CAROL MARINELLI - The Italian's Touch

Mario didn’t look convinced. ‘I see your son wears the yellow and black colours. That means he supports the Richmond Tigers, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘They are my adopted team, too. And do you take him to the matches?’

Fleur shook her head. ‘No, well, at least not if I can help it. This is bad enough.’

Mario laughed. ‘So you’re not into football. Well, I guess that’s what fathers were invented for.’

His comment was well meant, of course, but Fleur had to bite her lip as the sharp sting of tears reached her eyes. Thankfully the whistle blew and she was saved from any further conversation as three excited little boys ran in their direction.

‘I kicked a goal, Mum. Did you see?’ Alex, bright eyed and breathless from exertion, ripped off his much-hated headgear and started to cough.

‘Yes, I saw. You played really well.’ Scrabbling in her bag, she pulled out his Ventolin inhaler but Alex pushed it away.

‘Mum, I’m fine.’

‘You’re coughing, you know how it starts.’

‘But I’ve been running for an hour. I’m fine, honest. Hey, Ricky,’ he said turning to his team-mate. ‘Did you see me kick a goal?’

Putting the inhaler back into her bag, Fleur was aware that Mario was watching her. ‘I’d best get them home.’

‘You have two children? I didn’t realise.’

‘No, just the one. Ben here belongs to my friend Kathy—you’d know her from Accident and Emergency— Kathy Fisk.’

‘I know Kathy, good for a gossip.’

Fleur grinned. ‘That’s the one.’

‘Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Fleur. Are you working then?’

Fleur nodded. ‘How was your conference?’

‘Interesting, but now I suffer for the time away from the department. I am going to drop Ricky off and then head in to work. Who knows? I might even get a chance to clear my desk.’

Fleur doubted that. A bulldozer was the only thing that would clear a space in that office. ‘Well, I hope it’s quiet for you. See you, Mr Ruffini.’

‘I’ll catch you later. Isn’t that what they say here?’ And taking Ricky by his muddy hand, they headed off to the car park.

Walking home, Fleur tried to keep one ear on the boys’ conversation as her mind kept drifting back to her chance meeting with Mario. Out of work he’d seemed so much more friendly, amenable even, nothing like the volatile autocrat she’d witnessed before. And Kathy had been right. He really was gorgeous… ‘Ricky’s dad’s taking him to the footy on Saturday.’ Alex announced.

‘Mine, too,’ Ben said proudly.

If only Greg, Kathy’s husband, supported the same team as Alex, Fleur thought for the hundredth time. It wasn’t that Greg minded taking Alex to the footy—in fact, he’d offered umpteen times—but Alex was his father’s son and had no interest in the other teams. Unless the Tigers were playing he simply didn’t want to know. She did take him now and then—usually when Alex had nagged long and effectively and Fleur was on one of her guilt trips about Alex missing out on a father figure—but it was a very occasional treat. The only pleasure Fleur got out of the Tigers winning was seeing Alex’s face, but even that prize came at a price—an extra load of washing so that Alex could wear his beloved footy jumper to school on the Monday. A ‘treat’ dreamt up by the school principal, who obviously didn’t have to scrape off the mud and steam-iron the blessed thing at seven-thirty on a Monday morning.

Kathy, as always, had just put the kettle on. ‘Thanks so much.’ She grinned as Fleur flattened herself against the wall to avoid the two young boys jostling past. ‘It’s my turn for the torture chamber next week.’

Luckily Kathy hated footy as much as she did and didn’t even bother to ask how the morning had gone. Sunday mornings had become fondly known between them as ‘job share’ long before Fleur’s return to work. It suited them both well. Greg was a long-distance truck driver who more often than not worked weekends, and as for Alex’s dad…well, he would have loved the ‘job’ but fate had put a cruel end to that.

‘We nearly didn’t make it this morning,’ Fleur admitted. ‘Alex practically refused to put his helmet on. I told him that unless he wears it he simply isn’t going, so don’t take any nonsense from him next week. If he starts to play up, ring me on your mobile and I’ll come and fetch him. He’s got to realise I mean what I say. It’s for his own good.’

‘Is it?’ Kathy knew she was on dangerous ground here but she persisted, trying to ignore the pursed lips in Fleur’s pale face. ‘Do you really think it’s good for him to be the only kid out there padded to the hilt?’

‘It’s a rough game.’ Fleur said tartly.

‘And Alex is a boy. Rough games are the ones they play best. Look, I know it might be none of my business, but you’re my best friend so I’m making it my business. You know how mean kids can be sometimes about the tiniest thing? Alex wearing that headgear makes him stand out, makes him a target. Not to mention you rushing over every five minutes and driving past the playground umpteen times a day while he’s at school.’

‘I do not,’ Fleur said hotly. ‘I mean, if I’m going past on the way to the shops I might slow down—’

‘And nearly cause a pile-up behind you as you crane your neck, trying to see if Alex is playing with anyone—’

‘I know, I know,’ Fleur interrupted. ‘Look, Kathy, in every other way I’ve got my life together. I’m independent, I’ve got great friends and a bit of a social life under way.’ Kathy’s sceptical look deserved an answer. ‘Or at least I’m starting to—it’s just hard, leaving Alex. I know I’m overprotective, and I am trying to let go, I really am. I just feel so responsible, if anything were to happen to him, I mean. When Rory was alive, there was someone to share it with…’ Her voice trailed off.

‘I’m sorry, Fleur. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I know it’s hard for you and you’re doing wonderfully.’

‘I wish I believed that.’

‘But you are,’ Kathy said emphatically. ‘You’re a wonderful mother. Alex is a great kid.’

‘But he’s not happy, Kathy. He’s struggling to make friends, he’s even started to wet the bed again. I know my anxiety translates to him but I just can’t seem to help myself.’

‘You are helping yourself, Fleur. You’re back at work, getting on with your life. Alex is going to be just fine, if only you let him.’

‘The only trouble with that,’ Fleur said slowly, ‘is that it’s so much easier said than done.’

* * *

‘Ricky’s eight next month. He’s having a sleep-over party.’

Hearing the wistful note in his voice Fleur trod carefully. ‘That sounds nice.’

‘He hasn’t given out his invitations yet. I expect Ben will be going—he gets invited to lots of parties.’

‘You go to parties, too,’ Fleur pointed out.

‘But not like Ben.’

He was right, Fleur thought with a sigh as she cleared the plates and Alex’s untouched vegetables. But Ben’s father hadn’t died two weeks before he’d started school. Kathy had been happy to get involved with the coffee mornings, school runs and the social chitchat at the school gates while she herself had stood there, shivering despite the hot summer sun, dark glasses covering her reddened eyes, too scared of breaking down to respond to the well-meaning offers of help.

Fleur thought back to Alex’s last two birthday parties— low-key affairs with sombre relatives ducking out for a weep at every turn. Alex deserved a treat.

‘Tell you what, this year why don’t we do something special for your birthday? How about a tenpin bowling party?’