One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [105]
I parked at the front in the gravel sweep, got out and stretched my weary limbs, arms high over my head. Just then, I heard voices. I dropped my arms. Around the corner, I caught a glimpse of the tennis court, through the rhododendron bushes. Two boys in jeans, one of them Seffy, were knocking up. Oh, marvellous, I thought irritably as I shut my car door. Talk about the prodigal son. Bring him home to Auntie Laura’s plush pad, and then arrange for a local lad to pop over and play ball. No doubt they’d be taking a dip in the pool later.
Maggie’s car was in the drive too, which for some reason, annoyed me further. Still here. When what I really wanted was to conduct a family row in private. A row? No, I wasn’t going to do that. Had vowed not to, remember? Something was undoubtedly bubbling up within me, though, and without troubling the house, I walked across the manicured lawn to the court to greet my son. Be nice, I told myself. Be calm. Smile. As I approached, the boys were picking up balls, their game clearly over, chatting amicably.
‘Seffy.’ My voice had unaccountably taken on a harsh, unattractive edge. Seffy glanced round, wary.
‘Oh, hi, Mum.’
See? Again. That nonchalant: ‘Hi, Mum.’
I opened the gate and walked in. ‘Seffy, can you leave your friend to finish up here, please. We need to have a word.’
No, I would not be introduced, be made by Seffy to be polite and smiley: I would not be manipulated by the situation.
‘Sure. Luca, can you manage? The balls and rackets go in that hut over there.’ He pointed.
Luca. I was taken aback. Right back. I hadn’t seen him for years. Had deliberately missed his last visit a couple of years back, finding him a sulky, shifty boy on my previous encounter. Yet here he was, this towering great lad, all tawny tousled hair and testosterone: a man almost.
‘Oh – Luca.’ I was covered in confusion as Seffy knew I would be. I felt his amused eyes on me. Fifteen love to my son. I reached for my manners. ‘How marvellous to see you again. Gosh, it’s been ages.’ I advanced, hand outstretched. ‘I’m Hattie, Seffy’s mum. Laura’s sister. You probably don’t remember.’
‘I remember,’ he said, in his heavily accented English. We shook hands, and I glanced at the other one, the withered one – thank the Lord the left one, as Laura always said, so he could at least shake hands, so important for a man. It was still shrunken, but perhaps not quite so obviously as when he was a child. Had he seen me glance? I wasn’t sure: but then I’d been wrong-footed. Forewarned, of course I wouldn’t have.
The eyes, I noticed, still didn’t meet mine. They slid away, dark and narrow, in a thin oval face, as Seffy’s never did, even when he was caught with his trousers down.
‘How lovely to see you,’ I gabbled as it became transparent I couldn’t just sweep Seffy away and leave Luca to clear up like the village boy I’d thought he was. And how ghastly was that? ‘Are you here for long?’ That sounded dreadful too, the implication being I hoped he wouldn’t be, but then, as I said, I was thrown. Nervously, I began picking up the balls, stooping round the court like a baboon, or a cotton picker, whilst the boys leaned on their rackets and watched
‘Yes, I stay about a month,’ Luca said. ‘My university course has an exchange year, so I am travelling the while, and staying a bit with my father.’
‘Oh how marvellous!’ I breezed as I scooped some more, thinking Seffy could at least help, and not stand arrogantly by. I staggered to the wire basket, up to my chin in balls, and dropped them in. Not one went in the basket. We watched as they bounced cheerfully around the court.
‘Seffy, for God’s sake – pick them up!’
He rolled his eyes. ‘So-rry. You told me not to.’
‘Well, I’ve changed my mind!’
I plastered on a smile. Then, embarrassingly, adopted Luca’s own pigeon English, as sometimes happens when I address foreigners. ‘And what