Alphabet Weekends - Elizabeth Noble [131]
Mama Papa
Wish not that you were here – which would cramp our style horribly – but that maybe you two were in the next town and we could see you for sun-drenched lunch and then each return to our Italian. Love nests.
Ciao!
It sounded idyllic. Things had worked out for the two of them. At long last.
For a brief moment he allowed himself to imagine walking Natalie down the aisle. He’d done it with Bridget, and loved it. That ten minutes alone with her in the car on the way to the church. Unable to take in how beautiful and grown-up and saturated with happiness and excitement she was. He’d been Susannah’s witness, which had also been very special, although that proceeding had been a little unconventional. Casper’s witness had been a gay makeup artist, wearing more mascara than the rest of the bridal party put together, and sporting a terrifying handlebar moustache – with pink lipgloss beneath.
And he didn’t care if it sounded old-fashioned, but he’d like a full set, thank you very much. He was sure it was perfectly possible to find happiness, fulfilment and a joyous life without a husband. He just wasn’t sure it was possible for Natalie. And now it looked like she might not have to try. Tom had succeeded.
So for the first time in a long time, all of his daughters were well and happy at the same time. All with good men who loved them. All fully engaged in the pursuit of happiness.
He supposed, if his life was a television drama, this would be the point at which he could lay his grey head against the pillow, smile benevolently at his progeny, all settled contentedly around him, and die.
No fear. He’d lost one year, pussy-footing around the woman he had loved his whole life, and he wasn’t ready.
Z for Capo Zafferano, Palermo, Sicily
‘Zhenzi, in China?’
‘Nah, you can only have one kid, and I want loads.’
‘That rule only applies if you live there, Tom.’
He shrugged.
‘Zagreb? That’s up and coming, isn’t it?’
‘Nat, put the sodding atlas down. Where the hell did you get it from, anyway?’
‘They had one in the office at Reception.’ Natalie hadn’t looked up. ‘Zanzibar! Now that would have been nice.’
‘Too hot, too far.’
She poked her tongue out at him.
‘What are you? Sixty-five?’
‘What’s wrong with here?’
The sun was low in the sky, turning orange. The sand and the sea were glowing. The perfect late-afternoon summer sunlight for photographs – she’d run and get her camera in a minute and take pictures of him, lying bronzed and somnolent beside her, a Dan Brown novel long abandoned beside him.
Behind them the waiters, resplendent in their vanilla linen jackets and black ties, were starting to lay the tables on the veranda for dinner. The luxurious clink of crystal and silverware, and crisp white tablecloths fluttering in the breeze. One saw her watching him, raised his hand in a drinking gesture, quizzical. ‘No, no, thanks!’ He winked. Italians loved a lover.
‘Here isn’t too shabby.’
He smiled lazily at her. ‘Would it be too nauseating altogether to say that anywhere with you wouldn’t be too shabby?’
‘Utterly.’
‘Won’t say it, then.’ But his hand was on her knee.
The moment bubbled in her. She looked back down at the atlas. ‘Zuckerhutl, in Austria?’
Tom sat up and snapped it shut. ‘That sounds like a sexual position. We could go there—’
‘Before dinner?’ Her voice was shrill with mock-shock. ‘Certainly not.’ She picked up the atlas, and shoved it into her beach-bag. ‘I’m relieved we’ve got to the end of this damn alphabet. I was running out of ideas.’
‘Huh! Face it – all the great ideas were mine. You ran out of what little steam you had by about G.’
‘I did not! What about Hotel?’
He laughed, his head back. ‘Yeah, great idea!’
Natalie slapped him playfully. ‘I’ll have you know I had a Z, too, even though it wasn’t my turn.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘You don’t know everything, smartass.’
‘Well, what was it?’ Natalie didn’t answer.