A Postcard from Italy Read online

  ‘Maybe we should have a break!’ she blurted out.

  Phil’s face froze.

  There, she had said it, and felt a wave of relief. Better out than in is what her mother would say. Cora was a great believer in speaking your mind and had drummed it into Grace to do so too … ‘I’m only being honest,’ she would say, even if the words were spiteful and hurtful. Grace had been carrying the thought of slowing things down with Phil around inside her head for a while now. But having told him, she panicked, never having been one for confrontation, so felt the need to add, ‘It’s not fair on you. My mum needs me, and you are right, I don’t put you first …’

  ‘What?’ Phil spluttered. ‘Don’t be daft, Gracie. You can’t dump me.’

  ‘I’m not dumping you, exactly.’

  ‘Yes you are. Everyone knows “a break”,’ he paused to do sarcastic quote signs in the air, ‘means dumped!’

  ‘But I can’t put you first, Phil.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. I didn’t say you need to put me first. I said we should put each other first.’

  ‘Did you?’ Grace felt confused now, her head crammed full of cotton wool … from the exhaustion most likely.

  ‘Of course, babe. Me and you. Always has been. It’s about us.’ And he stroked a finger over the back of her hand.

  ‘That’s just it, Phil. I don’t think I can put us first. You want more than I can give you right now …’ She dipped her head and twiddled with the butterfly pendant that hung on a delicate silver chain around her neck. She had bought it as a gift to herself on the day of her first visit to the GP to ask for help. A symbol of new beginnings. Only it hadn’t really worked out that way as she didn’t have a new life. In fact, she now felt even more trapped. Stuck in a rut as her mother’s carer, with a mediocre relationship and an old engagement ring that Matthew had refused to take back when she’d offered it on the day he came to collect the last of his belongings from the flat. ‘Why don’t you sell it and use it to pay the rent, or treat yourself to something nice … it’s the least you deserve after everything that has happened. I’m so sorry, sweetheart, for the way things have turned out between us. I never meant to hurt you, but … I guess we fell out of love with each other,’ is what he had said, followed by a hug and one of his wonderful warm smiles that had almost broken Grace in two. Only holding it together until the front door had closed behind him, when she had slumped down on to the hall carpet and sobbed. Because all the time she hated him she could cope, just about, with losing him … but he had to go and ruin it all by being nice. And she had never fallen out of love with him. Oh, she had tried to, but somehow couldn’t quite make it happen.

  She never had sold the engagement ring, which was now relegated to a velvet box kept in the drawer beside her bed. Sometimes, when she was at a low ebb, usually after one of her Facebook stalking sessions, she would get the ring out and allow herself, for the briefest of moments, to pretend it was still real. Her and Matthew. 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.r />
  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 …’ She stopped talking and looked at the floor, mentally kicking herself for losing track of time.

  ‘It’s fine, Grace.’ He smiled kindly, gesturing with his right hand for her to sit back down. But she remained standing, keen to see what his reaction would be as he properly saw inside the unit. His face didn’t disappoint. After casting an eye over Mrs Donato’s belongings, he let out a long, impressed whistle and raised his wiry eyebrows.

  ‘Wow! This is quite something.’

  ‘It sure is. And it’s going to be a proper adventure going through it all.’ Grace’s face lit up.

  ‘Well, there’s no immediate rush. The items aren’t going anywhere soon, not after being here for almost thirty years. But before you get stuck in, I wanted to make sure everything was OK? Betty and I were getting worried about you; you’ve been gone ages. We thought you must have fallen asleep or something.’ He smiled gently. ‘And who could blame you … I just checked my emails and saw one from you earlier this morning … sent around 4 a.m. Is everything OK, Grace?’

  ‘Yes, I … I’m sorry about that …’

  ‘Why would you be sorry? I was fast asleep at that time, but how come you weren’t?’ Larry chuckled, making his shoulders bob up and down.

  ‘Oh. I … um, I couldn’t sleep,’ she said, not wanting to go into the real reason she had been awake all night. That Cora had insisted Grace sit by the window in her bedroom on lookout duty, convinced she’d heard a noise coming from the garden below, and telling her, ‘You’ll never live with yourself, Grace. Sure you won’t, if someone breaks in and strangles me in the middle of the night while you’re fast asleep now without a care in the world.’ And Grace had loathed herself for not reasoning with her mother and telling her that it was highly unlikely someone was going to break in and strangle her … because it was more likely the person to strangle her would be her own sleep-deprived daughter who was already inside the house! But seriously, Grace knew she should have been stronger and stood up to her mother for the sake of her own nocturnal needs. But it had been late and she had been at a low ebb, knackered and not in the mood for another fight. So instead she had done as her mother had told her to, and sat in the armchair dozing as she tried to stay awake ‘just in case’ her mother’s fears turned into a reality. Because, at the end of the day, Grace knew that what Cora said was true, especially once she had planted the seed of doubt inside her head … how would she live with herself if something happened to her mother on her watch?

