In Another Life, page 22
Bronte was about to break the silence with a mundane question when Natalie spoke.
‘I’m sorry about the funeral,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have just shown up.’
Well, that was as good a place to start as any, thought Bronte.
‘It was fine,’ she replied soothingly. ‘It was just a bit of a surprise for us. We didn’t know Mum had a sister.’
‘No,’ said Natalie. ‘I suppose not.’
There was no shock in her expression. That her nephew and nieces didn’t know of her existence didn’t seem to be news to her.
‘If we had,’ Bronte continued, ‘then obviously we would have invited you. But it was just a bit of a bombshell, you turning up like that. And Marc, he’s my brother, well, he can be a bit . . .’ Bronte searched for the word. She didn’t want to put Marc down, but he had been very dismissive of Natalie in the cathedral. ‘Well, it was a stressful day for us all,’ she said. ‘And then when you disappeared at the end . . .’
Bronte let her eyes rest directly on Natalie’s face, giving her an opportunity to explain her behaviour, but Natalie’s lips were drawn into a thin line.
‘Anyway, you’re here now. That’s the main thing,’ Bronte stumbled on, but it was hard work, like drawing blood from the proverbial stone. Maybe the small talk thing wouldn’t work. Perhaps she needed to dive straight in with the real questions. Then she had a better idea.
‘Let me tell you something about us,’ she said brightly and began to paint a full picture of her father and the three children. She described where everyone lived and what they were all doing, talked about Marc and his children, Natalie’s great-nephews, and Natalie looked interested, nodding at the details and smiling a little. The smiles felt like a breakthrough although they were tight and short-lived.
‘I did know some things about you all,’ she said. She picked at a bobble on her fleece. There were plenty to go at. ‘I knew that Etta had children and that she lived in Ripon. That’s how I heard she had died, from the local paper. A headline popped up on my phone.’
Bronte’s mouth fell open.
‘Oh God, that must have been awful,’ she said. ‘Hearing like that.’
Then she remembered that she didn’t know why her aunt wasn’t in her mother’s life. If they had fallen out then perhaps she didn’t care that she had died. Yet she had been at the funeral and was here now. All love was evidently not entirely lost.
Natalie swallowed and brought her mug to her mouth, although she didn’t take a sip, and Bronte had the impression that she was using it as a kind of mask.
‘Yeah. That was a bit shit. I always thought, maybe one day . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Too late now.’
This statement brought a punch of emotions to Bronte that she had to brace herself to withstand. She closed her eyes to concentrate on maintaining control, but Natalie was right. It was too late. It was all too late.
The wave of grief left Bronte feeling less sympathetic to this stranger.
‘So why did Mum never tell us about you?’ The words were out of her mouth before she had weighed them up.
Natalie shrugged again as if she had no idea why the split had occurred. But that couldn’t be true. You didn’t just stop keeping in touch with your sister for no reason.
‘Was there an argument?’ Bronte pressed. ‘Was that it? Some kind of falling-out.’
‘I never fell out with Etta,’ Natalie said simply. ‘I loved her.’
This was making no sense and Bronte began to feel exasperated as she tried to unravel the story behind it all. She remembered what Liz had said about the family’s humble beginnings. Could that be the key to unlocking this mystery? Bronte hated to even consider it, but was the answer simply that her mother had chosen to ditch her old life and leave her family behind? She stared at her aunt in her scruffy jacket, with her bitten fingernails and face lined from a hard life – harder than the one her mother seemed to have had, at least. She supposed it wasn’t inconceivable.
Bronte decided to change tack.
‘Why don’t you tell me about you?’ she said. ‘You’re older than Mum?’
Natalie shook her head.
‘No. Etta was my big sister. Three years older than me.’
Bronte tried not to let her surprise show on her face but she was apparently unsuccessful. Natalie ran a hand through her cropped hair and shuffled in the chair.
‘It’s been tough.’
‘What has?’ asked Bronte bluntly, in case being blunt and not gentle was what was required to move the conversation forward.
