Women on the Home Front (147 page)

‘Be patient, the
dottore
says not yet. It is too smoky and sooty. Perhaps in the summer.’

‘The summer’ll never come for me,’ he whispered, turning his grey face from her in distress.

‘Soon the snow will melt on the hills and the garden will grow flowers. Rosa and I will come to have picnics with you, and she will show you her dancing steps.’ It was hard to stop the panic rising in her voice.

‘Make it soon,
mia cara…
.’

*  *  *

Maria sat on the bus home with a heavy heart. This has got to stop, you mustn’t see Sylvio alone again, she ordered herself, repeating it over again, fingering her rosary for the strength to resist temptation.

If only it were that easy to shut off the excitement, the longings and the fantasies. He was everything Marco was not. He was young, fit and full of energy, full of creative dreams. He was talented and eager to succeed. Everything he’d achieved was by his own hard work. His path was not smoothed over by family connections.

Perhaps Marco would have returned from war with such vigour if he’d not been so badly wounded. They would’ve made plans to change the décor, improve the café and have more babies.

Now his poor body was like a sack of straw, his spirit so fragile and tired, but he clung on to life for her sake, patient in his suffering like a saintly martyr. But I don’t want a saint for a lover, I want real flesh and blood, strong arms to hold me, strong thighs to press on me, the warm breath of sucking lips, she cried in shame.

No one could accuse her of neglecting her husband. Every possible visiting hour, she turned up. She should have shares in the bus company, so many tickets she’d purchased to get to the ward on time and back between shifts. Faithful in her presence but not in her body.

This evening she sat on the upstairs deck in the twilight, watching the twinkling lights of the town fading as the road rose higher onto the moor and the dark starlit night. She could do this journey blindfolded: round the bend out of town, up under the arched railway viaduct and past the grammar school
with its windows ablaze with light. Onwards and upwards to the terminal stop and the iron gate leading to the long flat single-storey sanatorium, with windows open to the sky and balconies facing the windswept lawns, facing away from the foul air and the dust, catching the west wind over the Pennines.

No one could accuse her of not doing her duty by Marco but duty didn’t warm her toes at night, duty put no skip in her step. Duty kept her at her post behind the counter and doing the books at night.

She’d sensed the loss of him the minute he was carried from the troopship on a stretcher. He was as much a victim of war as all the names on the Grimbleton cenotaph; a Tommy with an Italian name, while Sylvio was the enemy, defeated, despised by her family. Marco was a frail shadow of what he might have been and it was not his fault. In the eyes of the Church he was her
marito
and she was dirt, a faithless wife. How could she think of betraying him?

She had done her duty and come from Sicily to marry one of the brothers. That was the arrangement and she was grateful for the chance of a new life. The family had once visited from England and it was an honour to be betrothed to such a successful
famiglia.
By the time she’d arrived the other brothers were spoken for and it was assumed she and Marco would make a fine couple. He was gentle and shy, and she was so naïve and ignorant.

The wedding was lavish, with dancing and music. They had taken the train to London for their honeymoon and saw all the sights. Then came the miscarriages,
one after another. Marco joined up and one brief reunion resulted in precious Rosaria. Now when she looked at him all she felt was loving pity.

How could she be honest and tell him she didn’t care for him in that way any more? No words would ever come out of her mouth to hurt him. The truth would kill him and she couldn’t do that to such a brave man. It was tempting to blurt out all her feelings and dump them on him once and for all, but the price of loving Sylvio was to carry all this guilt like some huge rock on her back.

It was her burden, not Marco’s, and yet of all the men she knew she sensed he might understand and forgive.

She was dying too, living a half-life of secrets and lies, trying to stay cheerful and busy for Rosaria’s sake. Yet Rosa was not enough. How she yearned for another baby at her breast and the clutter of little ones to distract her from this constant aching.

The ice-cream parlour was not enough. It would never be her business without Marco by her side. Santinis only gave to the sons, so it would be Enzo’s café one day, not Rosa’s. It wasn’t fair. The cleaning jobs kept her so active she slept with exhaustion each night.

