The woman grinned and rolled her eyes. ‘The man is pure adulation. Nice to meet you, Nina. Are you Italian?’
‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Sicilian English.’
‘Then maybe you’d like to give me a few tips on some of your specialties?’
‘I’d love to,’ I agreed. Anyone who loved to cook was a friend of mine.
After a tour of the house and gardens, which left me completely gobsmacked, we sat down to lunch, by which time I was ravenous. Martha had made an exquisite Caesar salad, a carbonara pasta dish and a large apple pie from scratch, and I wondered how long before Jack’s apples would be ready to harvest.
It was all delicious, of course. Martha was very graceful and Luke was entertaining and the kids were on their best behaviour, including Chloe. Until… she wasn’t.
‘What’s it like to be blind?’ she asked Jessica out of the blue while she chomped on her dessert.
I swallowed. ‘Chloe…’
Jessica turned my way and smiled. ‘It’s all right, Mrs Conte. I don’t actually get much of a chance to talk about it. Everyone seems to think I can’t accept it. But I do. I was born this way, and don’t know any better. That view, for instance. Imagine not seeing it. Can you?’
‘No…’
‘Sure you can. Close your eyes – you, too, Ben – and tell me what you can detect through the open doors.’
Luke’s eyes swung to mine, and he smiled, a proud fatherly smile, and my heart went out to him. He was so lucky to have such a lovely daughter.
‘The waves,’ Chloe said.
‘The ebb and flow,’ Ben said.
‘Ben, stop showing off,’ Chloe said. ‘The wind… not strong, but steady. A little like the Cornish winds.’
I didn’t know my daughter had even acknowledged the Cornish winds. Huh.
‘And… seagulls?’ she added.
‘Yes, that’s right, Chloe. Now open your eyes.’
They did.
‘Can you see the wind and the seagulls from where you’re sitting?’
‘No,’ Ben answered. ‘But I noticed them as soon as I closed my eyes!’
‘That’s right, Ben. I use my other senses. I can tell when my dad is sad or tired or upset, by just listening to his breathing, and the tone of his voice.’
‘You never told me that,’ he said, slightly unnerved. ‘I thought I fooled you. I’m an actor, after all.’
Jessica giggled. ‘Not a very good one, Dad!’
Oh, how I wished my children could have a similar relationship with their own father. But then again, Jessica must be longing to have a mother.
As Luke promised, after lunch, we went for a frolic on the beach, which was so different from our Cornish beaches. With Ben and Chloe’s help, Jessica built a sandcastle three foot high, complete with a moat and seaweed for the drawbridge chains.
‘It looks sturdy enough,’ I admired, and Jessica’s head swung in my direction. ‘Yes, and not a sliding glass door in sight. All cosy and safe.’
I looked at Luke, and his lips pursed in thought.
‘That’s why I’m selling it, you see,’ he explained as the two of us took a short stroll down the beach, the kids further ahead. ‘What’s the point of having a huge house full of vistas, staircases and glass that could harm her if she took a wrong turn, and most of all a house that she can’t enjoy? I want something more tactile for her, something smaller, cosier, warmer.’
I was silent, but nodded.
He stopped. ‘You don’t like it either, do you?’
I looked up and halted just before him. It was already surreal, being here on the private beach of one of the most famous actors on the planet. But having him ask me for my opinion was way off the charts. And I was supposed to tell him the truth?
‘It is magnificent, with all the views and everything. Gorgeous, in fact. But I have to agree with Jessica who appreciates something much more, as you said, tactile. Walls she can run her hands along without worrying about smudging massive glass expansions. Flagstone floors that accompany you throughout your house and dip in the most worn spots. Ancient hearths that tell you the secrets of many a dweller before you while you surrender to their warmth, surrounded by friends and family…’
Luke smiled. ‘We definitely know who the writer here is,’ he said. ‘You sounded like you were talking about a place that really exists…’
‘It does. It’s my home.’
13
About A Boy
The next day was the day of Ben’s appointment with a specialist. The true highlight of our trip. We were escorted into a dimly but elegantly lit office that looked more like a lounge, and were served hot and cold drinks while Dr Ellenberg clearly stated Ben’s situation after examining him thoroughly.
‘I’m sorry, Doctor, if I ask again, but I need to be sure. Are you saying that with this operation, which is not as invasive as we thought, my son will be able to walk without a brace?’
‘Ms Conte,’ he said, removing his glasses, and for a moment I dreaded I’d misunderstood the contents of the entire twenty-minute consultation. ‘Your son’s ligaments are shorter than they should be, and that’s what’s causing him to limp. His bones are perfectly well proportioned. With an operation, he’ll be running around like any other boy in six months’ time. Of that I can assure you.’
I don’t know what happened to me, but all of a sudden it was as if the puppet master keeping me constantly upright just pulled the wrong string and I collapsed. My shoulders shuddered as I silently wept, tears running down my cheeks and into my mouth, salty and hot, all the while cursing myself for being unable to keep it together.
He leaned forward and patted my hand. ‘Ms Conte, you have every reason to cry these tears of joy. Your son will be just like everyone else.’
Oh, if he only knew. Ben was never going to be
