She fidgeted but I was sure she was listening.

I carried on, hoping I didn’t sound like some cheesy relationship counsellor who wanted everyone to ‘own their feelings’. ‘Grown-ups sometimes don’t know what they want. Often they’re just bored. Sometimes they’re drunk. Maybe they find it hard to be satisfied with what they have. Some people don’t take well to being married, they feel trapped even though they love the person they’re married to, they still hanker after freedom, adventure, the unknown. It’s a big expectation to stick with one person for a whole lifetime and never fancy anyone else ever again.’

Oh shit. I didn’t want her thinking that a couple of years down the line I’d be walking along Brighton seafront eyeing up the blokes in their Speedos.

I paused for a little backpedal. ‘Obviously I met your dad when I was knocking on a bit so it won’t be so hard for me.’

Francesca looked puzzled. Jesus. I was probably putting her off marriage for life.

‘What I’m trying to say is that we don’t know what made your mum do what she did. We don’t know why Massimo hurt your dad like that either. But one thing I know for absolute certain is that your mum loved you so much. All she talked about to Beryl when she was ill was how you’d cope without her. She wasn’t perfect, but none of us are. You should be proud that your mum loved you so much. And that you loved her. All the other things that happened shouldn’t and don’t change that. You wouldn’t miss her so much if you hadn’t loved her. And it’s okay to love someone even if they do bad things.’

I still had more to say. But Francesca got up and sat next to me on the bed, leaning forward with her head in her hands.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘Do you think you’ll love me one day? Even though I’ve been so horrible?’

‘I already do, sweetheart. I always wanted a daughter.’

50

LARA

Climbing into my Fiat 500 still made me smile. Maggie had encouraged me to buy a bright red one rather than the silver one. ‘Make a statement! No more grey and beige for you!’ She’d also persuaded me to be adventurous in my new flat near the seafront. We’d chosen some bright butterfly-patterned fabric and she’d made me some curtains for the French doors that led onto my balcony. I loved sitting there after Sandro had gone to bed, breathing in the sea air, listening to the sounds of the city below, secure in the knowledge that a peaceful evening wouldn’t inexplicably go awry.

For someone who hadn’t had a lot of education, Maggie could have made a formidable divorce lawyer. At her insistence, I didn’t let on that I had no intention of fighting Massimo for a house where every kitchen cupboard I’d been pushed against, every cushion I’d rushed to straighten reminded me of how I used to lie in bed in the morning trying to judge what mood my husband was in by the sound of his footsteps on the landing. Anna had been so terrified I’d force him to sell the house in Siena Avenue and he would move away completely, she instructed Massimo to buy me the home I wanted outright.

Whereas Maggie was completely forthright about money, asking the solicitor detailed and unabashed questions, I squirmed, terrified of appearing greedy.

Except when the solicitor told me Massimo was trying to claim he’d had permission to use the money from the sale of Dad’s house to pay for the nursing home. Memories of him blocking all my attempts to look into annuities to safeguard Dad’s care without relying on Massimo led to such an outburst of invective from me that the solicitor’s eyes flew open in shock. A swift letter to Massimo clarifying that any misappropriation of funds belonging to a vulnerable person was likely to result in a lengthy prison sentence led to Massimo releasing the paperwork relating to Dad’s finances with all the money intact within a week.

When I mentioned to Maggie my guilt that Massimo had paid out thousands of pounds for Dad, she shook her head.

‘He bloody told anyone who listened that he was bankrolling your father, making out he was some Good Samaritan. He can’t have it both ways. I’d see it as your due for putting up with him for all those years. You don’t owe him anything.’

Together we managed to find a little nursing home close to my new flat. It wasn’t as posh as the other one but I’d walked in several times and found Dad in the middle of a sing-song and the staff were always encouraging him to play the piano. This time I didn’t take any chances with the finances. With the solicitor’s help, I set up a special trust to safeguard Dad’s care for the future.

On the day I’d left Siena Avenue, I’d averted my gaze from the windows of Anna’s house opposite, trying not to wonder whether Massimo was watching as Sandro leaned his cheek on the front door and said, ‘Goodbye house. See you soon.’ I’d never been able to second-guess Massimo while I lived with him, so I had no idea now whether he was full of regret, or just burning up with venom that I hadn’t walked away with nothing.

Anna came over just before we disappeared off to our new lives. She took both my hands in hers, which was probably the most physical affection she’d ever shown me. ‘I’m sorry. I hope you’ll be happy. I can’t turn my back on him because he’s my son, but I’m so ashamed of how he treated you. Don’t be a stranger.’

I nodded, afraid to open my mouth in case a huge wail of grief came rushing out.

Sandro hugged her. ‘We won’t be strangers, nonna. We’re family. You can come and see us at our flat. You can have my bed.’

His little spark of bravery nearly finished me off.

Anna forced a smile. ‘And you’ll come back and stay with me so you can see Daddy.’ She glanced at me. She’d prevented our divorce proceedings becoming any more acrimonious by offering to supervise visits between Sandro and Massimo. Not exactly the cosy granny I dreamt of, but I hoped her despair at Massimo’s behaviour would mean she would protect Sandro from the worst of his excesses.

I didn’t look back once as we drove away.

Now, two years on, I barely recognised myself. I’d never have had the nerve back then to take a gamble and do what Maggie and I had planned for this evening. And it was a mark of Nico’s generosity that he was prepared to go along with it. As I made my way through the traffic to Brighton station, I hoped Maggie had been right about tonight. I tried not to think about the pitfalls. What Anna might say. How Francesca might react. Even Nico might not be as sanguine as he thought he would be. Sandro, though, had been asking every five minutes whether it was time to go yet. I’d considered springing it on him as a surprise. However, although he no longer wet the bed or looked at me for permission to ask for what he wanted, I still took our new life one day at a time, grateful that he was finally coming out of his shell. I loved being able to stick up his drawings all over the flat and taking him to practise his newfound swimming skills on calm days at the beach without Massimo banging on about learning the crawl.

We pulled up outside, with Sandro pressing his nose on the car window, peering through the people thronging about. Just as we were getting out of the car, they appeared at the station entrance. I didn’t hesitate. It was definitely them. The woman looked exactly as I’d expected, her freckly face full of warmth.

I shouted over. ‘Dawn!’

I hugged her. She squeezed me back, the honesty and intensity of our phone conversations translated into physical form. When Maggie tracked her down through the swimming club Facebook page and Dawn offered to talk to me, I’d been horrified. ‘I’m not ready for that. It’s bad enough you knowing what a fool I was.’ But over time, Maggie convinced me it might help me process it all, the only other person who truly understood how Massimo had managed to control two sane, smart women like us.

And it had helped. So much so that we’d agreed to meet. It had sounded so easy on the phone, but my heart was hammering as I prepared to introduce Sandro to his half-brother. I’d tried to talk him through all the eventualities. ‘Ben might be a bit shy at first. And that might make him seem unfriendly.’ But I needn’t have worried.

Dawn gestured to her son. ‘This, obviously, is Ben.’

Sandro could no longer hold in his excitement. ‘You’re my brother!’

The knot of fear that Ben would rebuff Sandro dissipated immediately as Ben stepped forward and gave Sandro a solemn handshake, saying, ‘You look a bit like me.’

In reality, Ben looked far more like Massimo than Sandro did. The same dark curly hair, the squarish chin, the thick eyelashes. But he didn’t have Massimo’s hard edge: Ben’s features were rounded and softer. I could see Dawn’s cheeriness in him.