I picked Mum and Dad up from Florence airport at a quarter to seven on Friday. Their flight was on time, and I had been expecting them to emerge sooner, but it was only when the doors from Customs control opened to finally reveal them that I realised why. My mother was in a wheelchair, being pushed by a young woman in uniform, and this came as an unwelcome shock to me. I hadn’t seen them since before Christmas and, although I knew she’d been slowing down a bit, I hadn’t realised to what extent. I hurried over to greet them and I was greatly relieved to see her push herself up out of the chair, thank the young woman and take half a dozen determined steps towards me. The first thing she said to me was predictably Mum.
‘Daniel, you’ve lost weight. You’re not eating enough.’ She has always called me Daniel, and there’s no way I’ll ever get her to change now.
I held out my arms and gave her a hug before looking across at my dad, who was standing slightly behind her with the two bags.
‘Hi, Mum, hi, Dad.’ He and I shook hands. He’s very Englishabout things like hugging, but he looked genuinely pleased to see me, as I was to see him. ‘The van’s only a short walk from here. Let me take the bags, Dad, and you can look after Mum.’
This produced an immediate response from her. ‘I don’t need looking after. All this wheelchair nonsense was ridiculous. Just because I was walking a bit slowly.’ She was blustering for my benefit, but there was no getting away from the fact that she had aged quite a lot since I’d last seen her, and I felt a twinge of guilt for not having made the effort to go over to London to see them.
Dad caught my eye and winked at me as he laid a comforting hand on Mum’s arm. ‘It’s all right, dear, you can walk as much as you like now.’
She replied stiffly, ‘And I intend to.’ But I noticed that she let Dad keep a supporting hand on her arm as we walked out into the evening sunshine.
It took less than half an hour to get back to my house, and I did my best to point out a few places of interest on the way, but the suburbs of Florence are far less appealing than the breathtaking beauty of thecentro storico. As I picked my way through the heavy evening traffic, we talked – or, rather, Mum and I talked while Dad sat on the seat behind her and added only a few comments every now and then. He’s never been a great talker, but Mum has always made up for that. At last, we turned off the main road and I headed up the much narrower lane winding its way up the hill to the village of Montevolpone and onwards towards my house. When we reached the village, I pointed out the church and the little piazza – there’s not much else in Montevolpone – and then carried on uphill. Leaving the village, the road deteriorated into a white gravel track between the vineyards and olive groves, and I could see a cloud of dust being thrown up behind us as we crunched over thestrada biancaand bumped through a few potholes.
I pulled up in front of my little stone house and went around to collect their bags from the boot. As I did so, Oscar came bounding out of the front door, tail wagging. When he saw that I was not alone, he skidded to a halt and studied them carefully for a few moments before deciding that they were friends and trotting over to say hello. Dad’s definitely a dog person, but Mum has always been a bit scared – as a result of a nasty experience with a terrier when she was a girl – and we never had one in the house. Dad clicked his tongue and crouched down remarkably agilely to stroke Oscar while Mum stopped and shot me an uncertain look.
‘My, he’s a big dog…’
I hastened to reassure her. ‘Yes, but he’s very friendly and he likes ladies. You’ll see.’
Bang on cue, Oscar stepped back from Dad and wandered over, tail wagging slowly, to greet my mother. Mum reached down hesitantly and patted him on the head. Oscar then surprised me by doing something I’d never seen him do before. He sat down primly in front of her and held up one paw towards her as if to shake her hand. Reassured, Mum shook his paw, gave him another pat on the head, and murmured, ‘Good dog.’
Oscar glanced across at me for a moment, and I swear he winked. I gave a surreptitious sigh of relief. That was the first hurdle overcome.
No sooner had the thought occurred to me when the other hurdle appeared at the front door. Anna came out with a welcoming smile on her face, looking absolutely gorgeous in what might have been a new summer frock. At least, I couldn’t remember ever having seen her wear it before, but I’m no expert on women’s fashions – or, indeed, men’s.
I made the introductions. ‘Mum, Dad, this is Anna, my fiancée.’
I realised that I was actually holding my breath for a fewmoments as Anna approached, but I was greatly relieved to see Mum take two steps forward, carefully avoiding tripping over Oscar, and hold out her arms towards Anna.
‘Hello, my dear. I’d like to say that we’ve heard so much about you from Daniel, but he never was much good at remembering to phone home.’ She gave Anna a hug and I started breathing again. Anna then turned towards Dad and, to my amazement, he held out his arms and gave her a hug as well, while I looked on in disbelief. Oscar sitting down and giving a paw, Dad spontaneously hugging somebody – what was the world coming to?
While Anna showed Mum around the house, I grabbed two bottles of cold beer and led Dad to my pergola, where we sat down to admire the view. It had been a hot day again – Florence can get stiflingly hot in summer – but this evening, there was just a hint of a breeze blowing, which made it very pleasant to be sitting outside while the sun dipped towards the horizon. I glanced over my shoulder to check that we weren’t being overheard.
‘How is Mum? I’m afraid the sight of her in a wheelchair came as a bit of a shock.’
He reached over and clinked his bottle against mine. ‘She’s not too bad, just slowing up a bit. There’s talk of giving her a new hip, but you know her, she’s not keen on any kind of operation. The doctor told her just to take it easy and see how it goes, but I’ve got a feeling she’ll need to have the op sooner or later.’
‘And you, Dad? You still look the same.’
He grinned at me. ‘Just a few more aches and pains. Not too bad for eighty-four. You’re looking well and Anna’s a cracker. I’m really pleased to see you both looking so happy.’ He sat back and stretched his legs, transferring his attention to the panorama before us. ‘This is quite some place you have here. What a view! A bit different from Croydon.’
‘My whole life is different now, and I wouldn’t change back for anything. This place is great and Anna’s wonderful.’
There was a movement at my feet and I felt Oscar’s nose nudge my leg.
‘And Oscar is great as well. He’s a real part of the family now and, believe it or not, he’s even helped me in some of my investigations.’
‘How is the investigation business going?’ There might even have been a hint of longing in his voice. Although Dad had spent his working life selling lawn mowers and other garden implements, he’d always been hooked on murder mysteries. It had been his enthusiasm for Agatha Christie – on his advice, I had read every single book of hers by the time I was fifteen – that had contributed in no small part towards my decision to join the police.
‘Remarkably well, thanks.’
‘Is it better than being a copper?’
‘That’s a good question.’ I had a sip of beer while I considered my answer. ‘The best thing about it is that I’m my own boss and, within reason, I now work fairly sensible hours. You and I both know that one of the main reasons Helen and I broke up was the fact that she hardly ever saw me. Nowadays, apart from exceptional circumstances, I’m normally home by six or seven at the latest. Apart from anything else, my four-legged friend here needs his evening walks. If I have a regret, it’s that a lot of my time is spent with some pretty stupid, trivial matters.’ I caught his eye for a moment. ‘As I’m sure you can imagine, cases of marital infidelity make up the lion’s share of my work. Still, I’ve got a good friend who’s the head of the murder squad here in Florence and I sometimes get called in to help him with the more serious stuff.’ I took another sip of beer and beamed at him. ‘So, all in all, I have no regrets.’
We were interrupted by my phone. I shot Dad an apologetic glance and answered it. It was none other than the man in question – Virgilio.
