Natalie bit back the words she wanted to say, instead asking, ‘Are you sure it was her? Did you get to speak to her?’
‘No, she was upstairs; they said she didn’t want to see me. But itwasher. The little girl said hernonnahad lived there thirty years. Look, Nat, we could dress this up any which way but I’m never going to have a relationship with Mum again. I don’t want to talk about it any more. Let’s go back to those eating places on the canal. I need a drink.’
‘Okay, sure.’ Natalie rather fancied a glass of something herself and her stomach was gurgling like an emptying drain.
They retraced their steps through the interlocking courtyards, down the narrow passage, emerging back on to the main square. Tourists smiled and laughed amongst racks of lacy clothes, groups of friends clogged the little bridges over the canal, voices rose from tiny tables crammed side by side. It was almost as if she’d imagined the silent square they’d left behind.
‘Over there.’ Cate marched towards a vacant table at the edge of the canal with the tread of someone used to getting her own way. Natalie took in the group of chic women drinking from long-stemmed wineglasses, the small blackboard chalked with the day’s menu in Italian only: a proper, authentic trattoria; Cate had done well to spot this. And the scents, oh! Garlic and fresh herbs deliciously mingling. A memory of Eraldo’s nose twitching with pleasure made her smile, then sigh as she recalled how she’d shied away from him.
Cate squeezed into a seat facing away from the canal, affording Natalie the view.
‘A glass of Soave, a large one, please. Nothing to eat for me.’ Cate addressed the waiter who’d sprung from his post by the door at the sight of his chic, blonde customer. Natalie didn’t need any more time to decide, ordering the same to drink and thebigoli con le sarde, a local dish of pasta and sardines she’d been longing to try.
The wine appeared in oversized glasses but that didn’t stop Cate from glugging back half of hers the moment the waiter had set it down. Natalie forced herself not to put out a restraining hand. This was half her fault.Luxe Life Swapwas responsible for Cate’s trip to Venice and without Natalie urging her on, Cate might never have had the courage to visit her mother’s house. She sipped her wine: cold and crisp.
‘Cate…’
Cate raised her hand. ‘Don’t! I’ll be fine in a minute. Please don’t fuss.’ She sniffed, took another great mouthful of wine. ‘I’m lucky. I’ve got a wonderful life whether Mum’s in it or not, Phil’s a great husband and we’ve got two healthy, kind, bright boys who I adore. Really, I’m blessed.’
‘Have you got any pictures? I don’t know why I didn’t ask you before.’
‘Probably still in shock from running into me again. I didn’t offer to show you before…’ Cate paused.
‘Because you didn’t want to rub your perfect life in my face?’
‘Well, now you know it’s far from perfect. But I’ve no reason to feel sorry for myself, especially since I’ve found you again. I can’t tell you how good it feels to have an old friend.’ Cate swiped roughly at her eyes.
‘Aww! Stop it, you’re making me all embarrassed. I’m glad I found you too. It’s like all those years in between never happened.’
‘If anything goes wrong again, we will talk it through, won’t we? I couldn’t bear it if we fell out now. I keep up with a couple of girls from uni and go out with a few of Phil’s friends’ wives but there’s no one like you, no one who really gets me.’
Natalie raised her glass; she clinked it against Cate’s. ‘Same here. There’s no one like an old friend. Nothing will come between us again, I promise.’
Cate fished into her bag. ‘Here, you drink your wine, let me find some photos. I’ve got lots of cute ones from when the boys were small but they’re going through those self-conscious years now. They have a magical way of vanishing whenever I try to take their picture and when I do get some, they insist on inspecting them and making me delete the ones they don’t like. I’ve got far more pictures of the dog!’
‘Ted?’
‘Yes, look, isn’t he adorable?’ Cate’s face softened, all traces of her earlier anguish gone.
Natalie took the phone. A rather scruffy mutt, white save for a black splodge over one eye, stared back at her, one ear cocked; the other appeared to be half-missing. She’d imagined Cate owned a sophisticated Afghan hound or a silky, super-slim whippet.
‘Oh, he is cute!’
‘Swipe along if you like; I’ve taken rather a rather a lot of him.’
Cate wasn’t kidding; there were an awful lot of pictures: Ted in a blue, quilted coat outside the old vicarage front gate; Ted lolling in a rather fancy woven basket; Ted in the garden; in the park; by a lake with a yellow tennis ball clamped in his jaw; by the sea putting a tentative paw in the surf. After showing a suitable level of enthusiasm, she handed the phone back. Her meal had arrived and she feared it would be stone cold by the time she’d worked her way through every image of the pampered pooch.
‘Ted’s the best,’ Cate cooed. ‘Every time I work at the shelter, I want to bring some sad puppy home with me but I wouldn’t want to upset him; I think he likes being an only dog.’
Natalie supressed a smile. She twirled a few strands of the spaghetti-likebigoliaround her fork. It wasn’t the most photogenic of dishes – she made a mental note not to eat it whilst they were filming – but the mixture of sardines and onions cooked until they were translucent and meltingly soft was something else.
‘You volunteer at the dog shelter?’
‘Yes, a couple of days a week when I’m not helping in Phil’s office or visiting Dad. Sometimes, I get lucky and answer the phone; other times, I’m cleaning out the cages.’
‘Not dressed like that.’ Natalie raised her eyebrows.
‘I’ll have you know I wear a very fetching navy-blue boilersuit.’ Cate laughed. ‘What’s your food like? It smells divine.’
