So they came, we had a great night. I mean, they’re lovely people, it’s not hard. Turns out that Marcello’s brother owns this house. Giacomo’s his name. Scary. Different kettle of kippers from Marcello. He’s all a bit “Do I amooze you?” But, scary or not, he must have liked us because he said to book direct with him if we ever wanted to come back. Now we get it for a third of the price we paid that first year. Does that make you feel any better?’
‘Giacomo fancies Mum,’ Dilly said. ‘Daddy says.’
‘He always calls around when Dad is out.’ This from TJ. ‘With grappa. He tries to get her liquored up.’
Bridey spoke: ‘Dad says that if Mum has intercourse with Giacomo, we’d get the house for free. And he didn’t say “intercourse”, he said “sex”, which is hardly appropriate for us children to hear.’
‘Shush now,’ Jessie said. ‘Daddy’s just joking.’
Bridey sighed. ‘Daddy would really want to sort out his sense of humour.’
SIXTY-SIX
‘Ferdia?’ He heard Jessie’s voice outside. ‘Are you in here? I just brought Nell to see –’
Ferdia opened his door. Jessie, Nell and Dilly stood outside in the blazing sunshine.
‘Oh, bunny, sorry!’ Jessie took a step back. ‘Sorry. Just, I’m showing Nell around. I thought you’d be at the pool.’
‘Come in, you’re grand.’
‘No, no.’ Nell was reluctant. ‘We’ll come back some other time.’
‘It’d be worse to have you poking around if I wasn’t here.’ He’d been aiming for jokey but instead he sounded narky. ‘Seriously, come in.’ He made himself smile. ‘Welcome to the Old Granary.’
Cautiously they entered.
Nell’s face was full of wonder. ‘The low ceiling, the exposed beams, the stone floors, two storeys,’ she marvelled. ‘Very rustic. Hey!’ She’d suddenly noticed something. ‘Is Barty not here?’
Shit. How many times would he have to answer this? ‘Yeah, he didn’t come. Busy. You know.’
‘I only realized now.’ She laughed at herself. ‘Shows how awake I was at the airport. That’s too bad, Barty’s the craic.’
You think?
‘So poor Ferdia has no one to play with,’ Jessie said.
‘What about Seppe and Lorenzo? I can play with them.’ Then, to Nell, ‘Marcello’s sons.’
She nodded, not interested, still all about the décor. ‘Look at this beautiful stone archway!’
He’d never noticed it before and this was his fourth visit. The archway opened to the shallow stone steps, leading to his upstairs bedroom.
‘Can we …?’
‘Work away.’
Tap-tapping up the steps, they crowded into the small, light bedroom.
‘Best Wi-Fi in the whole of Santa Laura,’ he said.
In the shade of the town square, Johnny was drinking espresso with Marcello. He didn’t like espresso and, this late in the day, it made him feel slightly sick.
‘You like something else?’ Marcello urged.
‘Nah. I’m practising. For when I run away and come to live here. The other men won’t let me sit with them if I’m drinking a caramel frappuccino.’
‘You are a big eejit.’ Jessie had taught him that word.
‘I’ll learn to play draughts. I’ll sit under the arches in the company of other men and life will be peaceful.’
‘You misunderstand,’ Marcello said. ‘We work like dogs for four months to earn money for the other eight months of the year.’
‘But you live in this beautiful place, you can walk to work and you don’t have to go to trade fairs in Frankfurt.’
‘We should exchange lives for a time.’
‘The stress would kill you.’
‘My life is not so easy. Another drink? Please, my friend, have something different.’
‘No. Another espresso. I’ve to build up my endurance.’
‘Ferdia,’ Saoirse called. ‘We’re ready.’
‘… Er. Wow.’ It was barely gone 6 p.m. but Saoirse and Robyn were dressed for a nightclub: short shimmery dresses, spindly-heeled sandals and stripes of shiny stuff on their faces.
‘Contouring,’ Saoirse informed him.
‘Will you be okay in those shoes?’ he asked Robyn. ‘Ten-minute walk uphill to the town and cobbled streets when we get there.’
‘I was born in high heels.’
Maybe so, but by the time they arrived in Il Gatto Ubriaco, he had a girl leaning on each arm.
Marcello’s kids, Seppe, Lorenzo and Valentina, were at a table overlooking the sun-baked plain below. There were warm hugs and double kisses. Briefly Ferdia forgot about Barty. ‘What’s everyone drinking?’
‘Aperol Spritz.’ Valentina indicated the orange drink in front of her.
‘2014 called. It wants its statement drink back.’ Robyn gave Ferdia a malicious smile.
He slid his eyes away, embarrassed. ‘So, six Aperol Spritzes,’ he said, and went to the bar.
It was passeggiata. Family groups, some of just two or three people, and others much bigger, wandered past the bar. They were mostly Italian, with