The only consolation in her life was those stolen moments with Sylvio when she could forget the dreary world. She loved how he styled her hair this way and that, trying new cuts and lotions. Her head was like a lump of clay from which he created such amusing sculptures for the competitions.

Their next job was to prepare the mannequins for
the Fashion Parade in the town hall, the one that Diana’s mother was organising for the Hospital Comforts Fund.

Levine’s would be showing off their most exclusive range for the smart ladies of town. Rumour had it there would be some of the ‘New Look’ fashions on display with frilly underskirts and merino wool boleros.

For one evening, perhaps, they could work together and no one would suspect. Time disappeared when she was lying in his arms and there was only the hush of the silent salon and the flicker of neon lights flashing outside as they made love on the floor. This was the time of dreams, when they wished great falling stars full of wishes, silly love talk, the ‘what ifs’ when the world they knew faded into the distance, with its rationing, coupons and drabness. For these few hours she lost all her ‘must dos’ and feasted on these precious stolen moments but when they separated she was back in the real world, pacing the floor in the small hours of the morning, seeing the pain on Marco’s face.

This life of lies was tearing her apart and it couldn’t go on. Marco would want her to have some life of her own but not this treachery. He thought the Olive Oil Club and Rosa’s dancing success were enough.

He’d nearly killed himself to see Rosa dance. If only he knew the way things were. Of all men he would understand, but he trusted her and how easy it is to be believed when you are trusted completely. Once that trust was betrayed it could never be repaired. Better to carry the burden alone and not hurt him any more. Better to give up her lover and sleep easy.

Our Lady of Sorrows, please help me!’ she prayed.
‘A mamma must put her children first and make sacrifices.’ She prayed for the strength to resist Sylvio and walk away. This could not go on.

Now, as the moon rose over the dark purple hills and the stars shone like icicles in the clear sky, she sensed resolve and purpose and a cleansing. It was going to be a fresh start. From now on she’d devote herself only to her husband and child and the success of the business.

She was blessed with good friends in Lily, Ana, Su, Queenie and Diana. They believed in her. They must be enough. Giving into passion, to temptation was a sin. No more fancy hairdos and vanity. From now on her mind and heart must rest only on the blessings she’d been given. There was a roof over her head and they wanted for nothing. Marco need never know about her little lapse, as he’d never known about the GI, all those years ago. A terrible thought stabbed her in the gut. Was Marco being punished for her sins? Surely not? Better to sort it out now.

Tomorrow she would face her first confession for months, do every penance and attend Mass once more to blot out this backlog of sinning and make him better.

There was chaos in the café when Lily arrived. Enzo was struggling to keep up with the afternoon shoppers.

‘Is Maria in the back?’ she asked.

‘She’s upstairs, lazy cow!’ he snapped.

It was not like Maria to shirk a busy shift. Time to find out what was wrong.

She was curled up on the little sofa, covered in a blanket, sobbing.

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Lily said, going to put the kettle on the stove.

‘I’m bad woman, Lily.’ Her sobs shook her whole body.

Maria was not making any sense, but Lily knew a cup in her hand and a chance to talk it over might help. ‘You’re a good woman. What’s brought all this on?’

‘I have to tell someone. I am terrible woman in mortal sin. What will I do, Lily?’

‘Shove this down you. I’ve put sugar in it,’ Lily replied. ‘It’s not that bad, surely? No one could do more than you for Marco.’

‘It’s not how it should be with us. We are married. We should share bed and loving and now I betray
mio marito.
I am lonely. I do my duty for the Santini family but my toes are cold at night and I find warmth in the arms of Sylvio Bertorelli. They will kill me if they find out. I disgrace the family name.’

So Ivy’s gossip was true. Lily sighed. Not that it was a surprise when she had seen how those two looked at each other. This confession was way out of her league. What should she say? What did she know of such things? Better just to listen and say nowt but a friend needed support at a time like this.

‘It’s hard for you on your own. He’d understand. You’re only human.’

‘No, you do not understand our ways. They will kill me! Sylvio make me feel like a film star but it is wrong what we do but, oh, he loves me.’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Lily whispered. ‘It must be hard.’

