‘So… your mother?’
The stroking finger stilled and he was silent for a moment. ‘Yeah,’ he said eventually, and there was a hard edge to his voice. ‘I suppose you could call her that.’
She felt a chill at his tone. She was curious as to what would make him talk so coldly about his adoptive mother. It didn’t seem like him – not that she knew him very well. But there was such warmth and affection in his voice when he spoke of his sister that it was obvious he adored her. And she knew herself how sweet he could be. She wondered what his mother could have done to alienate him, but as it was clearly a touchy subject, she decided to leave it alone.
‘My mother wrote a book about it,’ he said, linking his hands behind his head. ‘Why don’t you read it if you want all the gory details?’
Claire felt rebuked. She was sorry she’d said anything. A minute ago she’d felt so close to him, and now he was angry and aloof. ‘Sorry,’ she said, lifting her head and lying back against the pillows so she wasn’t touching him. ‘I don’t mean to be nosey. It just seems weird to be… like this and not really know anything about you.’ She didn’t want him to think it was just morbid curiosity.
‘No biggie,’ he said, but there was still an angry set to his mouth. His eyes flicked to her. ‘Sorry I snapped at you.’
He dropped his arms to the sheet and she curled into him again, laying her head on his shoulder.
‘Ali had got attached to me in the orphanage,’ he said quietly. ‘I guess I used to look out for her – picked her up when she cried, gave her food when the bigger kids stole hers.’
Claire wondered if anyone had looked out for him, but she could guess. She remembered the horrific images on television of naked, emaciated children strapped to beds or caged like animals, the crying babies who had never been picked up. Her mother had sobbed watching the news reports, and had galvanised the whole neighbourhood to start fundraising.
‘Do you remember the orphanage?’ she asked tentatively, nervous of pissing him off again. She knew it would be a painful subject and he might not want to talk about it.
‘I remember some things. I was seven when I was adopted, so I was older than most. I remember having cold baths and being hit a lot by the staff. I remember lots of children running around naked and screaming. And being hungry – I remember that.’
She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. She couldn’t bear to think of Luca as a frightened child, cold and hungry with no one to love him. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,’ she said.
‘It’s fine. Ali doesn’t remember any of it, thank God. But I remember her.’ She felt him shudder against her.
‘How old was Ali?’
‘She was three when we were adopted.’ He smiled. ‘She went apeshit when they tried to take her away and she realised I wasn’t going with them.’
‘So they took you too.’
‘Yeah. And here I am,’ he said, with an air of finality, drawing a line under the subject.
Claire was grateful when her stomach let out a long, rumbling groan, helping to dispel the gloomy atmosphere that had descended and bringing them back to the mundane.
Luca laughed. ‘Someone wants breakfast,’ he said, giving her a squeeze.
‘I actually haven’t eaten anything since breakfast yesterday,’ she said. ‘I was running around all day, and then when I got here…’
‘You were in too much of a hurry to get me into bed to bother with food,’ Luca finished, grinning.
‘Yeah, pretty much.’ She giggled.
‘Okay, let’s have breakfast, and you can tell me all about your lousy day. And then we’re going to work on dirtying up that beautiful mouth of yours.’
Claire looked at him quizzically.
‘Dirty talk,’ he explained, releasing her to throw back the duvet. ‘We’re going to work on your communication skills, remember?’
Claire scrambled out of bed and grabbed her clothes.
‘Don’t bother getting dressed,’ Luca said, pulling on a pair of boxers and a T shirt. ‘Here, you can put this on.’ He grabbed a shirt from the back of a chair and threw it to her.
Get me, Claire thought happily, as they sat at the little table eating scrambled eggs and toast – both of them half dressed because they were going straight back to bed as soon as they were done. She knew there was nothing unusual about the scene for a lot of people, but she had never had this before, and it felt almost surreal, like she was in a movie. As they ate, Claire told him about her day yesterday.
‘I like your mother.’ Luca laughed when she told him about the ‘incident’ at the nursing home.
‘Youwouldlike her,’ Claire said. ‘And she’d like you. You should meet her.’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back. She was under strict instructions not to think of Luca as a boyfriend, and here she was suggesting he meet hermother?Brilliant, Claire – just brilliant. ‘So what did you do yesterday after I left?’
