At four o’clock I receive a message from the girls letting me know they’ve arrived in Montemagno. Our original plan had been for them to stay in the house, but that was before the kids were coming for the whole summer. I felt so guilty asking them to stay elsewhere that I found them an Airbnb just off the main road in the village and insisted on paying for it myself—although I regret that now Giuseppe’s bills are mounting up. Worried that Gloria’s luggage wouldn’t fit in my little car, I also booked them an extra-large taxi from Pisa Airport. At least the work on the kitchen isn’t starting till Monday so I can cook them a welcome meal. Although the thought of my sisters, the kids and Theo sitting round the same table sends my anxiety soaring.
I drive down to the village but don’t make it to the Airbnb before I spot my sisters in the square outside the church. Ian is wearing a short-sleeved check shirt, cargo shorts and Birkenstocks, and studying the plaque by the war memorial. Dom is dressed in tiny drawstring sports shorts and an equally tiny vest—his muscles and chest hair spilling out of it—doing triceps dips on a bench. And Gloria is in half drag—or “hag” as he calls it—wearing a pink, bobbed wig and heart-shaped dangly earrings, with a strappy silver top and fitted trousers, both of which show off his ample curves. He’s currently shimmying down a potted olive tree, when he reaches the bottom twerking furiously. I feel an ache in my gut as I realize just how much I’ve missed them.
“Ladies, it’s fab to see you!” I gush, flinging open the car door and rushing towards them.
“You too,mia sorella!” trills Gloria, in a flurry of kisses and hugs.
“In case you’re wondering, that’s ‘my sister’ in Italian,” translates Ian. “We looked it up in the airport.”
“While we were drinking the bar dry,” booms Dom in his deep voice, his moustache tickling me as he plants several kisses on my cheeks.
“Bitch, this place is as dead as Kerry Katona’s career,” Gloria declares. “Take us to your castle!”
I frown. “Just so you know, it’s not very glamorous.”
Gloria raises a nail-varnish-tipped hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry, girl, wearethe glamour!”
I chuckle. “Yeah, it’s also a building site.”
“In that case, it’ll be full of hot builders.” Gloria jumps in the car and gives a few taps on the ceiling. “Addy, hit that accelerator!”
When we arrive at the house, the girls jump out of the car and start looking around.
“It’s as hot as a swamp up here,” drawls Gloria. “It’s a good job I brought my fan.” He produces an elaborate lace fan, which he throws open with a loud click, and begins wafting himself.
Theo trots over to greet us, trailed by the kids.
“How’s my favorite zaddy?” Dom bellows, giving him a hug and pat on the back.
“You’ve only been here two weeks and look how blond you are!” observes Ian.
“Even the hairs on your arms have gone blond!” says Gloria. He gives a little growl. “If you weren’t dating my sister …”
Theo gives a bashful smile, but I can tell he isn’t uncomfortable. Which is more than can be said for the kids. They seem taken aback by just how loud—just how forceful a presence—my sisters are. As do a couple of builders, who are dragging out an old bath and chucking it into the skip, doing everything they can to avoid establishing eye contact.
Theo introduces the kids to Ian, Gloria and Dom. While everyone is polite, each side is clearly wary of the other. That can’t behelped by the fact that I’ve kept my sisters updated on some of the kids’ more challenging behavior. Not that I regret that: without their support, I wouldn’t have made it through the last two weeks.
Archie seems fascinated by Gloria, all six feet, four inches of him—and that’s before adding on his pink, patent leather stack heels.
“Are you on stilts?” he asks.
Gloria gives a broad grin. “No, my angel. Just heels.”
Archie points at Gloria’s pink wig. “Is that real?”
“Nothing about me is real!” says Gloria, theatrically. “I’m a work of art, my own special creation!”
The reference to “I Am What I Am” is lost on Archie, but it doesn’t matter because my sisters’ attention has already shifted onto the builders. Gloria and Dom are mesmerized, especially as the men are—as usual—working shirtless. Giuseppe in particular is a big hit and my sisters insist on going over to introduce themselves.
“Buongiorno!”says Dom, eyeing him up, approvingly.
Gloria flutters his false eyelashes. “I think I’m suffering from subsidence. Can you spread some cement on my foundations?”
Ian tries to contain his laughter. “I’m not getting my translation app out for that.”
“There’s no need,” I say, torn between embarrassment and amusement. “Giuseppe speaks English. He’s married to a British woman.”
“Sorry, you lost me at ‘married’,” quips Gloria, with a click of his fan.
