Читать книгу The Italian's Touch - Carol Marinelli, Carol Marinelli - Страница 8

FLEUR let out an involuntary cry of anguish as she watched Alex leap to grab the football, only to be knocked sideways to the ground by the opposing team. Resisting the urge to run onto the footy pitch, she stood there nervously chewing on her bottom lip as Alex picked himself up, covered in mud but apparently none the worse for wear. Casting an anxious look in his mother’s direction, he gave her a thumbs-up sign before joining his team-mates in yet another mad dash for the oval ball.

‘The more I see of the game, the less I understand.’ A deep, heavily accented voice that could only belong to one person broke her concentration. Blushing furiously, Fleur gave a small nod of agreement. What on earth was Mario Ruffini doing at Auskick?

‘They call it football, and yet they handball, run with the ball, throw the ball. It isn’t even a proper football—it looks like a rugby ball to me. And it’s such a rough game.’

‘You’re not wrong there,’ Fleur muttered, wishing he would be quiet so she could pay attention to the game or, more to the point, Alex.

‘In my country we play real football, or soccer as you call it here. Now, that I understand. But I am slowly starting to learn this game of yours.’ He spoke as if Australian Rules football was a game she’d invented personally. ‘I brought my nephew along today, he loves it with a passion. I’m hoping to get to see a few real matches while I’m here. You know, follow it properly.’

Fleur shrugged, staring pointedly ahead. ‘Oh, well, when in Rome and all that.’

‘Not for a while yet. I’m here for a year.’

‘Pardon?’ Turning for the first time, she was somewhat taken back when she saw Mario. Out of a suit and dressed in black jeans and black crew-neck jumper, he was definitely worth a second look! Sporting a heavy few days of growth on his chin and his dark hair for once unkempt, Mario looked rather more Mexican than Italian. As if he should be in a dusty bar, drinking tequila with a bandanna on his head, not standing in the middle of a muddy footy field in the bayside suburbs of Melbourne.

‘You asked me when I went back to Rome. I was explaining I was in Australia for a year.’

Fleur gave him a bemused look. ‘Oh, no.’ She laughed as she realised what had happened. ‘I meant, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. It’s a proverb.’

It was his turn to look bemused. ‘A proverb—what is this proverb?’

Fleur thought for a moment ‘It’s like a saying,’ she said slowly. ‘An adage. When in Australia, do as the Australians do.’ From the lost expression on his face he obviously didn’t understand. ‘You’ve no idea what I’m talking about, have you? When in France, do as the French do. Like…’ She tried to conjure up an image. ‘Drink red wine and eat lots of cheese and look fabulous.’

A slow smile crept across his face. ‘So when in Australia, I watch footy and have barbecues and drink cold beer?’

‘That’s about it.’

‘Thank you for explaining this to me.’

Glad that at least had been cleared up, Fleur turned back to the game, trying to concentrate while achingly aware of his presence. Cringing as she recalled her actions earlier in the week, she’d expected him to either ignore her or at least treat her in the same curt fashion he did at work, but Mario seemed intent on being friendly as he hovered next to her.

‘Of course you can apply it to smaller things,’ Fleur said, surprising herself by resurrecting the conversation. ‘It doesn’t just have to be about countries.’

‘Now I really am confused.’

‘Well, say you came to my house and you smoked. I don’t smoke, so I’d hope you’d respect that and not smoke in my house.’

‘But I don’t smoke.’

How had she got into this? ‘No. But it if you did, as you put your cigarettes back in your pocket you might say, sadly perhaps, ‘‘Oh, well, when in Rome.’’ Look, I’m sorry. I probably haven’t explained myself very well.’

But Mario’s blue eyes were smiling now as realisation dawned. ‘No, I think you have explained things very well. Thank you.’

For a moment they turned back to the game but he was obviously intent on chatting. ‘See, there is my nephew Ricky.’ He pointed to a dark-haired boy sporting the red and black colours of the Essendon football team. Fleur actually knew Ricky, to look at anyway. He was in the same class as Alex. ‘He is the main reason I am in this country. My sister Teresa emigrated some years ago. It’s hard, realising you’ve got a nephew on the other side of the world that, apart from a few phone calls and pictures, you don’t even know. When the chance for this job came up I jumped at it.’

