But it’s a hollow victory if he chooses not to listen to what she says.
‘It is a big deal. It upsets me,’ she says angrily. ‘I never understood the words for it before but I do now: contempt. You treated me with contempt and allowed Viola and Stephen to do the same.’
‘Grazia, they lost their mother so young, you must understand that,’ Bernard says in lofty tones.
‘I understand,’ she snaps. ‘What I don’t understand is how you don’t tell them how hurtful I find their behaviour.’
‘Please,’ he says wearily, ‘they do appreciate you, but I’m their father and there’s a special bond there.’
Grazia has heard all this before.
She knows that Stephen and Viola would behave differently to her if their father really cared about them doing so. But he doesn’t.
He has his life compartmentalised. There is his business, Grazia and his children, and all three have separate compartments. If she puts a boundary up, then Bernard flattens it. Only his boundaries matter, not hers.
Grazia doesn’t think she wants to live like this any more.
‘Let’s not fight, darling,’ he adds now. ‘It is not worth it. We love each other.’
Love can do a lot of things, Grazia knows, but compensate for contemptuous behaviour? No.
Grazia allows Bernard to hug her.
She has only one more trick up her sleeve.
She needs to talk to Rose, tell her the full truth about their marriage.
But Grazia knows that if she does, Bernard will never forgive her.
The September sun beats down on India and Keera as they sit beside the infinity pool and drink iced tea.
Letting the sun warm their limbs is a glorious release after the tension of the terrace. Even the cicadas and the sounds of tiny chirping birds add to the sense of a break away from the world. The heat of the sun makes every movement slow and languid.
‘Do you miss not being able to drink or use drugs?’ asks India, arching her body luxuriously on the sunlounger.
Keera’s sitting upright on hers and, in reply, she pats India’s skinny bare knee.
‘Thank you for asking,’ she says. ‘People don’t. Not many people know I’ve been in rehab but the ones who do don’t ask about it. It’s like this big Not My Problem area that people walk around and try very hard to pretend is not there.’
‘Oh sweetie. That’s hard. Does your mom get it?’
Keera winces at the question. Everything comes back to her mother. ‘Sort of. Mom doesn’t do failure and being an addict is a failure. She’s all about winning and being the best.’
‘Competitive?’
‘Yes. She wanted me to be the absolute best, both for me and her. But she was kinda ruthless with it.’
India’s fascinated by the intricacies of Keera’s relationship with her mother. It’s all so intense: nothing like India’s relationships with her parents and stepmother.
Sonja’s less of a mother than a lovely godmother who dances into India’s life every now and then. Georgie’salways careful not to overstep. She can’t imagine either of them pushing her the way Keera has clearly been pushed to succeed.
‘In what way was your mom ruthless?’ India asks.
Keera shrugs. ‘Where do I start? “You don’t get in the charts by being ready to settle for second best”: that’s my mom’s motto.’
Keera begins to list it all:
‘Being the right shape was really important. Skinny but not worryingly skinny – not that I ever managed too skinny,’ she says ruefully. ‘Wearing the right clothes from the right people. Being “on” all the time. Which is exhausting, to be frank. “It’s all part of it!” Mom used to say.’
