A Postcard from Italy. Alex Brown

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СКАЧАТЬ Happy in love with a wedding to plan. That hadn’t happened for a while now. But tonight that could all change as she yearned for the simplicity and lightness that had been her life before, with Matthew. Now it just felt heavy, like wading through treacle all the time.

      ‘Babe, come on … don’t be like this.’ Phil moved his finger to her chin and gently lifted her face up to his. ‘I know you’ve got your hands full, but—’

      ‘No buts, Phil,’ Grace jumped in, and then cringed on realising that she sounded just like her sister, bossy Bernie. ‘I can’t be the girlfriend you want me to be.’ Grace had known this for a while. After meeting Phil at the bus stop about a year ago, at first it had all been fine. He had been happy to sit in and watch TV with her and said he ‘got it’ that she struggled to go out. He also seemed to accept that there was no space in her life for dates and trips out to the cinema or to a nice restaurant. Or an art gallery or a sightseeing day like other couples enjoyed. The ones who weren’t carers, and who were therefore in charge of their own lives and free to do whatever they liked with it. It bothered her, if the truth be told. Being an onlooker in her own life, letting Phil down, and herself too. Not to mention feeling guilty for resenting her own mother.

      ‘Look, you’re just stressed that’s all. And you’re the only girlfriend I want.’ Silence followed. ‘Is this because you had to pay for the pizza? Because I’ll sort you out for the twenty quid when I find my debit card, promise.’

      Grace studied Phil. His forehead creasing. His blond hair swept back from his blue eyes. His easy, sideways smile. But before she could answer, he carried on talking. ‘Look, how about I take you away for a weekend. A spa hotel, where you can put your feet up and let the flunkies wait on you for a change. Champagne and massages … what do you reckon? And it’s your birthday soon too. Let’s make it a special one, babe. My treat!’ He nodded at her eagerly and she felt touched that he had remembered and wanted to plan something nice for her. ‘You need a break. And is it any wonder when you work all the hours you do? At least think about packing in your job too … we’d have all the time we wanted then to do stuff together.’

      Grace instinctively shook her head, knowing that a weekend away was an impossibility. She couldn’t afford it, for one thing, and dreaded to think how many steps it was to the nearest spa. Just the thought of it was already making her feel panicky. Plus how would she organise it all? Cora would never go for it, and even if she could be persuaded, it would take time and energy that Grace just didn’t have right now to find a potential weekend carer, interview them and train them to do things the way her mother liked. Cora was so particular. But it was really lovely of him to suggest it and she could feel herself softening towards him.

      ‘Oh Phil, I’m not sure I can … you know that,’ she told him, gently.

      ‘You could if you really wanted to,’ he suggested, kissing her on the lips, then after pulling away, added, ‘if you found a private carer … listened to your sisters and actually got someone in. They’ll pay for it. Hell, I’ll even chip in too if it means I get some bedroom time with you. When was the last time we had sex?’ Grace turned away to stifle a yawn, the softening towards him now dissipating.

      ‘I don’t know.’ She could barely keep her eyes open, so love-making was the furthest thing from her mind right now, which instead was crammed with thoughts of I’d do anything right now for a whole night of blissful, uninterrupted sleep.

      ‘Exactly. So do it, Gracie. Get the carer in and … let me take “care” of you!’ Phil laughed at his own joke as he pushed her back on the sofa and slid a hand up and under her T-shirt in one deft move.

      ‘I’ll think about it,’ she conceded into the side of his neck, knowing it wouldn’t be as easy as all that. But if she was serious about helping herself, and it seemed that was her only option, given that Bernie, Sinead and Mikey’s intentions were purely monetary when it came to caring for their mother, then it had to be worth a try. Plus it might be nice to be able to participate in her own life again. Maybe she was ready for that new beginning now. Grace had a feeling that she had allowed her grief over the break-up with Matthew to take over and exonerate her in some way from making an effort until now – it was easy to excuse herself from doing the things that brought back happy but painful memories, of the life she used to have with Matthew – when she had the perfect excuse: that her mother needed her. Maybe Phil had a valid point. And because, at that exact moment, Cora pounded her walking stick on the ceiling above them and bellowed,

      ‘Grace. Grace. Grace! For the love of God. Where is my bedtime drink? I’m near dying of thirst up here while you’re pawing that poor man of yours.’

      

      Monday afternoon at work and Grace was engrossed in another, more fabulous world, where parties on board yachts on the breathtakingly beautiful Italian Riviera drinking limoncello cocktails and pure glamour prevailed. Connie was happy, meeting and mixing with Italian socialites and a new friend … a glamorous, vivacious Italian woman they all called Cristal due to her love of champagne.

      Grace carefully turned the page of the red leather-bound diary embossed with gold initials, CD, on the cover and eagerly read on, revelling in how very ‘Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton in their heyday holidaying in Portofino’ it all was. Connie seemed to be having the time of her life, as if living inside an incredibly romantic Hollywood film.

       Italy in springtime really is exquisite. We drove all the way along the old coastal road today from Santa Margherita to Portofino with the top down and the glorious sunshine hot on our bare heads. With glistening waves swirling around the rocks on one side and lush green grass dotted with pastel-coloured houses on the other, I couldn’t resist untying my headscarf and truly throwing caution to the wind as it ruffled my hair and lifted my spirits.

       The boat was waiting for us in the harbour and after climbing aboard I rather enjoyed my first time at sea! The waves propelled us, quick as flash, to our destination, the tiny bay of San Fruttuoso, where we swept ashore to explore the atmospheric old Benedictine monastery. Mind you, I had a terrible fright when a squealing wild boar piglet scampered from the undergrowth and almost ran right into my legs on its way off into the pine-clad hillside. Thank heavens I had kept my gloves on as I had to pat its little rump in order to shoo it away as it double-backed and came at me for a second time.

       Later, after a scrumptious supper of roasted octopus on a bed of velvety tomatoes and olive tapenade under a honeysuckle-entwined trellis on the beach, we strolled arm in arm across the sand and then ventured up and down the steps around the monastery, picking wild mint on our way, which we later discovered was a rather splendid idea, as we dipped the leaves into our cocktails when we got back on board the boat for the moonlit voyage home to Portofino …

      Sighing in contentment and wishing she was there, hundreds of miles away in the sunshine, eating roasted octopus and patting wild-boar piglets in the tiny bay of San Fruttuoso, Grace closed the diary. And then, on hearing Larry call out her name, she glanced at the time on her phone and realised that she had been sitting (very carefully on the dust sheet near the edge, so as not to mark it) on Mrs Donato’s peacock-patterned chaise longue in the corner of unit 28 for almost an hour. Larry was probably wondering what she was doing and, more importantly, why she hadn’t come back to the office yet to make a start on sending out this month’s invoice letters.

      ‘Coming,’ she called out in reply, and hurriedly stood up, but then Larry was in the doorway. ‘Sorry. I was just …’ СКАЧАТЬ