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Grace. Especially if it was work that was keeping you awake … I’m sure Mrs Donato’s whereabouts could have waited until today,’ he said, shaking his head as he referred to the email that Grace had sent to him in the early hours.

  ‘Sure, Larry, I know … but I didn’t want to forget any of my ideas. So that’s why I typed them into my phone and emailed them to you.’ Grace lowered her eyes, grateful not to have to go into detail about her own ineptitude when it came to standing up to her mother. Plus she didn’t want to complain about Cora and then come across as self-pitying. ‘I’ve not been able to stop thinking about Mrs Donato and wanted to give you some suggestions of how we might find her. I guess I got carried away and … well, it is pretty exciting seeing all her glamorous belongings in here. And I was also wondering why we had let her account go so far into arrears? It’s well over a year,’ she added, remembering the dates in the paperwork on the clipboard. ‘We usually do something long before now.’

  ‘Hmm, well that’s true. We do.’ Larry looked momentarily evasive, then a little embarrassed as his cheeks dotted pink. ‘Between me and you … well, I …’ He coughed. ‘I’m not going to lie … I guess I have a bit of a soft spot for Mrs Donato,’ he confessed. ‘But, please not a word to our Betty, because you know that I adore my dear wife.’ He lifted his shoulders to emphasise this fact. ‘Plus, she’d have my guts for garters if she ever knew.’ Larry pulled a mock-petrified face then, making Grace laugh as she swiftly nodded her agreement, touched by his gentlemanly consideration for his wife that came from a bygone time where honour was everything.

  Grace doubted Betty would have his guts for garters though. She would probably chuckle and admonish him to busy himself to keep from distractions! Just like she had when Mrs Bassett, a willowy blonde widow, had swept in to the customer waiting area to retrieve her late husband’s stamp collection and had flirted outrageously with Larry in the hope of him waiving the closing bill. He had been just about to as well, when Betty had stepped in and said that payment would be very welcome, thank you very much, as she plucked a credit card from Mrs Bassett’s grasp.

  ‘So you’ve actually met Mrs Donato?’ Grace asked excitedly. ‘Oh, I can’t wait to meet her too – that’s if we can track her down. What’s she like? I’ve been reading this.’ She lifted the diary into the air to show him, but then fell silent on feeling her cheeks flush pink. ‘Sorry. I … probably shouldn’t have been so nosey.’ She waggled the diary around before bringing her hand back down beside her.

  ‘Oh it’s fine,’ Larry said gently. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t,’ and he tapped a finger to the side of his nose. ‘Besides, how else are we going to get in touch with her. Which year is it? The diary … anything recent to give us some clues as to where she might be now?’

  ‘Sorry, no. And at first glance there doesn’t seem to be any kind of order to the diaries and notes written on scraps of paper. Everything is very sporadic and with some of the diaries completely empty, or with just a few lines written in them here and there. Thou
gh I did manage to find this one, dated 1955, which is pretty full up – where she’s living in Italy and it sounds so idyllic. Listen to this.’ Grace quickly reopened the diary and read a section of it aloud. ‘The warm, salty sea air is infused with the marvellous scent of citrus from the lemon and orange groves further down on the hillside. The dazzling azure-blue sea laps gently in the distance and I simply can’t imagine a more perfect place to be than standing here on the veranda with my truelove watching the plump, pink sun setting on the horizon.’

  ‘Well I never!’ Larry folded his arms and nodded slowly, clearly impressed by Mrs Donato’s prose. ‘Those are mighty fine words, and with a clue for us right there too.’

  ‘A clue?’

  ‘Yes … a truelove! With any luck, he’s Mr Donato by now. So we’ll find him and he will lead us to Mrs Donato. Yes, that’s what we will do.’ Larry nodded, clearly resolute about the best way forward for solving this matter.

  Grace pulled out her phone and tapped through to her To Do list to make a note to read on through all the paperwork in unit 28 to see if she could find mention of a Mr Donato. Or a wedding. Surely, Connie, being the romantic she appeared to be in the diary, would write about her own wedding.

  ‘It’s all there in gorgeous detail. Connie is an incredibly romantic writer,’ she told Larry. ‘Reading her diary is like reading a beautiful, romantic novel. And she lived in a powder pink villa surrounded by lemon and orange groves on a hilltop in Santa Margherita. I googled it and it’s part of the glamorous Italian Riviera and just along the coast near Portofino in Italy, apparently. Imagine living somewhere as wonderful as that? Or she did in the 1950s! But I’m guessing that’s not the case any more if her stuff is in our storage unit here in drizzly south London.’ Grace patted her curls, which had turned into a giant auburn frizz ball after falling victim to the inclement weather at this time of year in London, when she got caught in a sudden downpour while counting the steps to the bus stop this morning.