For a moment Natalie looked as if she might actually tell her but then the shutters seemed to come back down and she didn’t reply. Maybe she wasn’t going to tell Bronte anything at all.
‘Where do you live?’ Bronte tried. Surely that couldn’t be a controversial question.
Natalie paused for a moment, as if deciding how to answer.
‘I was abroad for a long time,’ she said. ‘Italy first. Then France, Spain, Greece. I’ve moved around a lot.’
Bronte smiled encouragingly.
‘That’s cool,’ she said. ‘I’ve always wanted to travel but somehow I’ve never really left Ripon. And now? Do you live in the UK?’
Natalie nodded.
‘I’ve been back for a while. Scotland. Wales. I like remote places. Not too busy. Safe. I tend to do best by myself. I’m pretty self-sufficient.’
A flicker of pride crossed her face.
‘I’m the opposite,’ said Bronte. ‘I need people around me. I’ve never been much good on my own. When we were kids, Marc, that’s my brother, he used to abandon me in places so that I could make my own way home. He was always telling me how I’d never get anywhere in life if I didn’t learn to stand on my own two feet. I don’t have any gumption, apparently. He’s probably right. It would explain why I’ve never wandered far from the nest.’
Natalie pulled her eyebrows together into a deep frown that made the wrinkles on her face even more severe.
‘That’s bollocks,’ she said, and the vehemence of her reply made Bronte start. ‘Look at this place,’ Natalie continued. ‘It’s great. This is just you, isn’t it? No one else?’
‘No. Just me.’
Natalie opened her hands as if to signify the accuracy of her point. QED.
‘You shouldn’t let people put you down like that, Bronte,’ she said, her voice suddenly fiery. ‘Don’t get caught up in someone else’s agenda. Marc saying that tells me more about his faults than any you might have.’
This was the longest sentence she had uttered since she arrived and she looked almost as surprised by her outburst as Bronte was.
‘Yes,’ said Bronte. ‘You’re probably right.’
‘It sounds like he needs to make you feel rubbish so that he can feel better about himself. But that’s his crap, not yours. Don’t ever forget that.’
A flush began to spread over Natalie’s cheeks and she lowered her gaze again.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘None of my business.’
Bronte considered her, this stranger with her secrets and her forthright opinions. Who was she really? Where had she been and what did she want now? Bronte was still none the wiser.
And yet here she was, sticking up for Bronte as if she had always been a part of her life. For years Bronte had been the butt of her siblings’ jokes, the middle and slightly inadequate child. It was so refreshing to feel as if someone had her back, just like her mother had always done.
‘Well, it is kind of your business,’ Bronte said. ‘After all, you are my only aunt.’
54
1984 – Sicily
Natalie had been in Ortigia with the family for two weeks and she now knew her way around the tiny island. The wider city of Syracuse was still a mystery but as they tended to be either on Ortigia or at one of the nearby beaches then that didn’t matter. She already had a favourite bar, the one where she and Danny had been for a drink on that first night, and she knew which shops sold the nicest bread, the freshest fish, the sweetest fruit.
She, Annette and Paola seemed to be in charge of buying food and Stella, who had never excelled in this area, seemed happy to relinquish control. Cooking had become a bit of a cooperative affair with all the women claiming a signature dish or two. Even Paola could make a mean pollo alla cacciatora with a little bit of help. The family also ate out in the evenings a lot, which left Annette, Danny and Natalie to have free run of the kitchen. Gabriella, the housekeeper, didn’t live in and as long as they left the kitchen clean at the end of the night she was happy too.
That evening Natalie had made a tomato and mozzarella salad, drenching everything in thick green olive oil and finishing with a generous grind of black pepper. Annette had fried some fish and they’d eaten it with fresh bread and washed it all down with a bottle of red wine, which was Danny’s contribution. Now they sat on a first-floor balcony overlooking the town and enjoyed the evening’s warmth.
