would she be?’
‘Ninety … no, ninety-two, I think.’
Paola sat in the old green sofa, grumbled about the dampness and the lack of lace curtains again, and went on. ‘Do you think I should go down and see her? Do you think she’ll be there tomorrow?’
I shook my head. ‘Definitely too old for funerals, Paola.’
She leaned forward and dropped her voice a bit. ‘Do you like Grant? He seems so staid and steady, and so much older than Brod.’ She sat back and prepared to grill me.
‘Not that much older. It’s because Brod will never age. He’s … like a tall elf. Plus I feel Grant is very good for him – someone with an artistic bent … you know, he designs buildings and does ... whatever architectural designers do.’
‘Do you remember when he brought a flamboyant boy home for part of the holiday? Do you remember? Fletcher something, and how Mama cut him down to size … and how we all ended up going down to put him on the train together?’
I shook my head.
‘Don’t you? It was hilarious. Mama understood Brod – always did, but his friend Fletcher was something else.’
‘I don’t remember, Paola.’
‘He kept asking why two of us have Italian names and two of us have English names, and how we ate such different things from what he got at home.’
‘Where was he from?’
‘Somewhere in England – he was very bossy with Brod, and Mama soon put him in his place.’
I shook my head again. ‘You were blessed with the memory of …’
‘It’s a curse, not a blessing, Nigel. Some things I’d much rather forget.’
‘Oh, come on now – we didn’t have a bad time of it at all.’ But I saw suddenly it was not our childhood she wanted to forget, but something that had happened to her, and it was most probably recent.
‘You and … is everything all right with you and John, Paola?’
She smiled and opened the book. Her downcast eyes did not tell me a thing. All I could see were the top of her head, with its severe haircut, and the upturned corners of her small mouth. Her lipstick was very much like Harriet’s. A shade of dull apricot that went with her hazel eyes. Harriet had Lori to guide her – she knew more about cosmetics and what suited her than her mother. Paola – well, Paola was the kind of woman who would have loved a daughter.
‘John’s a bit overworked, Nigel. He couldn’t even come to this.’
Was what I heard in her voice resentment? ‘Oh.’ Wouldn’t it be nice if Paola could talk to someone? She was manifestly so full of grief over Mama. Harriet would not do. They never got on. Suzanna was too self-involved to fully listen. She asserted herself, always, and drew herself above and beyond us all. I wondered if being a twin did something to women.
‘If it weren’t raining, I would take a walk down to the rubble wall.’
‘Part of it’s come down, you know, Paola.’
‘Oh no.’ She paused. ‘How much do you think it would take to fix this place, Nigel? Conservatively, I mean, if we ever wanted to … do it up?’
‘We?’ I stopped. It was no time to ask if she would consider buying me out. It would have solved a lot of my financial problems to come into some cash. It wasn’t the time.
‘A rough figure.’
‘Rough – not a lot. Something like … what? A couple of … okay. I did do some sums in my head about a year ago. ‘Two hundred thousand euros, perhaps. Or three if you wanted to be lavish.’
‘So much!’
I pulled a face. ‘I know it sounds like a lot.’ I could not say more. Her face showed a mixed sentiment. She did not seem to like the figure. It was a lot of money none of us could pull together easily.
‘Do you think Brod and Grant are interested in taking it on?’ Her eyes were narrow. She must have thought of asking Brod to buy her out. I wondered how she would tackle the conversation. Paola could be quite imperious. It made me angry to think how calculating she was. It irked me that she did not consider me for a second. Was
‘Ninety … no, ninety-two, I think.’
Paola sat in the old green sofa, grumbled about the dampness and the lack of lace curtains again, and went on. ‘Do you think I should go down and see her? Do you think she’ll be there tomorrow?’
I shook my head. ‘Definitely too old for funerals, Paola.’
She leaned forward and dropped her voice a bit. ‘Do you like Grant? He seems so staid and steady, and so much older than Brod.’ She sat back and prepared to grill me.
‘Not that much older. It’s because Brod will never age. He’s … like a tall elf. Plus I feel Grant is very good for him – someone with an artistic bent … you know, he designs buildings and does ... whatever architectural designers do.’
‘Do you remember when he brought a flamboyant boy home for part of the holiday? Do you remember? Fletcher something, and how Mama cut him down to size … and how we all ended up going down to put him on the train together?’
I shook my head.
‘Don’t you? It was hilarious. Mama understood Brod – always did, but his friend Fletcher was something else.’
‘I don’t remember, Paola.’
‘He kept asking why two of us have Italian names and two of us have English names, and how we ate such different things from what he got at home.’
‘Where was he from?’
‘Somewhere in England – he was very bossy with Brod, and Mama soon put him in his place.’
I shook my head again. ‘You were blessed with the memory of …’
‘It’s a curse, not a blessing, Nigel. Some things I’d much rather forget.’
‘Oh, come on now – we didn’t have a bad time of it at all.’ But I saw suddenly it was not our childhood she wanted to forget, but something that had happened to her, and it was most probably recent.
‘You and … is everything all right with you and John, Paola?’
She smiled and opened the book. Her downcast eyes did not tell me a thing. All I could see were the top of her head, with its severe haircut, and the upturned corners of her small mouth. Her lipstick was very much like Harriet’s. A shade of dull apricot that went with her hazel eyes. Harriet had Lori to guide her – she knew more about cosmetics and what suited her than her mother. Paola – well, Paola was the kind of woman who would have loved a daughter.
‘John’s a bit overworked, Nigel. He couldn’t even come to this.’
Was what I heard in her voice resentment? ‘Oh.’ Wouldn’t it be nice if Paola could talk to someone? She was manifestly so full of grief over Mama. Harriet would not do. They never got on. Suzanna was too self-involved to fully listen. She asserted herself, always, and drew herself above and beyond us all. I wondered if being a twin did something to women.
‘If it weren’t raining, I would take a walk down to the rubble wall.’
‘Part of it’s come down, you know, Paola.’
‘Oh no.’ She paused. ‘How much do you think it would take to fix this place, Nigel? Conservatively, I mean, if we ever wanted to … do it up?’
‘We?’ I stopped. It was no time to ask if she would consider buying me out. It would have solved a lot of my financial problems to come into some cash. It wasn’t the time.
‘A rough figure.’
‘Rough – not a lot. Something like … what? A couple of … okay. I did do some sums in my head about a year ago. ‘Two hundred thousand euros, perhaps. Or three if you wanted to be lavish.’
‘So much!’
I pulled a face. ‘I know it sounds like a lot.’ I could not say more. Her face showed a mixed sentiment. She did not seem to like the figure. It was a lot of money none of us could pull together easily.
‘Do you think Brod and Grant are interested in taking it on?’ Her eyes were narrow. She must have thought of asking Brod to buy her out. I wondered how she would tackle the conversation. Paola could be quite imperious. It made me angry to think how calculating she was. It irked me that she did not consider me for a second. Was
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