“That doesn’t matter,” declares Mabel. “Harry Styles is a lot older than me, but I don’t care. I love him. And I know he’d love me.”
“You hold onto that feeling,” I tell her. “Never forget it.”
We come to the section of the road that’s lined with cypress trees on either side: we’re approaching Montemagno.
Mabel slides her hands under her thighs. “You know, you’re much better at this than Dad.”
“Well, your dad didn’t really get his head around being gay till he was older,” I explain. “I knew from a young age. But I couldn’t express it, so I couldn’t talk about this kind of thing. I couldn’t tell anyone I fancied Howard Donald.”
“Why not?”
“Because the other boys would have battered me!”
Her eyes bulge. “Oh my god, did that actually happen?”
“Yeah, all the time. So I learned to keep things in. Ian thinks that’s why a lot of gay men act like teenage girls. Because all those things we’re supposed to do as teenagers we didn’t get to do.”
We pass the walled cemetery that’s just outside the village.
“At least that stops you from being a boring grown-up,” observes Mabel.
I chuckle. “I’ll take that as a compliment. I love being connected to my inner teenage girl. Although maybe that explains why I’ve got such bad skin.”
Mabel shakes her head. “No, that’ll be all the suncream you put on. What products are you using?”
I tell her and her face falls.
“You need to make some adjustments,” she states, emphatically. “I can help you if you like. I know loads about skincare. I’ve watched everything on TikTok and InstaandYouTube.”
I smile. “OK, that’d be brill.”
We come to the old-fashioned women’s clothes shop and turn off the main road.
“You know, I can’t wait to tell your dad about tonight,” I say.
Mabel doesn’t respond, but I can tell that she does, too.
Chapter 28
The next day is—finally—Saturday, and I’ve arranged to call Auntie Julie at four o’clock. Although how I’m going to contain myself till then, I don’t know. I’ll just have to keep busy.
I’m thrown a lifeline while we’re eating breakfast in the temporary kitchen. All of sudden, Mabel sits up and screams. “Oh my god, there’s a mouse!”
I swivel around but can’t see it. “Where? Where did it go?”
She lifts her feet up onto the chair and points to the far wall, on the other side of the lounge area. “Oh my god, what if we catch rabies?”
“What’s rabies?” asks Archie, jumping up and running over to the wall.
“Mabel, we’re not going to catch rabies,” Theo reassures her. “Just try and calm down and tell us exactly what you saw.”
“It was a mouse,” she splutters. “It ran along the wall and disappeared into a hole in that corner.”
I feel a tug in my gut. Since the day we arrived at the house and mice had eaten through the kitchen, I’ve spotted their droppings a few times—but I just kept sweeping them away and hoping no one would notice. I couldn’t face setting traps to kill them and told myself that all the noise the builders were making would probablyscare them off. Clearly this hasn’t been the case. Just as I’m worrying that all the progress I’ve made with Mabel is going to be lost—or that she may tell her mum—Theo seizes control of the situation and turns it into a game. He and the boys get down on all fours and scour the room for holes. As well as the one through which the mouse disappeared, they spot two others and block up all three with pieces of cardboard. I’ll ask Giuseppe to seal them properly on Monday.
“Remember he hasn’t started on this room yet,” I point out. “So there’s bound to be the odd hole. But by the time he’s finished, the entire house will be mouse-proof.”
Callum looks disappointed. “Can’t we set traps?”