Annette, sprawled in a chair with one leg slung over its arm, took a packet of cigarettes out of her shirt pocket and lit one before offering the packet around. Natalie had never been a smoker, but Danny helped himself, lighting it with an old brass Zippo that he always had on him. He took a long luxurious drag, closing his eyes as he let the smoke travel deep inside his lungs. He didn’t look anything like James Dean but the way he moved, so languidly, reminded her of him. She found it hard not to stare and only just looked away in time when he opened his eyes again.
There was still nothing going on between them beyond a kind of slightly aloof friendship. They didn’t even indulge in harmless flirting. There were no looks that held a second too long, no accidental brushes of each other’s bodies with stray hands.
But there was something there. Natalie could feel it, a tension between them that would make no sense if it wasn’t gilded with sexual chemistry. He was biding his time. Natalie had no idea why but she could feel his restraint as strongly as if he had physical bonds holding him back.
Well, she could wait. Not forever – she wasn’t a doormat. But until he got over whatever it was that was making him cautious. And there was something quite exciting about it, trying to work out what was going on in his head, although she was no clearer on that score. Annette had said she should just take matters in hand herself, kiss him first to force something to happen, for good or bad, then at least she’d know. But that wasn’t Natalie’s style, and anyway she did know. She just didn’t know why he was being so hesitant.
This evening, they were tipping over into being drunk. That wasn’t something that often happened. Natalie had to be up with the children and generally bowed out early, which tended to bring Annette to a stop too, but this evening the first bottle had quickly slipped into a second and now they were on to the Strega.
Natalie tipped her head back and looked up at the velvety sky. The moon wasn’t more than a slither of light and she couldn’t see as many stars here as she could at the villa because of the lights all around them, but the sky was definitely clearer than it had ever been in London. She let out a sigh of contentment.
‘This is the life,’ Annette said, blowing smoke rings. ‘So tell me, Danny,’ she continued, as the latest curl of white smoke floated off into the night. Her words sounded thicker and less crisp than they usually did.
Natalie opened her eyes wide, signalling that Annette most definitely should not ask Danny what his intentions were regarding her, but that didn’t seem to be what Annette was interested in.
‘Uh huh?’ replied Danny, flicking his ash into the scallop shell that sat on the table for that purpose.
‘When you go off doing “jobs” for Salvatore . . .’ She flapped her hands to make loose air quotes around the word. ‘What is it that you’re actually doing? I mean, it’s all so bloody mysterious.’
Danny shrugged.
‘Not that mysterious,’ he replied. ‘Usually I’m delivering documents for him, stuff that needs to get there fast or that he doesn’t want to risk in the post.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Annette. ‘I know all that. But what is it actually?’
‘It’s actually that. No mystery.’
Annette turned to face him, narrowing her eyes as she sucked on her cigarette.
‘Okay. So what’s in the documents to make them so precious?’ she asked.
Danny shrugged.
‘How am I supposed to know? I don’t read them. They’re in sealed envelopes.’
‘And you never have to deliver anything else,’ Annette persisted. ‘Stuff that isn’t document shaped?’
Natalie hadn’t given any thought to what Danny did for Salvatore.
‘Why does it matter?’ she asked. ‘Who cares what he’s delivering?’
‘It’s just weird, that’s all,’ replied Annette. ‘Sneaking off here, there and everywhere and then not saying what he’s up to.’
‘I do not sneak,’ said Danny, sounding affronted now.
‘So why not say what you’re up to?’ persisted Annette.
‘I don’t not say!’ Danny’s frustration was showing in his tone. ‘I say I’m delivering documents for Salvatore. There’s no mystery, no sneaking.’
‘Humph,’ said Annette.
‘What are you getting at, Annette?’ asked Natalie. ‘What is it you want him to admit to?’
Annette slumped back in her chair, the fight gone from her.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But don’t you think it’s weird though?’
Natalie wasn’t following.
‘I don’t get you. Weird how?’
Annette opened her mouth to reply, closed it again. Then she shook her head with exaggerated movements.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Ignore me. I’m going to bed. See you two tomorrow.’
