The Italian's Touch

‘We nearly didn’t make it this morning,’ Fleur admitted. ‘Alex practically refused to put his helmet on. I told him that unless he wears it he simply isn’t going, so don’t take any nonsense from him next week. If he starts to play up, ring me on your mobile and I’ll come and fetch him. He’s got to realise I mean what I say. It’s for his own good.’

‘Is it?’ Kathy knew she was on dangerous ground here but she persisted, trying to ignore the pursed lips in Fleur’s pale face. ‘Do you really think it’s good for him to be the only kid out there padded to the hilt?’

‘It’s a rough game.’ Fleur said tartly.

‘And Alex is a boy. Rough games are the ones they play best. Look, I know it might be none of my business, but you’re my best friend so I’m making it my business. You know how mean kids can be sometimes about the tiniest thing? Alex wearing that headgear makes him stand out, makes him a target. Not to mention you rushing over every five minutes and driving past the playground umpteen times a day while he’s at school.’

‘I do not,’ Fleur said hotly. ‘I mean, if I’m going past on the way to the shops I might slow down—’

‘And nearly cause a pile-up behind you as you crane your neck, trying to see if Alex is playing with anyone—’

‘I know, I know,’ Fleur interrupted. ‘Look, Kathy, in every other way I’ve got my life together. I’m independent, I’ve got great friends and a bit of a social life under way.’ Kathy’s sceptical look deserved an answer. ‘Or at least I’m starting to—it’s just hard, leaving Alex. I know I’m overprotective, and I am trying to let go, I really am. I just feel so responsible, if anything were to happen to him, I mean. When Rory was alive, there was someone to share it with…’ Her voice trailed off.

‘I’m sorry, Fleur. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I know it’s hard for you and you’re doing wonderfully.’

‘I wish I believed that.’

‘But you are,’ Kathy said emphatically. ‘You’re a wonderful mother. Alex is a great kid.’

‘But he’s not happy, Kathy. He’s struggling to make friends, he’s even started to wet the bed again. I know my anxiety translates to him but I just can’t seem to help myself.’

‘You are helping yourself, Fleur. You’re back at work, getting on with your life. Alex is going to be just fine, if only you let him.’

‘The only trouble with that,’ Fleur said slowly, ‘is that it’s so much easier said than done.’

* * *

‘Ricky’s eight next month. He’s having a sleep-over party.’

Hearing the wistful note in his voice Fleur trod carefully. ‘That sounds nice.’

‘He hasn’t given out his invitations yet. I expect Ben will be going—he gets invited to lots of parties.’

‘You go to parties, too,’ Fleur pointed out.

‘But not like Ben.’

He was right, Fleur thought with a sigh as she cleared the plates and Alex’s untouched vegetables. But Ben’s father hadn’t died two weeks before he’d started school. Kathy had been happy to get involved with the coffee mornings, school runs and the social chitchat at the school gates while she herself had stood there, shivering despite the hot summer sun, dark glasses covering her reddened eyes, too scared of breaking down to respond to the well-meaning offers of help.

Fleur thought back to Alex’s last two birthday parties— low-key affairs with sombre relatives ducking out for a weep at every turn. Alex deserved a treat.

‘Tell you what, this year why don’t we do something special for your birthday? How about a tenpin bowling party?’

Alex’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’

‘Well, now I’m working I reckon that you deserve a treat.’

‘Cool! How many people can I invite?’

Fleur grinned. ‘Alex, it’s weeks away. I’m sure there’s plenty of time to write up a list.’

The prospect of a party lifted Alex’s mood sufficiently for him to put away the water jug and rather clumsily wipe down the table without being asked three times.

By the time Alex was finally asleep, all Fleur wanted to do was collapse in front of the television but, knowing it would make the early morning start impossible she set about making Alex’s packed lunch for tomorrow and sorting out their school and nursing uniforms.

Satisfied she was organised for the morning, Fleur settled down on the sofa, determined not to brood on the events of the week, but brooding was obviously the theme tonight. Kathy’s words had really rattled her. Fleur knew she exacerbated Alex’s nervousness, knew she had to let up a bit, but it was so damned hard. Everything was so damned hard without Rory.

Time healed.

It didn’t; it didn’t.

Sure, she didn’t wake up each morning sobbing like she used to. Didn’t wonder how she’d get through the next hour, let alone the day. But the agony of her loss was with her with every inch of the way. And she was angry, too. Not just for her and for Alex, but for Rory. Angry for all he’d missed out on. For the roll of the dice that had taken him away from all that he’d loved.

Time didn’t heal, Fleur decided.

You just learnt to live with the pain.

The ringing of the doorbell caught her unawares and it was a rather cautious Fleur that pulled the front door open, peering through the security door at her surprise visitor.

‘Fleur, I must apologise for the lateness of the hour.’

‘Mr Ruffini?’

‘Mario, please. I know it is late, but what I have to say simply cannot wait for the morning.’

His English, though excellent, was somewhat broken and Fleur was sure she could detect a note of urgency. Unclipping the security door, she gestured for him to come through, her heart sinking as she did so.

Mario looked as stunning as ever and Fleur felt drab in comparison, dressed in a sloppy jumper and leggings. When he didn’t break immediately into a speech about her earlier inefficiency, it was left to Fleur to break the rather awkward silence.

‘How did you know where I lived?’

‘Don’t worry, the hospital didn’t give out your address.’ It was a strict work policy that the emergency book which held the staff’s addresses and telephone numbers, in case of a change to the roster or a major influx of patients, was to be used only for what it was intended—emergencies. Too many lessons had been learnt in the past of the dangers of giving out such private information. ‘I used simpler methods, or so I thought.’

Fleur gave him bemused look.

‘The phone book,’ he explained. ‘There were only two F. Hadleys in the area, and Frank was very helpful.’

‘Frank?’ He’d really lost her now!

‘The other F. Hadley thought I’d just come from the airport and was trying to track down a long lost relative. It’s a long story,’ he added, looking at her totally confused expression. ‘The long and the short of it is that Frank and I are playing lawn bowls next Sunday.’

So he’d made another friend. ‘Er, do you want a cup of coffee, or a beer perhaps?’ Fleur asked, trying to think if there were any stubbies in the fridge.

‘Coffee would be wonderful, but only one lump of salt, please.’ Following her through to the kitchen, he watched in silence as Fleur filled two cups from the filter machine.

‘It was an accident,’ she blurted out finally.

‘And do you always blush so much when you lie?’