‘Do you live at your sister’s?’ Fleur asked.

‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’

Fleur shrugged. Mario looked more the penthouse type. ‘Doesn’t it cramp your style a bit?’

He laughed loudly. ‘Teresa is not my mother, thank goodness. You realise, if my mother saw us talking like this she would be booking the church already?’

‘That bad, huh?’

Mario nodded. ‘Another reason that I am here—a year off from blind dates was an added incentive. Anyway, the purpose of my year here is to catch up with my sister and get to know my nephew, so living with Teresa makes sense. Which is your son?’

‘Alex, the one in the helmet.’ He was easy to point out as Alex was the only child wearing the non-compulsory protective headgear.

‘Has he a head injury?’

Fleur gritted her teeth. Mario might be good-looking but he definitely talked too much. ‘No, that’s what I’m trying to prevent.’

‘Oh.’

His single word spoke volumes. So maybe she was a bit over-protective, but she was sick of having to justify herself for being a responsible parent. ‘I’m sure that if the other parents realised the dangers, every child on this field would be wearing a helmet.’

Mario didn’t look convinced. ‘I see your son wears the yellow and black colours. That means he supports the Richmond Tigers, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘They are my adopted team, too. And do you take him to the matches?’

Fleur shook her head. ‘No, well, at least not if I can help it. This is bad enough.’

Mario laughed. ‘So you’re not into football. Well, I guess that’s what fathers were invented for.’

His comment was well meant, of course, but Fleur had to bite her lip as the sharp sting of tears reached her eyes. Thankfully the whistle blew and she was saved from any further conversation as three excited little boys ran in their direction.

‘I kicked a goal, Mum. Did you see?’ Alex, bright eyed and breathless from exertion, ripped off his much-hated headgear and started to cough.

‘Yes, I saw. You played really well.’ Scrabbling in her bag, she pulled out his Ventolin inhaler but Alex pushed it away.

‘Mum, I’m fine.’

‘You’re coughing, you know how it starts.’

‘But I’ve been running for an hour. I’m fine, honest. Hey, Ricky,’ he said turning to his team-mate. ‘Did you see me kick a goal?’

Putting the inhaler back into her bag, Fleur was aware that Mario was watching her. ‘I’d best get them home.’

‘You have two children? I didn’t realise.’

‘No, just the one. Ben here belongs to my friend Kathy—you’d know her from Accident and Emergency— Kathy Fisk.’

‘I know Kathy, good for a gossip.’

Fleur grinned. ‘That’s the one.’

‘Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Fleur. Are you working then?’

Fleur nodded. ‘How was your conference?’

‘Interesting, but now I suffer for the time away from the department. I am going to drop Ricky off and then head in to work. Who knows? I might even get a chance to clear my desk.’

Fleur doubted that. A bulldozer was the only thing that would clear a space in that office. ‘Well, I hope it’s quiet for you. See you, Mr Ruffini.’

‘I’ll catch you later. Isn’t that what they say here?’ And taking Ricky by his muddy hand, they headed off to the car park.

Walking home, Fleur tried to keep one ear on the boys’ conversation as her mind kept drifting back to her chance meeting with Mario. Out of work he’d seemed so much more friendly, amenable even, nothing like the volatile autocrat she’d witnessed before. And Kathy had been right. He really was gorgeous… ‘Ricky’s dad’s taking him to the footy on Saturday.’ Alex announced.

‘Mine, too,’ Ben said proudly.

If only Greg, Kathy’s husband, supported the same team as Alex, Fleur thought for the hundredth time. It wasn’t that Greg minded taking Alex to the footy—in fact, he’d offered umpteen times—but Alex was his father’s son and had no interest in the other teams. Unless the Tigers were playing he simply didn’t want to know. She did take him now and then—usually when Alex had nagged long and effectively and Fleur was on one of her guilt trips about Alex missing out on a father figure—but it was a very occasional treat. The only pleasure Fleur got out of the Tigers winning was seeing Alex’s face, but even that prize came at a price—an extra load of washing so that Alex could wear his beloved footy jumper to school on the Monday. A ‘treat’ dreamt up by the school principal, who obviously didn’t have to scrape off the mud and steam-iron the blessed thing at seven-thirty on a Monday morning.