And then she stubbed her cigarette out in the scallop shell and weaved her way into the house.
55
Natalie watched Annette leave and then looked back to Danny.
‘What was that all about?’ she asked.
Danny shook his head slowly and blew his breath out noisily.
‘God knows,’ he said. ‘She’s got a bee in her bonnet though. We’ve had that same conversation before, her and me. I think she thinks Salvatore is up to no good.’
The conversation Natalie had had with Annette about the car bombing and the burned-out bakery came into her mind. Annette had warned her about mentioning anything to anyone but this wasn’t anyone. This was Danny.
‘You mean, she thinks he’s got something to do with the Mafia?’ She lowered her voice on the last word but it came out like an exaggerated stage whisper. Danny didn’t flinch.
‘Pretty much,’ said Danny. ‘Or at least, that’s what I’m guessing.’
Natalie thought about Salvatore dressed in his expensive suits, the way he watched everything and never gave anything away. Then there was this house and the villa and who knew what else. She supposed it might make sense that the money for it all came from something shady. Then again, it might just as well have come from the sulphur mine business. People did make money in Sicily without it being done through the Mafia, she assumed.
‘He hasn’t, has he?’ she asked.
She couldn’t think what difference it would make to her to know one way or the other, but the question slipped out anyway.
Danny threw her a look that made her wish she hadn’t asked.
‘Of course not,’ he said, his tone sharp-edged.
Natalie suddenly felt very small and stupid.
‘Well, I didn’t think he would be,’ she added weakly.
‘Don’t you think I’d know?’ he said. ‘If I was working as a delivery boy for a Mafia boss?’
‘I suppose so,’ she replied.
But if you were, you’re hardly likely to tell me, she thought. In fact, denying it is exactly what you’d do. These thoughts didn’t have time to play out much further because Danny was leaning towards her and taking her hand in his. His hand was cool and smooth. Natalie looked at it and then up at him, confused by the sudden change of direction.
His face was very close to hers now. She could smell the Strega and cigarette smoke on his breath.
‘You know that I like you, Natalie,’ he was saying. ‘I like you very much.’
And then before she could reply, he was kissing her. Her eyes closed automatically as she concentrated on the sensation of his lips on hers. She had thought about it so many times but his touch was gentler than she’d imagined. Slowly she opened her mouth and felt the tip of his tongue beginning to explore, and then she was lost.
The kiss seemed to go on for eternity and when he finally drew away, she opened her eyes and looked directly into his.
‘Wow,’ she said.
‘Wow indeed. I’ve wanted to do that for so long.’
It was such a corny line, she knew it was, and if she had been recounting the scene to Annette their comments would have been mocking; but somehow, now that it was being said to her, it felt like the most romantic thing ever. All the sloppy films she had ever seen flashed before her eyes and here she was, the star.
‘Me too,’ she said dreamily. Then a little of her senses returned. ‘So why didn’t you?’ she asked with a frown.
Danny looked as if the question had taken him by surprise, but he quickly rallied.
‘I wanted the moment to be exactly right,’ he said. ‘And I wasn’t sure you felt the same way. I didn’t want to make a tit of myself by pouncing on you only for you to reject me.’
He grinned at her, his little dimple winking at her, and she was lost again.
‘Well, we should probably make up for lost time,’ she said and leaned in for another kiss.
Around eleven o’clock the big front door banged downstairs and Natalie heard voices echoing around the house. Enzo and Gianni seemed to be arguing about something, Stella trying to calm them. She and Danny pulled apart.
‘You’d better go to bed before they catch us,’ he said, giving her nose a playful tap. ‘I’ll tidy up here.’
Natalie didn’t have to be told twice. If she was still awake no doubt Stella would rope her into getting the children to bed, even though she was technically off duty, and that was the last thing she wanted. All she wanted right now was to lie in the dark in her bed and replay her first kisses with Danny, the first of many, she felt sure.
