He’d grown up in this house. Not much had changed. His mother still had drawings they had all done at school framed on the kitchen wall. It had been years since he’d sat here with everyone. His heart was so full at that moment.
Carmine took a sip of his father’s favourite chianti and savoured it. Even when far away he found wine specialists that could get a bottle in when he wanted one. It had always been a taste which sparked memories of this place.
“It’s good to be home,” he said. “I’ve missed you all.”
His mother, Maria, next to him, clutched his hand. “I cannot believe I have all my babies around me for Christmas. It’s been too long.”
Carmine’s father, Stefano, occupied his usual place at the head of the table. Normally, Maria sat opposite him. However, Nonna Amato had graced them with her presence for the festive period this year and was claiming the position. Maria had no qualms deferring to the older generation.
Not that she would’ve had much of a choice.
Also crushed together were Carmine’s elder sister, Monica, his younger brother, Raoul and his wife, Donna. If that had been it, they would have managed quite well. Yet, Stefano and Maria hated to see people alone in the holidays. This resulted in several of the staff from the family restaurant being invited for lunch. They were on a picnic table in the lounge area.
La Piazza had been a staple on the Brockton high street for decades. Stefano burst with pride whenever he spoke about the business he’d built from scratch.
“I wish you’d come to Italy instead of Brockton,” Nonna said. “It’s time you got yourself a nice girl to settle down with. There are plenty in the village.”
Carmine blushed. Instead of telling his family the truth about his sexuality, he’d fled at nineteen to see the world.
Monica gave him a friendly wink. She was the only one who knew. He’d told her the night before he flew to Bangkok. He figured he wanted one member of the family to know who he really was. Also if she’d had a bad reaction to the news, he could fly away and never return.
Of course, Monica had hugged him and told him to stop being a worrier. Deep down he’d known she would understand.
“Let me get my practice set up first, Nonna,” Carmine said. “Then I’ll have some time. Maybe in the summer.”
The older lady waved him away. “Always an excuse. At least you didn’t marry an American, I suppose. Or worse, have children with one.”
She’d unwittingly fired a barb straight into his heart. There had been many reasons for coming home to the UK after almost twenty years. One major one being his ex, Arinze.
This time last year they had been in the desert. Just the two of them. Funny how things changed so rapidly.
Stefano reached for a deep fried arancini ball. Maria leapt forward and slapped his hand, making him drop it.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“But it’s Christmas,” he wailed.
“Yes and I want you to see many more.”
Stefano had always been able to sulk like a three-year-old. It got more comical the older he got.
“Maria is right,” Nonna declared. “Your father’s heart gave in when he was younger than you are now. I’m not going through that again.”
Stefano’s heart attack had been the other major reason for Carmine’s return. It had been a wake-up call that nothing is forever.
When Monica had contacted him with the news, he had felt so far away from them all. The flight had been hell while Stefano lay in a hospital bed. By the time he landed at Manchester airport, Carmine had made the decision to come home.
“How is the practice coming on?” Monica asked Carmine.
He wasn’t altogether happy with the spotlight being on him again.
“I have an office,” he said. “In the centre of Manchester. It’s nice enough. Now all I need are some clients.”
As an architect, he’d worked for one of the biggest agencies in Santa Monica, Los Angeles. During that time, he’d had the privilege of having lots of rich and celebrity clients. Something Maria had used as bragging rights amongst her friends.
He supposed starting from the bottom in Manchester might ruin that for her. Designing a local pub or shop didn’t have thesame ring to it as a beachfront property. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. He would take anything at this point.
“He hasn’t even let me visit his new apartment,” Maria complained. “It will need a mother’s touch. I know how you boys live.”
