down more often. I can’t imagine you letting me get away with behaving like that.’