The Italian's Touch

It was his turn to look bemused. ‘A proverb—what is this proverb?’

Fleur thought for a moment ‘It’s like a saying,’ she said slowly. ‘An adage. When in Australia, do as the Australians do.’ From the lost expression on his face he obviously didn’t understand. ‘You’ve no idea what I’m talking about, have you? When in France, do as the French do. Like…’ She tried to conjure up an image. ‘Drink red wine and eat lots of cheese and look fabulous.’

A slow smile crept across his face. ‘So when in Australia, I watch footy and have barbecues and drink cold beer?’

‘That’s about it.’

‘Thank you for explaining this to me.’

Glad that at least had been cleared up, Fleur turned back to the game, trying to concentrate while achingly aware of his presence. Cringing as she recalled her actions earlier in the week, she’d expected him to either ignore her or at least treat her in the same curt fashion he did at work, but Mario seemed intent on being friendly as he hovered next to her.

‘Of course you can apply it to smaller things,’ Fleur said, surprising herself by resurrecting the conversation. ‘It doesn’t just have to be about countries.’

‘Now I really am confused.’

‘Well, say you came to my house and you smoked. I don’t smoke, so I’d hope you’d respect that and not smoke in my house.’

‘But I don’t smoke.’

How had she got into this? ‘No. But it if you did, as you put your cigarettes back in your pocket you might say, sadly perhaps, ‘‘Oh, well, when in Rome.’’ Look, I’m sorry. I probably haven’t explained myself very well.’

But Mario’s blue eyes were smiling now as realisation dawned. ‘No, I think you have explained things very well. Thank you.’

For a moment they turned back to the game but he was obviously intent on chatting. ‘See, there is my nephew Ricky.’ He pointed to a dark-haired boy sporting the red and black colours of the Essendon football team. Fleur actually knew Ricky, to look at anyway. He was in the same class as Alex. ‘He is the main reason I am in this country. My sister Teresa emigrated some years ago. It’s hard, realising you’ve got a nephew on the other side of the world that, apart from a few phone calls and pictures, you don’t even know. When the chance for this job came up I jumped at it.’

‘Do you live at your sister’s?’ Fleur asked.

‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’

Fleur shrugged. Mario looked more the penthouse type. ‘Doesn’t it cramp your style a bit?’

He laughed loudly. ‘Teresa is not my mother, thank goodness. You realise, if my mother saw us talking like this she would be booking the church already?’

‘That bad, huh?’

Mario nodded. ‘Another reason that I am here—a year off from blind dates was an added incentive. Anyway, the purpose of my year here is to catch up with my sister and get to know my nephew, so living with Teresa makes sense. Which is your son?’

‘Alex, the one in the helmet.’ He was easy to point out as Alex was the only child wearing the non-compulsory protective headgear.

‘Has he a head injury?’

Fleur gritted her teeth. Mario might be good-looking but he definitely talked too much. ‘No, that’s what I’m trying to prevent.’

‘Oh.’

His single word spoke volumes. So maybe she was a bit over-protective, but she was sick of having to justify herself for being a responsible parent. ‘I’m sure that if the other parents realised the dangers, every child on this field would be wearing a helmet.’

Mario didn’t look convinced. ‘I see your son wears the yellow and black colours. That means he supports the Richmond Tigers, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘They are my adopted team, too. And do you take him to the matches?’

Fleur shook her head. ‘No, well, at least not if I can help it. This is bad enough.’

Mario laughed. ‘So you’re not into football. Well, I guess that’s what fathers were invented for.’

His comment was well meant, of course, but Fleur had to bite her lip as the sharp sting of tears reached her eyes. Thankfully the whistle blew and she was saved from any further conversation as three excited little boys ran in their direction.

‘I kicked a goal, Mum. Did you see?’ Alex, bright eyed and breathless from exertion, ripped off his much-hated headgear and started to cough.

‘Yes, I saw. You played really well.’ Scrabbling in her bag, she pulled out his Ventolin inhaler but Alex pushed it away.

‘Mum, I’m fine.’

‘You’re coughing, you know how it starts.’

‘But I’ve been running for an hour. I’m fine, honest. Hey, Ricky,’ he said turning to his team-mate. ‘Did you see me kick a goal?’

Putting the inhaler back into her bag, Fleur was aware that Mario was watching her. ‘I’d best get them home.’

‘You have two children? I didn’t realise.’

‘No, just the one. Ben here belongs to my friend Kathy—you’d know her from Accident and Emergency— Kathy Fisk.’

‘I know Kathy, good for a gossip.’

Fleur grinned. ‘That’s the one.’

‘Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Fleur. Are you working then?’

Fleur nodded. ‘How was your conference?’

‘Interesting, but now I suffer for the time away from the department. I am going to drop Ricky off and then head in to work. Who knows? I might even get a chance to clear my desk.’

Fleur doubted that. A bulldozer was the only thing that would clear a space in that office. ‘Well, I hope it’s quiet for you. See you, Mr Ruffini.’

‘I’ll catch you later. Isn’t that what they say here?’ And taking Ricky by his muddy hand, they headed off to the car park.

Walking home, Fleur tried to keep one ear on the boys’ conversation as her mind kept drifting back to her chance meeting with Mario. Out of work he’d seemed so much more friendly, amenable even, nothing like the volatile autocrat she’d witnessed before. And Kathy had been right. He really was gorgeous… ‘Ricky’s dad’s taking him to the footy on Saturday.’ Alex announced.

‘Mine, too,’ Ben said proudly.

If only Greg, Kathy’s husband, supported the same team as Alex, Fleur thought for the hundredth time. It wasn’t that Greg minded taking Alex to the footy—in fact, he’d offered umpteen times—but Alex was his father’s son and had no interest in the other teams. Unless the Tigers were playing he simply didn’t want to know. She did take him now and then—usually when Alex had nagged long and effectively and Fleur was on one of her guilt trips about Alex missing out on a father figure—but it was a very occasional treat. The only pleasure Fleur got out of the Tigers winning was seeing Alex’s face, but even that prize came at a price—an extra load of washing so that Alex could wear his beloved footy jumper to school on the Monday. A ‘treat’ dreamt up by the school principal, who obviously didn’t have to scrape off the mud and steam-iron the blessed thing at seven-thirty on a Monday morning.

Kathy, as always, had just put the kettle on. ‘Thanks so much.’ She grinned as Fleur flattened herself against the wall to avoid the two young boys jostling past. ‘It’s my turn for the torture chamber next week.’

Luckily Kathy hated footy as much as she did and didn’t even bother to ask how the morning had gone. Sunday mornings had become fondly known between them as ‘job share’ long before Fleur’s return to work. It suited them both well. Greg was a long-distance truck driver who more often than not worked weekends, and as for Alex’s dad…well, he would have loved the ‘job’ but fate had put a cruel end to that.