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Chapter Four
Perfect.
Even if I did say so myself. Mum would be proud. The apple crumble had turned out just how I wanted it to. Leo had been bathed, fed and the house was tidy.
In the end, despite trying to fit everything in, I reluctantly had to accept defeat and switch things up in my schedule. I couldn’t risk not having the house looking spotless, so I’d decided to skip our afternoon walk and swept and mopped instead, which took ages. That was the thing with this place. All the floors were tiled, so just running a vacuum around wouldn’t cut the mustard. As Marta was visiting, I had to make it sparkle.
The house wasn’t like the others in the main part of town, which were mostly on two floors. Our bungalow, which was about a fifteen-minute walk from the centre, was on one level. It kind of reminded me of a rustic farmhouse. It was a traditional stone building, with pretty green shutters on the windows and large potted plants next to the wooden front door.
As soon as you stepped into the house, you were inside the open-plan living room and dining area. It was fairly large, with terracotta tiles, original wooden beams and a fireplace. The furniture was simple: just a pair of red patterned sofas, an armchair, coffee table, TV and dark wooden dining table. I was happy to see everything was in its place. All the cushions were lined up neatly. Yep. Looking good.
I walked towards the two double doors either side of the fireplace, which led out to a terrace and huge garden. As always, the views of the rolling hills in the distance were stunning.
When I first came to visit, I’d imagined having lunch on the terrace against the breathtaking backdrop. I’d pictured our baby playing out on the lush green grass. Running into our arms, being free to enjoy the outdoors and breathe in the fresh country air.When it got a bit warmer, maybe we could sit out here on a Sunday afternoon as a family. That would be something nice to look forward to.
I put Leo in his chair and quickly walked from the living room into the hallway which led to the main bedroom. The tiled floors were sparkling too. Even though Marta should have no need to come in here, Ihadto make sure it was up to scratch.
Our bedroom was simple in terms of style. Lemon walls, a double bed with an orange patterned duvet, Leo’s cot, rustic wooden wardrobe and bedside tables. Very different to the sleek, modern design of my place in London, but I liked it. It was authentic, practical and childproof. The cream-and-white colour scheme I had in my townhouse definitely wasn’t ideal for raising a baby.
Next door to ours was Leo’s room, the kitchen was opposite the bedrooms and the bathroom was at the end of the hall. I’d given those rooms the once-over too, so everything was in order and ready for a visit from the mother-in-law. I challenged her to fault anything. Then again, saying that out loud was probably asking for trouble…
I checked the time. They’d be here any minute. Thankfully, Lorenzo would be bringing dinner. If I’d had to make thatandthe dessert, today would have been even more challenging. One of the many perks of having a chef as a boyfriend was that Lorenzo would often bring food home, which was a massive help.
It was Lorenzo’s idea for me to cook something for Marta. He said the way to an Italian’s heart was through food, so introducing her to more British dishes would help us build a relationship. Knowing how important it was for us to get on, I thought it was worth another try.
I sayanother, because on my first attempt last month, I’d cooked another classic British dish: shepherd’s pie. Trouble was, I’d accidentally sprinkled sugar onto the mince instead of salt. In my defence, it was in a little white bowl beside the stove, so I just thought Lorenzo had put it there to season the food whilst cooking. How was I to know it was some sugar he’d left after experimenting with some new cake recipes and he’d forgotten to tip it back into the bag?
To make matters worse, because I wanted to warm the oven up quickly, I put it on fan rather than normal. I’d then got sidetracked on a call to Robyn, so rather than the potato on top looking nice and golden, by the time I’d got off the phone and rushed back to the kitchen, it was pretty much chargrilled. A polite way of saying burnt to a crisp. I did a good job of scraping off most of the worst bits, but it still tasted awful.
Whilst Lorenzo tried to be nice about it and managed a few mouthfuls, Marta lifted her napkin to her mouth and spat it out. If I was being honest, I couldn’t blame her. So I was relieved the crumble had turned out much better. Hopefully Marta would like it and I would have redeemed myself.
In fact, maybe I was exaggerating and being oversensitive about her. I mean, Lorenzo thought she was amazing and I trusted his opinion. She clearly adored him and his last girlfriend was a psycho, so was it any wonder she was a bit wary of me? Perhaps I was being too hard on her. I mean, maybe she was lonely. Lorenzo’s dad had left her a couple of years ago, and with his brother in Singapore, it was understandable that she wanted to spend time with Lorenzo and her only grandchild.Yeah. I just needed to make more of an effort, that was all.
I heard the key in the door.
‘Look, Leo!’ I picked him up and carried him towards it. ‘It’s Daddy and Nana—Papà e Nonna!’ I was pleased that I’d managed to use two whole words of Italian. Hopefully that’d impress Marta.
‘Piccolino!’ Lorenzo opened his arms and lifted Leo from me, kissing him on the head before leaning forward to give me a kiss on the lips.
‘Buonasera, Marta.’ I smiled.
‘Buonasera.’ Marta frowned, looking me up and down. That was not an expression of approval. More of disappointment.Gosh.And I’d even put on lipstick and eyeliner rather than my standard tinted moisturiser, mascara and lip gloss. I was wearing my thick, dark shoulder-length hair down instead of in my usual undone ponytail and had dressed up in a loose pink-and-black zebra-print maxi dress rather than my normal T-shirt, leggings and jumper uniform. What was her problem?
‘Leonardo!’ Marta’s expression completely changed the moment she laid eyes on him. Her stone-cold face melted into a smile and her eyes lit up. ‘Amore di Nonna!’
Marta looked immaculate as always. She was dressed in a perfectly pressed navy blouse and long patterned navy skirt with her dark hair neatly tied up into a bun.That used to be me. Not the hairstyle or clothes, obviously, but well turned out. Nothing out of place. I’d scrubbed up okay this evening. Not as polished as the old Sophia, but no matter how tired I was, I always made an effort to shower, do my hair and try to make myself look presentable in the morning whilst Lorenzo watched Leo. Some days were better than others, though, and it was much easier to look good when you didn’t have a small human to run around after. Then again, if Lorenzo’s tales of Marta were to be believed, Mrs Supermum here could probably run the whole of Italyandraise twenty kids without breaking a sweat.
She took Leo from Lorenzo’s arms, kissed him on his forehead, then lifted him above her head and sniffed his bottom. Marta turned up her nose and then babbled something in Italian to Lorenzo.
‘Mamma asked if Leo needs to be changed?’
Oh, here we go.She’d only been here two seconds and had started her critiquing already.
‘No, he’s fine. He’s had a bath and I just changed him fifteen minutes ago.’
Lorenzo translated for Marta and she raised her eyebrow as if to say I was wrong. It was unlikely he’d done another poo, but babies were unpredictable. I supposed it wouldn’t do any harm to check again…
‘Here,’ I said, holding out my arms. ‘If you give him back to me, I can have another look before I put him to bed.’
