Page 6 of Matteo

“How the hell did you forget about my daughter?” Jett snaps.

“Oh, sweetie.” Cari strokes her hair, and stands up, as if she’s about to head into the kitchen.

“Uh-oh.” Rio scrapes his chair back and motions for Cari to sit back down. “I’ll get it. You should have said something sooner, Brooke.” He disappears out of sight, returning seconds later.

We all break into guilty laughter, and everyone apologizes to Brooke, who is soaking up the attention.

“For you, madam,” Rio announces in a terrible French accent that has Brooke looking confused. “Chicken goujons and fries for the little lady.”

She claps her hands together, excitedly. We all fall silent, as we start to eat. The food is so delicious, the wine flows, and looking around the table, the atmosphere is easy and relaxed once again.

Talk of the old man is forgotten, and everyone is happily sitting in couples. Jett and Cari, with Brooke. Rio and Raquel. Dex and Dani. Zach and Maya.

And me and Enzo.

Chapter 2

ELIZABETH

“Arthur, it's me!” I shout, having knocked lightly on my neighbors' door.

I've got two bags of groceries in one arm and my laptop knapsack in the other.

Arthur opens the door. He’s always smartly dressed. Tall, and slim, with a full head of white hair and thick rimmed spectacles. There’s nothing frail about him, despite him being almost eighty years old.

“Lizzie,” he says, his tone admonishing as he sees my full arms. “You didn't have to.” He opens the door wider and I charge in as usual, like it's my place and I live here all the time, which isn't completely wrong. I spend a lot of time here, even though my apartment is directly across from his and Irene’s, his wife.

He shakes his head as he sees the groceries I've bought for them. “You've got a big day tomorrow, and you didn’t need to do this when you should be preparing.”

I take my rucksack off and set it on the floor, then walk into the kitchen and start unloading the groceries. “I'm not going to let you both starve on account of me.”

He starts helping me, even though he's got something cooking on the hob. “We can order groceries online.”

“You can, but you don't like doing that,” I remind him. “And I don't mind. It's on the way, and I managed to get a few things for me.” I start putting items into the fridge. “I got everything on your list.”

“I didn't give you a list!”

He didn’t, but I took a screenshot on my phone of the list he’d scrawled on a corner of his newspaper and bought everything on it. I smile at him and he returns to the hob and starts stirring.

“I also picked up a few other things for you.” I pull out bananas, apples and some small bags of vegetables. I no longer feel like I’m overstepping here because I consider Arthur and Irene as family. With these two in my life, I’ve finally found a sense of real belonging. I love being able to do things for them, taking care of them, looking out for them in ways I’ve longed to do. They filled a hole in my life and in my heart that I wasn’t aware of until now.

I grew up in foster care from the age of nine, and I don't remember my real parents much, and I’m an only child, too.

“You do too much for us.” Arthur's smile, shy, coy, soft and gentle, is the smile that makes my insides warm. The kind of smile that lifts me. That is genuine and straight from his heart. I love these two. I found Arthur and Irene when I moved into this apartment block a couple of years ago, across the hallway from them.

I could hear them sometimes, but that wasn't how we met. One evening I saw Irene wandering out onto the street in her nightdress, and Arthur chasing after her. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I rushed out to help.

Later, once we got Irene back home and helped her back into her bed, Arthur told me that Irene has Alzheimer's. They’ve been together for most of their lives and married for fifty-eight years.

He's devoted to her, and completely in love, but he's also exhausted.

Ever since then I can't help but keep an eye out for them and I help them whenever I can. They have a son who lives in Canada, and a teenage granddaughter called Tillie, but I've never seen them visit. Sometimes Irene thinks I’m Tillie.

“As if you don’t do anything for me,” I throw back. He keeps an eye on me. Watches if anyone he doesn’t know comes to my door. I get a lot of parcels and deliveries, and Arthur always takes them in for me if I’m not around.

“That's so good of you, Lizzie. Honestly, kiddo, I don’t know how we’d cope without you.”

I kiss him on the cheek. This is love, and he makes me feel special. I adore this man. I adore Irene, too. But she often has a lost and faraway look in her eyes, and I don't know if she really knows me. It’s obvious that something isn't right. She’s often sitting at the table, folding napkins, or doodling, or just vacantly staring out of the window. Sometimes she knits.