I stiffen slightly, remembering Kate’s comment about me being rich. “It’s funny you should say that,” I chirp. “Where I grew up,estatehad a whole different meaning.”
Theo laughs but the kids don’t even register my comment.
“Come on!”
I start the tour by showing them the vast space above the garage, which is accessed from the lawn by climbing a short wooden ladder. As I lift my sunglasses and push open the door, I ask, “So what do you think this is?”
“A dungeon!” squeaks Archie.
“That’s a good guess,” commends Theo. He points out the sections of walls that have been tiled diagonally, to create ventilation gaps.
“It was probs to dry out grain or something,” says Mabel.
“That’s an outstanding guess,” says Theo.
Callum flashes her a look from underneath his bucket hat. She rearranges her features into an expression of boredom.
“The truth is we’ve no idea what it is,” I cheep. “But if you look at this and the garage downstairs, I reckon it’s as big as your dad’s flat in Manchester.”
“Then maybe he shouldn’t have left our house,” snarls Callum.
I look at Theo’s wounded expression and feel a surge of anger: I can’t believe Callum would seriously want his dad to sacrifice his own happiness to stay with them. Then I remember he’s still a child.Of coursethat’s what he wants. That’s what I wanted from my dad.
I lower my sunglasses and jump down onto the grass. “Come on, let’s go round the back of the house.”
I guide everyone past ivy crawling up the trunks of dead trees and over dried grass and twigs that crunch and crack under our feet. Tacked onto the back and sides of the house are several stone sheds or outhouses, which are stuffed full of old wood, rusty barrels and farm machinery, and chipped plant pots. There’s also a pizza oven, but its tiled roof has collapsed inwards.
“What happened to that?” asks Archie.
“I haven’t a clue,” I answer. “But the builders are going to fix it so we can make our own pizzas!”
“Yes!” he says, punching the air.
I turn to Callum and Mabel. “Do you two fancy making pizzas?”
Callum shrugs.
“Whatever,” says Mabel, suddenly fascinated by the ends of her hair.
Unsurprisingly, the kids show little interest in the chapel.
“It’s just a wall,” mutters Callum.
“Actually, you can still make out Saint Bartholomew,” protests Theo, pointing at the mural.
“Religion’s proper boring,” comments Callum, licking his finger and wiping a bit of dirt off his trainer.
I become aware of how hot it is and feel the sweat beading on my brow.
I lead everyone up to the olive grove and, just a few meters along the gravel driveway, we spot a pile of empty gun cartridges. Archie is fascinated.
“Whose are they?” asks Callum, nudging them with his toe.
“I don’t know,” I say, “maybe the neighbors’. I’ll ask Stefano. Maybe people are allowed to hunt wild boar.”
Mabel looks panicked. “Wait a minute, are we going to get shot?”
“No, Mabel, we’re not going to get shot,” Theo assures her. “But if you’re worried you could always moan a bit louder; then the hunters know we’re coming.”