‘I am dying inside. One child is not enough for me.
Rosaria needs brothers and sisters. I do not like this family. It is all making money. Angelo and Toni would kill me and take my child from me. I don’t deserve such a husband.’

‘You’re doing your best to protect him. You’re only human, Maria.’ What else could be said that was not going to make her feel worse?

‘When I am with Sylvio, we lie under the stars, make snow angels, wishing great dreams for the salon. We are like Romeo and Juliet. There are no rations and coupons or icy grass, just moonlight and kisses, but it is all ended now. I have to think of Marco.’

‘You were happy together once?’ Lily asked as she sat down, a wonky spring digging into her bottom. Better to let Maria get it all out of her system.

‘I was glad he was the only one left to marry. The others are…poof! It is hard to carry secret, Lily. It is like a big rock on my back that bends me in two. It is better to give up my happiness. Marco doesn’t deserve a faithless woman. I have to be strong for both of us.’

Lily nodded, thinking how she had to be strong for Walter. He was like a lost little boy sometimes who needed a shove in the right direction. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her in his own way but he was not good at showing his affection.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I will tell him,’ Maria sobbed, ‘Sylvio, I can’t see you any more. No more competitions. People talk and I can’t risk Rosa. I have such a pain in my stomach and my head.’ She was sobbing until she was hoarse.

Why did the film
Brief Encounter
come into Lily’s
mind? She had queued with Enid to see it twice. The heroine had to choose between her doctor sweetheart or her family, and it all ended in tears. It was like going through the mangle watching that film, they were that rung out. Passion like that was unnerving and it worried her. The film music was ringing in her head at the very thought of all that pent-up emotion.

The only courtship she was experiencing was a very steady away sort of loving. But how did anyone do a day’s work after all those shenanigans?

‘We have to do Diana’s fashion show. I will tell him then,’ Maria sobbed. ‘The fates brought us together and showed us what might have been. It is cruel but life is cruel, I think. No more Lavaroni’s, no more shows. I go to confession,’ she sobbed, wiping her eyes. ‘Now I must go downstairs. How are things at home?’

‘It was as bad as you feared. I destroyed the hash. Levi was beaten up and now Mother is ruling the roost. We are all in disgrace.’

‘You are a good family. It will pass…’

‘Oh, Ria, if only you knew the half of it, but my lips are sealed. Believe me, all families have secrets.’

‘Don’t say a word to anyone,’ Maria was pleading. ‘I’d better go.’

‘You wash your face, go down there and I’ll fetch Rosa from her nonna’s house. I’ll make you both some tea and we’ll go and see Marco together. You ought not to be on your own tonight,’ Lily offered, glad to feel needed.

‘You are a good egg, Lily. You will make Walt a fine woman.’

Oh heck! Walt would wonder where she had got to again. There was just time to nip on the bus to leave a message and the shopping with his mother.

But when a friend was in trouble it was company they needed. Walt could wait.

There would be years together in that little house on the hill, years and years of it, not like Sylvio and Maria, the star-crossed lovers. It was so sad: just one moment of stolen passion. Who was it said that all passion ended in the grave? Now she was getting as bad as Maria with her romantic fantasies. Why hadn’t she ever felt like that with Walt? When she looked at him lately all she wanted to do was criticise. What was wrong with her? Was she jealous of Maria and Sylvio, jealous of adulterers? It was all so confusing.

‘I’m sorry, girls, but you’re going to have to sing for your supper tonight,’ said Diana, tapping her pencil on her wine glass in the Unsworths’ dining room. She had fed them on grilled trout with game chips and the last of the apples in the loft, made into a crumble with oats and ground nuts and a bottle of Daddy’s best wine. Someone had to fly the British flag when it came to cuisine.

‘Mummy has asked for the Olive Oils to help with her charity mannequin parade. It’s for the hospital so I want some good prizes for the raffle,’ she paused for breath and to read off her list.

‘Lavaroni’s have agreed to do the hairdressing, Battersby’s the shoes and Levine’s the clothes, but they want some local girls to model the outfits: tall girls who can stride out in the New Look.’ She looked straight in the direction of Ana and Lily.