Page 81 of In Italy for Love

The weekend was the Fiera di San Martino, the Saint Martin’s Day fair. All of the local farms and businesses set up stalls in the town during the day and the vineyards were open to visitors into the evening. Jules and Davide ran Maddalena’s stall, selling wine and olive oil and jars of preserves.

Arco was with Alex at the bike shop to get used to his new routine and Jules missed him already, although she had Fritz to contend with. The big black dog was tied up behind the stall, occasionally pulling at his lead and startling customers.

‘You’re really going home then?’ Davide asked during a lull on Saturday morning. ‘Nonno was convinced you were the one to drag Alex back to life.’

‘Not everything Berengario sees actually comes to pass,’ she answered carefully.

Davide’s smile slipped and she waited for him to say whatever was on the tip of his tongue. ‘Is he okay? Alex?’

‘Yes,’ she replied immediately. ‘You don’t need to worry – none of you do. He doesn’t need to be dragged. He’s muddling through himself. Maybe all he needs is a friend.’

‘I haven’t always been the greatest friend to him. Laura was the favoured cousin – always so successful, married and settledyoung with a person everyone loved. Sometimes I think he’s a better son to Mamma than I am – and Laura was a better daughter.’

Jules couldn’t help it. She knew it was insensitive, but she laughed at him, pressing the backs of her fingers to her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle it. ‘I’m sorry, Davide, but that’s not how family works – especially not your family. Alex just needs them more than you do.’

He gave her a perplexed look, but Jules turned away, her own observation echoing in her mind.

‘You know Berengario and Maddalena would do anything for you,’ she continued. ‘Even Alex’s gruff neighbours who never even asked my name have offered help when needed.’

Davide smiled. ‘And watched your every move, frowning and judging, no?’

‘That too.’ At least she was leaving Italy with a better understanding of the trade-offs of community. It had taken the lowest moment of her life to discover that she’d never be alone if she had work to do.

On Saturday night, the restaurant at Due Pini was packed with locals and visitors for the open vineyard event. Jules waited tables with Alina, getting by with her broken Italian and the goodwill of the customers.

A fire roared and Alex sat squashed in a far corner playing the shiny red Fantini accordion which he’d managed to fix – moving the bellows gently, so the diners could still hear each other speak. As the evening wore on, a small group of guests gathered around him to sing old songs in tipsy voices.

When the last guests finally trudged off in the early hours of the morning, Jules pulled up a chair with the others around the fogolâr and accepted the little glass of grappa that Maddalena poured for her.

‘I believe congratulations are in order,’ Maddalena said quietly, once they were all seated by the fire: Maddalena and Berengario, Alex, Elena, Davide and the two dogs.

Jules glanced up in confusion. ‘Congratulations?’ On leaving? Or on cracking open Alex’s shell a little for a few weeks?

‘It’s past midnight. Happy birthday!’

‘Ohhhh, thanks,’ she said, accepting kisses on the cheek. ‘How did you know?’

‘Alex told us,’ she explained.

Jules looked across the fire to see Alex’s eyes on her, but he glanced away after giving her a brief smile.

‘Here.’ Maddalena handed over a small parcel wrapped in butcher’s paper. ‘I hope you can fit it in your luggage.’

Inside, she found a ceramic vase painted with swirling flowers in yellows, reds and purples. The words ‘Un salût dal Friûl’ were painted below the neck in sharp lettering.Greetings from Friuli. It was a kind gift, but tears pricked her eyes. All she’d have when she went home was this souvenir vase.

‘Jules, dear!’ Maddalena said in alarm.

‘Sorry, I—’ She waved at her face to stem the tears. ‘Thank you. It’s so thoughtful.’

As the conversation moved on around them, Maddalena drew closer and clutched her hand. All the quiet hours Jules had spent with this woman seemed suddenly precious. There was no effusive emotion, only steady friendship.

‘I’m going to miss this place,’ she said – entirely inadequately.

‘This place will miss you,’ Maddalena replied. ‘I’m only sorry – about Alex.’

Jules shook her head. ‘You don’t have to be sorry about Alex.’ Maddalena’s eyes clouded in an expression Jules now recognised. ‘I have no regrets.’

‘Buthewill – one day.’

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