Kathy, as always, had just put the kettle on. ‘Thanks so much.’ She grinned as Fleur flattened herself against the wall to avoid the two young boys jostling past. ‘It’s my turn for the torture chamber next week.’

Luckily Kathy hated footy as much as she did and didn’t even bother to ask how the morning had gone. Sunday mornings had become fondly known between them as ‘job share’ long before Fleur’s return to work. It suited them both well. Greg was a long-distance truck driver who more often than not worked weekends, and as for Alex’s dad…well, he would have loved the ‘job’ but fate had put a cruel end to that.

‘We nearly didn’t make it this morning,’ Fleur admitted. ‘Alex practically refused to put his helmet on. I told him that unless he wears it he simply isn’t going, so don’t take any nonsense from him next week. If he starts to play up, ring me on your mobile and I’ll come and fetch him. He’s got to realise I mean what I say. It’s for his own good.’

‘Is it?’ Kathy knew she was on dangerous ground here but she persisted, trying to ignore the pursed lips in Fleur’s pale face. ‘Do you really think it’s good for him to be the only kid out there padded to the hilt?’

‘It’s a rough game.’ Fleur said tartly.

‘And Alex is a boy. Rough games are the ones they play best. Look, I know it might be none of my business, but you’re my best friend so I’m making it my business. You know how mean kids can be sometimes about the tiniest thing? Alex wearing that headgear makes him stand out, makes him a target. Not to mention you rushing over every five minutes and driving past the playground umpteen times a day while he’s at school.’

‘I do not,’ Fleur said hotly. ‘I mean, if I’m going past on the way to the shops I might slow down—’

‘And nearly cause a pile-up behind you as you crane your neck, trying to see if Alex is playing with anyone—’

‘I know, I know,’ Fleur interrupted. ‘Look, Kathy, in every other way I’ve got my life together. I’m independent, I’ve got great friends and a bit of a social life under way.’ Kathy’s sceptical look deserved an answer. ‘Or at least I’m starting to—it’s just hard, leaving Alex. I know I’m overprotective, and I am trying to let go, I really am. I just feel so responsible, if anything were to happen to him, I mean. When Rory was alive, there was someone to share it with…’ Her voice trailed off.

‘I’m sorry, Fleur. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I know it’s hard for you and you’re doing wonderfully.’

‘I wish I believed that.’

‘But you are,’ Kathy said emphatically. ‘You’re a wonderful mother. Alex is a great kid.’

‘But he’s not happy, Kathy. He’s struggling to make friends, he’s even started to wet the bed again. I know my anxiety translates to him but I just can’t seem to help myself.’

‘You are helping yourself, Fleur. You’re back at work, getting on with your life. Alex is going to be just fine, if only you let him.’

‘The only trouble with that,’ Fleur said slowly, ‘is that it’s so much easier said than done.’

* * *

‘Ricky’s eight next month. He’s having a sleep-over party.’

Hearing the wistful note in his voice Fleur trod carefully. ‘That sounds nice.’

‘He hasn’t given out his invitations yet. I expect Ben will be going—he gets invited to lots of parties.’

‘You go to parties, too,’ Fleur pointed out.

‘But not like Ben.’

He was right, Fleur thought with a sigh as she cleared the plates and Alex’s untouched vegetables. But Ben’s father hadn’t died two weeks before he’d started school. Kathy had been happy to get involved with the coffee mornings, school runs and the social chitchat at the school gates while she herself had stood there, shivering despite the hot summer sun, dark glasses covering her reddened eyes, too scared of breaking down to respond to the well-meaning offers of help.

Fleur thought back to Alex’s last two birthday parties— low-key affairs with sombre relatives ducking out for a weep at every turn. Alex deserved a treat.

