The Silent Wife(90)
When I knew Massimo was on his way home, I couldn’t stay still. I kept telling myself he wouldn’t have a problem with Dad being here. That he’d be thrilled I’d learnt to drive. But I couldn’t settle. I kept walking past the hall window, watching for his car. I’d allowed myself to get dragged back into my old habits, making sure there was white wine of every possible grape variety chilled in the fridge, every hand towel in the house was freshly laundered, Sandro had secured his curtains with the tie backs.
In between times I kept pausing at the door to watch Sandro with Dad. One of the things that had captured and held Dad’s attention was Sandro’s electric keyboard. Sandro was showing him how he could play chopsticks. And from nowhere, Dad took over and started to play ‘Hey Jude’, singing along in his croaky voice.
Sandro called me in. ‘Look at granddad. He’s really good at the piano.’
I loved seeing them together. Sandro didn’t seem to notice Dad made odd comments about knowing the people on TV, called Lupo a cat and was just as likely to drink out of the milk jug as a cup. Given that he’d shaken with fear when there’d been an explosion on the TV news, seeing him relaxed, embracing music and enjoying Sandro’s company brought so many emotions to the fore that I didn’t know whether to sing along with him or burst into tears.
At half-past four, I heard the growl of Massimo’s BMW pull up outside. My stomach knotted as I glanced at Dad, my ears straining for the sound of him coming up the drive, the jangle of keys, the thud of the briefcase on the top step. But instead of his footsteps after the car door slammed, Francesca’s voice rang out, followed by a cheer from Massimo. I caught a ‘Bravo!’ and ‘That’s my girl’. Maggie was booming into the mix, ‘Just zoomed in at the last moment and left them all standing, she did. Bloody brilliant.’
Hearing her outside gave me courage. I could tell him while she was there. She’d help me out. She was brilliant at picking up a thread of discord and snipping it off before it started – smoothing down Anna squaring up to Beryl, Sam having a spat with Francesca, Massimo goading Nico – Maggie was always there with a joke or a diversion to defuse the tension.
I opened the door and waved at them all.
Massimo threw his arms wide in a big theatrical gesture. ‘My gorgeous wife! Have you missed me?’
Nerves made me blurt out: ‘I’ve been too busy to miss you.’
Of course, it was a preamble to ‘Dad’s come to visit and I’ve got my hands full’, but I didn’t get that far before Massimo dropped his hands to his side and said, ‘Did you hear that, Maggie? That’s charming, isn’t it? She’s been too busy to miss me!’
Maggie glanced at me and said, ‘You know what they say, when the cat’s away, the mice will play. You’ve no idea what we get up to in your absence.’
Something in her voice made me do a double-take. I normally envied the way her conversations with Massimo were teasing and full of banter. But she sounded – I couldn’t put my finger on it – sullen? Sulky? As though she was trying to pick an argument?’
My heart skipped a little.
Massimo raised an eyebrow but his tone was light, ‘Look forward to hearing all about it. I’ll just get changed out of my suit, then I’m all ears.’
Massimo hated secrets, unless he was the one keeping them. Something uncertain flashed across his face. He wasn’t a man who liked being on the back foot.
I jumped in. ‘I’m only having you on, darling. I have missed you, it’s just that I’ve had an unexpected guest today.’ The added line, ‘And he’s still here’ nearly made it out of my mouth but got trapped in the web of knowing I should be able to say whatever came to mind but not wanting the proof I couldn’t.
Since Sandro was born, Massimo hadn’t encouraged me to invite anyone over. Initially he said it was too much for me with a baby, having to clean everywhere and get food ready. But I understood, over time, that only his family were welcome unless he was in the mode of presenting himself as a super-generous ‘more the merrier’ host as he had for Sam’s party. Everything about other people in our house irritated him. The sound of them using the loo. The way they dripped water on the floor when they washed their hands. How they dipped teaspoons into the sugar, leaving little wet trails. In short, anyone who didn’t know – and adhere to – the thousands of invisible rules that infiltrated our lives. For Sandro and me, they were as reflexive as the ability to breathe. So much so, that every time someone transgressed by allowing a rogue elbow on the table or not hermetically sealing their mouths while eating, Sandro would catch my eye and we’d quietly hold our breath, knowing we’d bear the brunt of their mistakes once they’d left.
Maggie, of course, was oblivious to the million scenarios that could unfold simply by shaking the notions of ‘unexpected guest’, ‘secret’ and ‘surprise’ into one combustible mix. As always, I felt a little rush of self-loathing that I’d allowed myself to play along. What kind of grown woman sneaked broken crockery out of the house to dispose of in a litter bin instead of simply saying, ‘I dropped a plate.’ Now I couldn’t even recall Massimo making a fuss about me breaking anything. I just felt like he might.
Maybe it was all in my head. Perhaps the antidepressants I’d taken after Sandro was born had permanently skewed my grip on reality. Maybe this time I really did need them, to shake me out of my warped thinking, seeing problems where there weren’t any.