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Oh, Leo.
Of all of the times to drop a stink bomb, this wasn’t one of them. But what could you do?When you have to go, you have to go.He was only a baby, for goodness’ sake.
Probably sensing that they were talking about him, Leo started wailing like he was being tortured. I pushed his pram back and forth to calm him down, but his screams grew louder.
The women started pointing wildly towards the door. I might not have understood the words shooting from their mouths, but their expressions said it all: I was a bad mother who needed to take Leo home immediately and change his dirty nappy.
And of course, learn how to speak Italian, as they had no intention of talking English anytime this century.
As Leo’s cries became more high-pitched, one of the women stormed over to the door and flung it open, flapping her arms and ushering me outside. ‘Vattene! Vattene!’ she shouted.
I got the message loud and clear. She wanted us to leave. I dropped the basket angrily on the counter and wheeled the pram outside as fast as I could.
You’d think I’d insulted them or been caught shoplifting. Since when was not speaking the native language or a baby answering the call of nature a crime?
Ever since I’d moved here,that’s when.
Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t all bad. I couldn’t deny Chiorno had character. It was a medieval hilltop town, with pretty red-roofed houses and buildings. Very easy on the eye. That was one of the things I’d loved when I’d first visited.
When Lorenzo had turned up at my fortieth birthday party in London last year and invited me over to see if I’d like to live here with him permanently once Leo was born, I’d jumped at the chance. And from the moment I arrived, I thought I’d been transported to a fairy-tale town. It looked like a picture-perfect Italian postcard.
The cute, winding cobbled streets were a million miles away from the grey, dreary pavements in London. The views of lush greenery and clear blue sunny skies were so different to the clouds and cold weather I was used to back home. And on the rare occasions that we left the house (or shall I say, the bedroom) to go for a stroll or eat at the local restaurants, the people seemed fine. But it wasn’t real. Everything was fresh and exciting. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was in a bubble. High on love. Giddy about the new chapter in my life. Little did I know what I was letting myself in for…
My bottom lip began to quiver.
Get a grip. Don’t let those bullies upset you. You’re stronger than that.
As the tears started rolling down my cheeks, it became clear that I wasn’t. Then, to make things worse, it started to rain.
What was I doing here?
Trying to be a domestic goddess and getting kicked out of a shop wasn’t my idea of a happily-ever-after.
What happened to the idyllic life I’d dreamt of? Where I’d spend my days basking in the Italian sunshine with my perfect baby and the love of my life by my side, whilst eating delicious pizza, pasta and gelato?
I knew moving to another country where I didn’t speak the language would be difficult, but I didn’t realise it would be this hard.
Was leaving London to be with Lorenzo a big mistake?