‘Tell you what, this year why don’t we do something special for your birthday? How about a tenpin bowling party?’

Alex’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’

‘Well, now I’m working I reckon that you deserve a treat.’

‘Cool! How many people can I invite?’

Fleur grinned. ‘Alex, it’s weeks away. I’m sure there’s plenty of time to write up a list.’

The prospect of a party lifted Alex’s mood sufficiently for him to put away the water jug and rather clumsily wipe down the table without being asked three times.

By the time Alex was finally asleep, all Fleur wanted to do was collapse in front of the television but, knowing it would make the early morning start impossible she set about making Alex’s packed lunch for tomorrow and sorting out their school and nursing uniforms.

Satisfied she was organised for the morning, Fleur settled down on the sofa, determined not to brood on the events of the week, but brooding was obviously the theme tonight. Kathy’s words had really rattled her. Fleur knew she exacerbated Alex’s nervousness, knew she had to let up a bit, but it was so damned hard. Everything was so damned hard without Rory.

Time healed.

It didn’t; it didn’t.

Sure, she didn’t wake up each morning sobbing like she used to. Didn’t wonder how she’d get through the next hour, let alone the day. But the agony of her loss was with her with every inch of the way. And she was angry, too. Not just for her and for Alex, but for Rory. Angry for all he’d missed out on. For the roll of the dice that had taken him away from all that he’d loved.

Time didn’t heal, Fleur decided.

You just learnt to live with the pain.

The ringing of the doorbell caught her unawares and it was a rather cautious Fleur that pulled the front door open, peering through the security door at her surprise visitor.

‘Fleur, I must apologise for the lateness of the hour.’

‘Mr Ruffini?’

‘Mario, please. I know it is late, but what I have to say simply cannot wait for the morning.’

His English, though excellent, was somewhat broken and Fleur was sure she could detect a note of urgency. Unclipping the security door, she gestured for him to come through, her heart sinking as she did so.

Mario looked as stunning as ever and Fleur felt drab in comparison, dressed in a sloppy jumper and leggings. When he didn’t break immediately into a speech about her earlier inefficiency, it was left to Fleur to break the rather awkward silence.

‘How did you know where I lived?’

‘Don’t worry, the hospital didn’t give out your address.’ It was a strict work policy that the emergency book which held the staff’s addresses and telephone numbers, in case of a change to the roster or a major influx of patients, was to be used only for what it was intended—emergencies. Too many lessons had been learnt in the past of the dangers of giving out such private information. ‘I used simpler methods, or so I thought.’

Fleur gave him bemused look.

‘The phone book,’ he explained. ‘There were only two F. Hadleys in the area, and Frank was very helpful.’

‘Frank?’ He’d really lost her now!

‘The other F. Hadley thought I’d just come from the airport and was trying to track down a long lost relative. It’s a long story,’ he added, looking at her totally confused expression. ‘The long and the short of it is that Frank and I are playing lawn bowls next Sunday.’

So he’d made another friend. ‘Er, do you want a cup of coffee, or a beer perhaps?’ Fleur asked, trying to think if there were any stubbies in the fridge.

‘Coffee would be wonderful, but only one lump of salt, please.’ Following her through to the kitchen, he watched in silence as Fleur filled two cups from the filter machine.

‘It was an accident,’ she blurted out finally.

‘And do you always blush so much when you lie?’

Fleur handed him the cup. ‘Always,’ she admitted sheepishly.

Mario just laughed. ‘You like a decent brew also?’

‘I might even start drinking it at work now you’ve bought the machine.’ If I’ve still got a job, she nearly added.

Taking the cup from her, their fingers brushed and Fleur suddenly felt incredibly awkward.

‘May we sit?’

‘Of course. Come through.’

The lounge was large and spacious, but a cricket field would have felt suffocating at the moment. ‘Look, I know what this is about,’ Fleur ventured. ‘I’d like to apologise…’

Mario put up his hand, effectively halting her from going any further. ‘It is I who should be apologising.’

‘You?’ Fleur asked, nonplussed. ‘But why?’

