* * *
We string up paper chains across the rooms in the villa, made from the packing paper used to keep the books safe in their storage cases. On Christmas Eve, the celebrations begin. Lisabeta’s neighbour Aña brings us a feast of traditional Puglian Christmas treats: frittelle – little fried dumplings stuffed with tomatoes and mozzarella, sautéed onions and pungent ricotta cheese – all served with cime di rapa – boiled turnip leaves scattered with fried pancetta cubes; tiny pettole doughnuts dredged in sugar; and the centrepiece cartellate – long strips of fried dough rolled into roses and dipped into spicy mulled wine. Neighbours and friends, the college students from Lecce, and Lisabeta’s sister Gudrun over from Sweden all gather around the old table in Villa Speranza’s large kitchen. Aña jokes that Lisabeta has become a true Italian because her table can expand to accommodate whoever shows up for food. It’s a family gathering like none I’ve experienced before and it’s wonderful.
* * *
On Christmas Day, another feast takes place – this time Swedish delights prepared by Lisabeta and Gudrun. That evening, after we’ve all rolled ourselves away from the table, I sneak to my room on the first floor overlooking the terrace garden and call home.
Mum answers immediately and I wonder how long she might have been carrying her mobile with her, waiting for my call. I can hear the hum of conversation in their farmhouse, peppered occasionally by barks of laughter from Dad and Will.
‘Tell me everything,’ she says, and I imagine her settling into the old velvet armchair in the snug behind the kitchen, Gran’s crocheted blanket over her knees and probably a glass of sherry warming on the old milking stool by the fire. The thought makes me miss her, as I always do when we talk. I don’t think I could live at home again, but that rush of nostalgia never changes.
‘The library is really coming on. Half of the shelves are complete and the new floor looks amazing. I reckon it’ll be done before I head back to Paris.’
‘You’re staying on till then? Not tempted to squeeze in some more travelling?’
‘It’s been nice to stay in one place, feel part of something more than tourist lines. And the villa is gorgeous, Mum. You and Dad would love it here.’
‘And you get on well with everyone?’
‘They’re all great. Amanda is hilarious – she’s invited me to visit her in Plymouth when we’re back in the UK. We’ve been joking that we’re the Two Doctors because of our PhDs – she’s Tom Baker and I’m Jodie Whittaker.’
‘I’ll tell your father that, he’ll be over the moon you’re staying true to your Whovian roots.’
‘Always.’
‘And – Sam?’ I can’t miss her hesitation.
‘We’re good. He has things to do – so do I – but yeah, it’s okay.’ I glance at Sam’s Christmas tree message on the table by my bed and smile. I haven’t heard from him today – I half expected I might, it being Christmas Day. I shake the thought from my mind. This is enough.
‘Just make sure you’re doing what makes you happy. The rest will sort itself out. And remember, men are a strange breed. I love your dad with all my heart but some things he does are still a mystery to me after all these years. Be happy, Phoebe. That’s all that matters to us.’
I love that Mum supports me, even across the miles. I love her more for not telling me what she really thinks about what Sam and I are doing. I suspect I know, but her faith that I will find my way through it all means the world. I will find a way to make this work. I have to believe Sam will, too.
* * *
We settle into an easy rhythm after Christmas. Winter nights are simple affairs at the villa – we sit together and chat, listen to music, or read. Occasionally we check our phones but in such lovely surroundings with such fascinating people conversation usually wins our attention.
‘What did you do in Rome, Phoebe?’ Lisabeta asks one evening, when we’re relaxing after dinner.
‘Pretty much everything,’ I laugh. ‘I was there for a while.’
‘I’m definitely visiting Rome before I go back,’ Amanda says. ‘Even if I can only squeeze a weekend in. What was your favourite thing?’
I don’t even have to think about it. ‘It wasn’t in any of the guidebooks, but I think it might change the way I live.’
‘Great pizza?’ Lisabeta asks.
‘No, although the food in Rome was as epic as you imagine. Hang on, I’ll show you.’
Leaving my bemused companions I race up to my room. Tucked in the inside zipped pocket of my bag is a pebble I painted before I left Rome. I painted a snowglobe on one side and Carried in my heart on the reverse. I fetch the paint box Giana gave me, too and head back to my friends.
They love the idea. I knew they would.
‘Why the snowglobe?’ Lisabeta asks.
‘I have a snowglobe at home – back in London. My friends bought it for me the week I moved in.’ I point to the building within the glass dome. ‘That’s Shakespeare’s Globe theatre. It was the first place we visited together because my friend Gabe was playing Orlando in As You Like It. After the performance we went out for food and that’s when they asked me if I’d like to move in with them. So they bought me the snowglobe to remember where it all started – and it’s a play on the name of the theatre, which I think William Shakespeare would have approved of. I was going to bring it with me but it wouldn’t fit in my luggage.’
‘And the words?’
‘It was a day I was really missing my friends. I wanted to mark that, so the snowglobe was the perfect emblem for the love I’ve left behind.’ I stroke the pebble and tell them Giana’s story. ‘The best part of being in Rome was sneaking around the city leaving painted pebbles for people to find. Tiny bits of our lives scattered for strangers to find.’
Lisabeta beams. ‘We could do that here. In the garden. Paint our hopes and dreams for the years to come and leave them there for our future guests to find. And then when people stay, we’ll encourage them to paint a pebble, too and leave it here. It can be like coins in the Trevi Fountain – leave it in our garden to make sure you return.’
So, that’s what we spend our evenings doing. We paint pebbles to nestle between the plants and flowers that will appear in the terrace garden. Each one will have a date painted as part of the design – either a date we want to remember or a date we’re looking forward to.
I love how one simple idea Giana was given in a community group has grown to become something personal to everyone it has touched.
In the middle of all the dates passed around Villa Speranza’s table during the long winter nights, there is one I can’t wait to arrive:
14th June 2018.
The day Sam and I have promised we’ll meet again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sam
I’m sitting with a bunch of musicians in a Tobermory pub, my head a little woozy from festive drinking and my stomach blessedly full of the landlady’s famous beef and ale pie. I’m a Mull lad but this is the first Hogmanay I’ve spent on the Island as a man. That seems wrong somehow. But it’s changed. I’ve changed. And not just the beard, which is Niven’s favourite thing to mock and the cause of Phoebe’s double-take when she saw it in our last video call.