Daisy walked to the long table in the window and ran her hand over the back of a chair, trying to swallow down her nausea. But suddenly the desire to vomit overcame her and she rushed to the loo and retched until she spat. Dammit! Taking her time to wash her hands thoroughly, she braced her arms on the sink, looking directly into the mirror, trying to steady her trembling limbs. Nerves always had the power to get the better of her.
Loping back into the kitchen, Gianna stared at her, concerned. ‘Carlo said you’re not feeling well. Your lasagne is ready, but maybe I can make you something different, darling? Some green tea?’ she asked, as she wrapped the ciabatta slathered with herby garlic butter in foil, before reaching for the wooden brush doused in olive oil, which she let dance over the fat focaccia studded with sweet roasted onions and olives, and sprinkled with flakes of sea salt.
‘I’m okay, Gia. I might eat later, it’s just . . .’ She liked her boss, found her easy to talk to – far easier than her own mum who was more than a little preoccupied, what with her napping and all. Daisy could joke about it mentally, but the truth was she missed her mum, missed her being present, missed squabbling over the Monopoly board. ‘I know the family that are coming in tonight. The Kelleways.’
‘Yes, of course, they’re regulars.’
‘And they’re my next-door neighbours.’
‘Yes, I knew that, and it’s great!’ Gianna nodded with a forced smile. Daisy wondered if she was tired. ‘Like a party! It makes it easier to work on a Friday night instead of being out with your friends! Or something like that. I don’t know, what can I say that will make it seem better?’
Daisy felt the creep of tears. ‘It’s not so great.’ She sighed.
Gianna’s words had only exacerbated her sadness; she didn’t go out on a Friday night. She didn’t have friends to speak of. I mean, yes, there were acquaintances at school, a couple of girls she could chat to at chess club, but the kind of mates you could call on and make plans, talk about boys and go dancing with, text any random or funny thoughts? No, not that kind. She didn’t really know why but she’d always found it hard to find her gang. Girls in her classes were in the minority and those she studied with were as socially awkward as her.
There had been a couple of girls – Melodie and Fiona, who lived in the neighbouring street – who she’d hung out with a couple of times, watching DVDs while their mum, who was friends with her own mother, drank wine in the kitchen. It proved to be a glue of sorts, but her mother’s wine-drinking kitchen catch-ups had been non-existent for the last few years and by default so had her friendship with Melodie and Fiona. Not that she missed them. Melodie’s hobby was eating all the snacks and Fiona’s hobby was whining that her sister had eaten all the snacks.
‘Daisy, Daisy! This is not like you!’ Abandoning her brush, Gianna wiped her hands on her apron and reached for her, holding her in a warm hug. ‘You’re not happy? I want you to be happy! Why don’t you go out with that nice boy who hangs around outside sometimes on his bike? What’s his name? He has a nice face, long hair!’
Daisy closed her eyes briefly, wondering what it might feel like if Gianna was her mum, knowing she could only benefit from contact like this, concern like this. She felt a lance of betrayal that she could even consider such a thing. But how she hated how her mum’s depression had stolen the woman she loved away. She wished she knew how to steal her back.
‘It’s Dylan. Dylan with the nice face and the long hair. But he’s just someone in my class.’
‘You should give him a chance. Things like attraction and love are not always instant – this is real life, not a movie.’
‘Don’t I know it!’ Daisy sighed, kind of wishing that it was.
‘Sometimes things need a gentle prod.’ Gianna smiled.
‘Did you have to give Carlo a gentle prod before you fell in love?’ She loved to hear stories of how things started for couples, wondering what her own story might be and when it might begin.
‘Carlo . . .’ Gianna laughed softly and bit her lip in memory. ‘I was so unsure, even when we were standing in front of the church doors, me in white and he with hair oil holding back his thick, dark locks, and everyone we loved throwing rice at us. We didn’t know what was ahead – who does? But we’ve woven a story. I’m no longer that girl who stood blushing on the church steps in front of Father Alberti. I mean, look at me, Daisy, my waist is thicker, hair thinner, bosom bigger, bottom wider.’
Daisy smiled at the woman who was still, despite her dire self-assessment, beautiful.
‘But I gave him a chance and here we are, and it’s not all been sunshine and roses. We never got to be parents and that broke my heart, but there came a day when we decided enough was enough and folded away the baby clothes, dismantled the crib, wrapped up the hand-knitted blankets and gave away the soft toys. It was never going to happen for us. And that was that. The point is . . .’ She coughed to clear her throat. ‘I guess what I’m saying is, you need to find someone who gets you, who likes you and who you like in return.’
‘And love.’ She pointed out the obvious.
‘That too is very useful, but liking is, I think, just as important. I want you to be happy.’
‘And I am happy most of the time. It’s just that the Kelleways are’ – how best to describe them? – ‘perfect.’
‘No one is perfect,’ Gianna boomed, her tone knowing. ‘Trust me. No one!’
Daisy stepped back and smiled at her boss. ‘But they are! Literally perfect. They’re good-looking. They’re quite rich. They drive nice cars. They love each other. They laugh, a lot. They even have a holiday villa, and they go there together and post pictures of themselves all tanned and happy by their pool, holding up drinks with little umbrellas in them. Some of them used to live in Australia! Their house is extended, smart. And . . .’ She took a breath.
‘And what, bambina?’ Gianna coaxed while her expression was a little pained, as if she doubted any family could be this flawless. But Daisy knew best – they were, after all, her next-door neighbours.
‘And I can’t imagine being part of a family like that and to me they are like a mirror in which I see my own family reflected, and we don’t compare that well.’ She thought about her mum, wrapped in her fleecy blanket on the sofa, and her dad, working too hard, eating and drinking too much, and in recent years being too wound-up about all that went on next door. ‘Let’s just say, I’m not proud of feeling envious of them, but I guess I am a bit.’
‘I think your envy is misplaced. You’re a wonderful girl. A smart, wonderful girl and you will lead a magnificent life! It is all waiting for you, Daisy. This’ – Gianna waved her hand in the air – ‘this is the first rung of your ladder. It might be my last, but it’s your first.’
‘Do you really think so?’ She wanted so badly to believe that good things lay ahead. Wanted to think that maybe, just maybe, she might after all get to dance off into the sunset.
‘I don’t think so, I know so. Those grades you get, the way you work so hard, but mostly your beautiful heart, they will all bring you the life you want. All good things come to those who wait. Just you wait and see.’ The way Gianna enthused made Daisy wonder if she was waiting for good things to come her way too.