‘For my thoughtless comments this morning. I had no idea you were a widower.’

‘A widow,’ Fleur corrected gently. ‘And, please, don’t give it a moment’s thought. You weren’t to know.’

‘Perhaps not, and I am grateful to you for accepting my apology. But that doesn’t excuse this week’s events.’

Here it came! Fleur braced herself for a few sharp words Italian-style but again the wind was taken from her sails when he continued, ‘I most certainly should have known that you were a widow…’ He learns quickly, Fleur thought. ‘I am speechless, no, I am furious, that Danny did not have the decency to tell me. And not just me—all the staff should have been notified about the terrible circumstances surrounding your husband’s death.’

‘But most know anyway,’ Fleur said, instantly defending Danny. ‘I’m sure Danny just assumed—’

‘Then he should not have. He goes on and on about team spirit, comradeship, and then when it really matters he just assumes things are taken care of. I only found out from a passing comment he made this afternoon. I have teared him off a strip.’

Fleur didn’t bother to correct him as she was somewhat taken back by his obvious anger.

‘This must have been a terrible week for you, and undoubtedly there will be many more to come. The staff should be sensitive, helping you through. How can we if we are not even told about something as important as this?’

Fleur let out a sigh of relief. From the way he was talking it sounded as if he expected her to come back. ‘I am sorry, though, and not just about the coffee. I feel as if I’ve let everybody down.’

‘No, Fleur, they have let you down. It all should have been handled so much better. Danny told me you were actually on duty when your husband was brought in.’

Fleur nodded simply.

‘Are you able to tell me about it? Maybe then I can help.’

‘I doubt it.’ Looking up, she saw his eyes were fixed directly on her.

Embarrassed, nervous, her eyes flicked quickly away, her gaze coming to rest on her wedding picture. Perhaps she should tell him. Perhaps then he would understand her fear of going into Resus. And who knew? Maybe he could help.

Swallowing a couple of times, Fleur’s voice came out quietly and Mario had to lean forward to catch what she was saying, his eyes never once leaving her face.

‘It was just a normal Saturday night, busy as usual. I was down for Resus. We got an alert that a multiple MVA was coming in. A motor vehicle accident,’ she explained unnecessarily, but Mario just nodded his understanding as she tentatively continued. ‘As the news started to trickle in we learnt there was a stolen car involved. The police had been in pursuit, and one officer was trapped and one dead. I assured myself at first that Rory couldn’t be involved—he was a detective, not out on patrol. Then the paramedic bringing in the first victim made a casual remark about it having been an unmarked police car. I started to panic then. I knew I had to call him. I knew that I would be useless for work until I heard for myself that he was safe…’

‘Go on,’ he urged, but gently. Making his way across the room, he sat beside her on the sofa as she struggled to continue, his hand reaching for hers.

‘I hadn’t even dialled the station number when I saw Danny walking towards me. His face was grim and I just knew what was coming. I can remember actually feeling sorry for Danny when he delivered the news. It must have been the worst moment in his nursing career—telling a close colleague that her husband, the father of her five-year-old son, was seriously injured, on his way in with full resuscitation in progress.’

‘Did you have to work on your husband?’

‘No, nothing so dramatic. We weren’t so short-staffed then.’ Fleur managed a wry laugh but there was a catch in it and she started to cry. ‘I just sat in the staffroom with the nurse supervisor. She kept offering to make phone calls, but I needed to know how bad it was for myself before I tried to tell others.’ She was crying in earnest now. ‘Then Danny was in the doorway, with Kathy beside him. They didn’t have to say anything. One look at their faces and I knew it was over.’ She looked at the picture on the mantelpiece, the utter despair in her voice so achingly apparent that Mario wrapped his arm around her as if he could somehow shield her from the bitter end that was coming. ‘I knew then that Rory, my Rory, Alex’s dad, wasn’t going to be coming home, not ever.’

He let her cry for a while, his arm tightly around her as she wept onto his chest. Finally, when her mascara had long since gone and she’d reached the hiccoughing stage, he gently sat her up. Without a word he made his way to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water which Fleur sipped gratefully.