Chapter 2—Home-Truths
It was a thorny task to choose who to invite and who to leave out. Mum and Dad thought of about half the guests—immediate family as well as more distant relatives, along with a few surviving work colleagues and old friends from the bowls club and amateur dramatic society. Dad was a keen crown-green bowler and a surprisingly good one too, modestly putting his success down to being closer to the ground than his opponents. It made sense that Mum was the leading light of the am-dram productions—she loved being the centre of attention, had a booming voice and was already a drama-queen.
The three Thomaselli daughters sat down at a table in the corner of the pub one Sunday lunchtime and came up with another fifty guest's names. There were a few people that their parents had forgotten about who they didn't want to offend, and to round numbers out they decided to let their offspring invite one friend each. They wanted a decent balance of ages, and you couldn't have too few party-goers as the hall was a bit like a barn, and they didn't want it to look empty.
Bella tried to imagine her and Mario celebrating their 50th, if they ever made it that was. Would they be able to come up with 100 guests? How many people did they know now? Nowhere near that number, but that was what marriage was like. You depended on one another, became a tag-team to get through life, while people you'd once known fell by the wayside.
Being with her sisters, without children and husbands interrupting them, was rather fun. They'd become a bit tiddly on the free drinks which Reg kept passing on a tray over the bar, and talked more freely than might have been the case. The three sisters all got on well enough, but there was always an element of competition in families, and they all kept an eye on what their siblings were doing. But this was a joint-operation, so the gloves were off—they wanted to make it a special day.
Bella, as the eldest, led the conversation: “Do you think that Dad is alright these days—
he's been so quiet, like he's got something on his mind all of the time. He's told us that
he's not ill, so what's up with him?”
“Do you think that Dad is alright these days—he's been so quiet, like he's got something on his mind all of the time. He's told us that he's not ill, so what's up with him?”
Bea took a sip of her Cinzano and lemonade, leaving a lipstick smudge on the glass.
“I think he's just realised how terribly long he's been married to Mum. He's depressed I reckon, knowing there's no way out.”
Bianca snorted, “You could be right. Poor old soul, what a life. Would you want to be around Mum for any longer than you had to? She's all self-self-self—she doesn't give Dad a thought. I love her, but I don't know how he's put up with her for so long. The other day I caught myself nagging Reg just like she has a go at Dad. I even came out with one of her spiteful put-downs. It brought me up short, it really did—I don't want to turn into her. Reg was as good as gold about it though.”
Bea leaned forward, moving her glass aside and lowered her voice.
“I haven't wanted to say anything to you two, but I think Mum hits Dad sometimes. He was doing some work for me the other day, helping me assemble the new cold-frame in the greenhouse and I saw some nasty bruises on his arm, where he'd rolled his shirt up. He saw me looking and said he'd been caught by the edge of the garage door blowing back in the wind, but it looked like a punch mark to me. Mum's twice his weight, remember.”
“Bea, I'm shocked. Are you serious? Why would she hit him? I know she's a right old cow, but does she really get physical with him?”
“It wouldn't be the first time, Bianca. You're quite a bit younger than Bea and me, and when you were born Mum had what must have been post-natal depression. Her Mum died not long before, and she wasn't expecting to have another baby, so she was in a really strange mood most of the time. Dad and her went through terrible rows—you used to come and hide in my bed, remember Bea?”
“Anyway, Dad had a great big black eye one day—a proper shiner. Dad tried to laugh it off, saying he'd taken up boxing and putting a steak on it to make us laugh, but you could tell he was nervous around Mum from then on. She, naturally, acted as if he was in the wrong.”
“How come this is the first I'm hearing of all this? Dad's so sweet, he wouldn't hurt a fly. How could she hit him?”
“Well, it was always her used to spank us, don't you remember? He never lifted a finger against us girls. If we'd done anything wrong and he found out, he'd sit us down and explain how what we'd done was bad—we'd end up feeling rotten for having let him down. They say that women look for a man who reminds them of their dad, and that's what I've found with my James. He's got the patience of a saint, and he even likes me for being a bit plumper since I had the baby,” Bea said, as she wriggled her fingers into the corner of a bag of crisps searching for the last fragments.
“He must feel like a real hypocrite, pretending everything's hunky dory for his anniversary. I've never known him to lie about anything. And he's got no one to turn to—it's not like he's a religious man, even though we're Catholic. He just goes along to mass for show. I doubt that he's been in the confession-box for years. He never does anything wrong—what sins would he have to tell to a priest?”
“He could at least talk about his marriage problems, Bianca. But he wouldn't do that, would he—too proud and too ashamed.”
“Do you know girls, the only time I see Dad happy is when he's been to the bowling club. He's liked and respected there. He's been treasurer for ages and keeps their accounts in good order. It's his own world too—Mum never goes along to any of the competitions or socials, though she always makes sure he comes to her rotten plays. Mario's thinking of joining, so I might do too—if only to see Dad relaxed and having fun. It's the one place he's got genuine friends, and some of them are coming tonight so I'm looking forward to meeting them.”
Bea sighed. “I'm beginning to wonder why we're doing this. I know it's family duty, and all that, but don't you feel like hypocrites? It's as if we're whistling past the graveyard pretending all's well, when really their marriage is a sham—at least as a happy union. It's not even as if they sleep together anymore. Haven't done for ages—Dad's been in the spare-room. She says it's because he snores, but I think she's shoved him away. He probably prefers being on his own—at least he's got more room!”
“Yes, well, we've all got a lot to think about. I've learned a lot today. We should put our heads together more often. It's a good job we've all got perfect marriages, isn't it,” Bella asked, looking cheekily at her sisters, causing them all to collapse with laughter.