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Chapter Two
‘Cocco disidratato,’said Lorenzo as he stroked my hair. Leo had finally got off to sleep and we were tucked up in bed.
‘Huh?’ I said, passing him a mug of lavender herbal tea. He’d slept badly last night, so I thought it might help.
‘Grazie.Cocco disidratatois how you say desiccated ordriedcoconut initaliano. So you were almost right.’ He kissed me gently on my forehead.
‘Well, I’d saidcocoinstead ofcoccoand I had no idea about that last word you just mentioned, butyeah. Apart from that, I was spot on,’ I sighed, still feeling deflated about my rubbish Italian skills.
‘Tranquilla. Don’t worry,’ he purred in his beautiful accent. ‘You can do it. You just need time.’
‘It’s been three months!’ I mean, I wasn’t expecting to be an expert, but definitely thought I should be doing a lot better than I was.
‘Andpatience. Took me many years to learn English. And still is not perfect. I think you should try some lessons. Will make everything easier.’
‘I know I should, but when?How?I barely have time to scratch my head, never mind study.’
‘Can you try to continue with Duolingo? For few minutes each day? You did well with that before, no? Practising when Leo is on the breast?’
‘Iwas, and Iused tobe able to squeeze in a couple of lessons on my phone, but now because of all the extra stuff I’m doing for the business,breastfeeding and Duolingo timehas becomereplying to emails and making calls time, because apart from when Leo’s asleep, during the day it’s usually the only chance I get to do anything else.’
After turning down the offers to buy BeCome, my beauty PR agency, I’d promoted my associate director, Robyn, to acting managing director and put her in charge. I trusted her implicitly. We’d worked side-by-side for a decade and as she knew the business inside out, she was the obvious choice to head up the company. Robyn had always been reliable, but lately I got the feeling she was overwhelmed. There’d been a few forgotten emails and deadlines missed, which wasn’t like her at all. I raised my concerns and she said she was fine, but I decided that even though I was still supposed to be on maternity leave, I’d start taking on more work to help out, just in case.
So when you added the extra workload to trying to cope with the whirlwind of becoming a new mum and living in a foreign county, it was easy to understand why learning to count to twenty in Italian hadn’t been my highest priority.
‘Amore.’ Lorenzo took my hand. ‘I know it is difficult, but it will be more difficult for life here to get better if we cannot find time for you to learn. It is not tourist town and many people are older, so will be easier if you speak the language. I can ask the restaurant to reduce my hours so I can help more, or Mamma can—’
‘You’ve already cut your hours, so I know you can’t reduce them any more. Thanks’—I kissed him on the cheek—‘but I don’t need your mum’s help. I can manage by myself.’
The mamma conversation.Again.
It felt like her name was mentioned fifty times a day. At least I’d escaped her coming around for dinner this evening. As soon as I’d called Lorenzo and told him about my nightmare in the supermarket, he’d phoned Marta and said we’d need to reschedule dinner for tomorrow instead. He’d even brought some desiccated coconut home. Such a sweetie.
Whilst I had been saved from Marta for twenty-four hours, I’d still have to face her tomorrow. And probably the next day and the next. She only lived ten minutes away, so she liked to visit often.
Before I met Lorenzo, I’d heard a lot about Italian men and their mothers. That the mums doted on their sons—even when they were grown—and that in the man’s eyes, their mamma was perfection personified. But I’d never really believed it. Surely it was just a stereotype. Just because he was Italian, it didn’t mean Lorenzo automatically idolised his mother, right?
Wrong.
Can’t get the kitchen clean enough? Mamma would know how to make it sparkle. Coffee not tasting right? Mamma used to make the perfect cup, whilst simultaneously cooking the perfect meal for a family of forty peopleandnegotiating world peace.
That was the impression I got from the way he raved about his childhood.
I wasn’t saying respecting and loving your mother was a bad thing. After all, they did so much for us. I adored my mum and I hoped I’d raise Leo well enough that he’d feel the same about me too. But please, God, don’t let me become a helicopter mother who hovered over her son constantly like Marta did.
Don’t get me wrong. Lorenzo wasn’t one of those guys who was tied to his mum’s apron strings. After all, he’d left this town many times to go and work abroad and develop his career. He was perfectly capable of cleaning up after himself, and naturally, being a chef, he didn’t need mummy to do his cooking. Thankfully, Lorenzo was an independent man. However, there was no doubt about it. They came as a package deal. Love him, love his mamma. Wehadto get along.
But it wasn’t easy. For starters, she didn’t speak any English and I could tell she didn’t like me. I just sensed it. I didn’t know why exactly. Maybe she didn’t approve of Lorenzo having an English girlfriend. Or perhaps she didn’t like how we’d agreed to bring up Leo.
As his grandmother, I couldn’t stop Marta from seeing Leo, but this wasourbaby, so Lorenzo and I would share the responsibility. I’d worked hard to get Leo into a routine and the last thing I wanted was to start letting her have extended babysitting sessions so that she could disrupt it.
‘Va bene. Okay,’ replied Lorenzo. ‘But remember, we have the option and Mamma wants to help. Think about it.’
‘Okay,’ I said, switching off the lamp, knowing that I wasn’t going to change my mind. I’d manage without her.
Lorenzo shuffled up and held me.
I shut my eyes. My mind was racing. On the one hand, being here in his arms felt like the best place in the world. I felt secure and happy. I’d finally found the man of my dreams and had the baby I’d always wanted. We were a family. When Leo was calm and Lorenzo was by my side, I was convinced I was the luckiest woman on the planet. But on the other, during the day, whilst Lorenzo was at work, when Leo wouldn’t stop crying, when I missed my friends, when I had nobody nearby to talk to and nothing interesting to do in this town, I hated living here. I felt completely isolated and would dream of being back in London, surrounded by familiarity.
