An Italian Dream

Fern barely knew Edith, but somehow it felt easier to be open with her than to talk to Amber or even Stella. She didn’t want their judgement, or for them to weigh in with what they thought. Edith had the benefit of distance. She didn’t know Paul; she didn’t even know Fern beyond what she’d gleaned over the past twenty-four hours. Fern had been upset when she’d first brought the subject up at lunch, but Edith had made her really think about her situation and it was a relief to be honest with her.

‘I envy you the kind of love you have for Maya. I may be married, but I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that intense feeling for someone.’

‘If you’re uncertain, then no, you haven’t.’

They were both quiet. Fern found it unnerving to be so open, but it was also liberating. Perhaps it was Edith’s easy manner and her experience as a counsellor which made Fern want to open up. Either way, it was good to talk. In the back of her mind, these two weeks were a chance for her to get her head straight about what she wanted to do with her life now Ruby and Amber were fully-fledged adults.

‘My friend asked me the other day if I was happy,’ Fern said slowly, filling the quietness of the sheltered garden.

‘And how did you answer?’

Fern snorted. ‘By saying I wasn’t unhappy.’

‘Oh dear me,’ Edith said, shaking her head.

‘I know how that sounds.’ She breathed in the fresh scent of the herbs. ‘I’m not content and I’m uncertain about many things in my life, but that’s more about me, I think, than my husband.’

‘Hmm, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. A marriage takes two people to make it work. Personally, I think happiness is of utmost importance. You sound unhappy. I assume you want to change things. How does your husband feel?’

Fern shrugged.

‘You don’t talk?’

‘Not about stuff like that. And whenever I do try to turn the conversation around to us and our relationship, he gets cross and defensive.’

‘It’s hard to start those conversations that we know are going to be difficult or potentially painful.’ She patted Fern’s hand where it rested on the bench between them. ‘I need to have one with Maya when I return home. I wish she really had been unwell. That would have been simpler to deal with. Of course, I’d have been upset that she was missing out on being here, but it wouldn’t have changed our relationship. Perhaps guilt has finally caught up with her…’ Edith gave a thin smile, but tears looked ready to spill. ‘I wanted to share this villa with her. It holds a special place in my heart.’

‘I can see why.’

‘And as for you, no one deserves to go through life unhappy, Fern. I felt the same when I was married, as if life was passing me by, wishing I was with someone else.’

‘I don’t necessarily want to be with anyone else, I’m just uncertain about everything. And I’m definitely not gay,’ Fern said, returning a weak smile.

Edith laughed. ‘I didn’t think you were!’ She leaned in conspiratorially. ‘That much is obvious from the way you look at Matteo.’

Heat rushed to Fern’s cheeks.

‘Don’t be embarrassed. He’s a handsome man – even I can see that.’ She chuckled. ‘I’d be surprised if you weren’t attracted to him. He looks at you in the same way. And as a gay woman – and I mean nothing untoward by this – I’m not surprised that he finds you attractive too.’

Fern was lost for words. She’d been enjoying Matteo’s company, but had it been that obvious? She’d had plenty to drink yesterday evening – they all had – the wine had flowed and the conversation too, both around the table and later when it had been just her and Matteo. They’d stayed up late, far later than she usually did. She’d turned into a bed-at-ten kind of person. Even on nights out, if she managed to stay out to eleven, all she could think about was getting home and going to bed. Perhaps it was the knock-on effect from having twins and barely sleeping for the first five years of their lives. It had been insanely tough and had put her off having any more children. Now she was conditioned to early starts.

Going to bed early was one of life’s little pleasures and she didn’t mean with Paul. She liked that he usually went to bed later than her. Many times, he’d come back from the pub tipsy and horny and she’d pretend to be asleep. He wasn’t a quiet drunk. He’d slam the front door, stumble upstairs, burp in the en suite, flush the toilet, crash into bed, his hands slithering around her, dipping beneath her pyjamas. She’d ignore his advances and hope he’d leave her alone. But then the night before they left for Capri, hadn’t she been upset when he’d fallen asleep before she’d got into bed? Why was that? She bit her lip. Did she want him to remember what he’d be missing while she was away and he was home alone, remind him why they were together and that once they couldn’t keep their hands off each other?

‘Once again, I feel I may have overstepped with my comments.’ Edith’s warm voice pulled Fern back to the present and the picturesque garden.

‘No, you haven’t. I was just thinking how things have been with my husband. If I’m feeling like this, I can only imagine he must have similar thoughts.’

‘He’s faithful?’

‘I, er…’

‘Now I really have said too much. I’m sorry.’

‘You know what, don’t be. You’re not the first person to put the idea in my head. My daughter said something earlier in the week. Perhaps it’s a question that I’ve feared for a long time.’

‘Because you fear he is unfaithful?’

Was that the truth? She never allowed thoughts like that to have airtime, although of course they’d flashed through her mind on occasion when he worked late, stayed away overnight or came back from the pub far later than it closed, saying he’d been drinking at a mate’s. He had plenty of opportunity to cheat if he wanted to.

‘In many ways, I’m less fearful about him having been unfaithful than I am about the reality that I’ve been living a lie my whole adult life.’