An Italian Dream

FERN

Fern reflected on what Edith had said all the way back, a stark and undeniable truth dawning on her. It had been there for a while, buried deep inside. Amber had ignited something the other day and Stella’s silence on the subject spoke volumes. Now Edith, who barely knew her, had asked a question like that.

Edith pushed open the villa’s large wooden door and they stepped into the cool entrance hall. Fern’s silence on the way back had obviously given Edith the impression that she wanted to be left alone, but as Edith headed for the stairs, Fern caught hold of her arm.

‘You were right about me not being happy,’ Fern said.

Edith turned to her. ‘I was?’

She looked at her with such compassion, Fern could hardly hold back her tears.

Instead of continuing upstairs, Edith hooked her arm in Fern’s. ‘Come and sit with me in my favourite spot.’

Edith led Fern through the villa and outside to the furthest reaches of the garden. Shaded by feathery ferns, there was a tiny stone patio with just a wooden bench facing the trees that screened the edge of the garden. The sea was hidden from view, but the sky was a clear deep blue between the leaves. They sat together on the bench and gazed out. Fern drank everything in: the birds swooping between the branches, the trickle of water from one of the fountains hidden among the foliage; a butterfly fluttering around a flower, its cream wings translucent in the sunlight. Large stone pots filled with thyme, oregano and lemon verbena were dotted around the paving.

‘This is the place I come to contemplate, to think, to make decisions,’ Edith eventually said.

‘You don’t paint here?’

‘No, it’s a place for sitting and thinking. Or talking.’ She gently nudged Fern’s arm. ‘I’ve asked you such personal questions, yet I haven’t been completely truthful about myself.’

‘Oh?’

Edith sighed. ‘For someone who understands how people tick, I’ve not only managed to get myself into a complicated relationship, but it feels as if I’m floundering in the dark over it.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘I told Matteo that Maya was unwell, that’s why she couldn’t come, but that wasn’t the truth of it…’ Edith breathed deeply and stared out through the trees. Sunspots and freckles decorated her wrinkled hands which were clasped in her lap. Fern waited for her to continue. ‘The separate bedrooms was an expensive pretence and one I was more than happy to fork out for if it meant we were able to be together.’

An understanding of Edith’s predicament slowly dawned on Fern. ‘So it’s your partner who wants to keep your relationship secret?’

‘She had second thoughts about coming here with me in case her husband questioned her reasons… I’ve been in love with her for more than ten years. Perhaps she felt coming on holiday to a place I love and that I wanted to share with her was too much.’ Edith sighed. ‘Even if we were keeping up the pretence.’ She shrugged, but there was sadness in her eyes. ‘We’ve been friends for a long time but only together for the last four years. I wouldn’t dream of asking her to leave her husband, I’m not even sure if I’d want her to. But I want to spend time with her, proper time, rather than snatched moments back home pretending to be something we’re not to keep our secret, well, secret.’

‘That must be hard.’ Fern’s heart went out to Edith.

‘No good comes of falling in love with someone who’s in a relationship with someone else, even if the love is returned. There’s rarely a happy ever after.’ She turned to face Fern. ‘But what I asked you before, questioning if you were happy in your marriage or not, came from a place of understanding. I see in you the same thing I see in Maya. I know she’s not happy with her husband, but she stays because it’s the done thing and the scandal it would cause, not just for leaving her husband of fifty odd years but to leave him for another woman, well… she can’t do it, which is fine, it’s her decision and her life, but she’ll spend the rest of it living a lie and not being entirely happy. Sometimes the hard questions need to be asked because they help us to move on – if that’s what we want to do. When you said you were unhappy before, did you mean with your husband?’

Fern gazed thoughtfully across the compact terrace. The pockets of green were soothing against the taupe-grey stone and deeper rust-red of the terracotta pots.

‘Partly, yes…’ How could she describe how she felt? ‘But I also feel trapped by responsibility and what’s expected of me. It feels like I haven’t done anything with my life, that the last twenty years have passed by in a flash.’

‘Raising children is most definitely doing something with your life. One could argue that it’s the most important thing one could do.’

‘You said you haven’t got children?’

‘Oh, where to start with that.’ She shook her head. ‘I was married, but I left my husband because I fell in love with a woman.’ She glanced sideways at Fern. ‘I’m not suggesting you do anything as drastic as that.’ Her laughter filled the sweet-scented air of the herb garden like a tinkling bell. ‘I knew what I wanted from early on, I just didn’t have the guts to follow my convictions. My husband was a decent man and I married him because it was what my parents expected of me. It was what it was like in those days. And, as I said, he was nice. We were friends and got on, but I knew it was a sham from the beginning.’

‘Did he?’

‘Perhaps not initially. He wanted children and I didn’t. There was so much about our relationship that didn’t work, not least because I wasn’t attracted to him. I liked him, a lot, as a person, as a friend. We still talk. He remarried and is very happy. He has children and grandchildren.’ Edith’s voice was matter-of-fact, but Fern noticed her lips purse. ‘It’s as if history is repeating itself in many ways with Maya. She has a husband as I did.’ She gave Fern a meaningful look. ‘Except rather than being a young twenty-something and realising that she likes women and not men, she’s in her seventies, has grown-up children and has been married for decades. I understand it’s not the same situation at all, which is why I’m happy to go to great lengths to keep up the pretence of us being just good friends.’

She looked wistful and full of melancholy. Fern could only imagine the heartache of not being able to be with the person you loved. But at the same time she wished she had such strong feelings for someone. To be that in love, that passionate about spending time with a person… It was her turn to sigh.

‘The question you need to ask yourself is, do you love your husband?’

Fern leaned back on the bench. She didn’t think she’d ever been asked such a direct and personal question.

Edith must have seen the shock on her face. ‘I always have known just how to put my foot in it. I was a counsellor for my whole working life, mostly dealing with addiction, but I’ve always been fascinated by people’s relationships – married couples in particular. I have a friend back home who’s a marriage counsellor and I love talking to her. Even now I’m retired, I’m still fascinated by what makes people tick.’