Apparently. So F said.
Enjoy.
Apparently. So F said.
Enjoy.
Following Lola’s subtle request, I will write something about ‘The Folks’.
I was, in a way, slightly apprehensive about meeting them. We had been together a long time. F doesn’t really say much about what he may have said to them. I know, before I meet them, certain things.
I know his father has been ill, a year or two ago and has lost a lot of weight. I know his Mum cooks. I have heard the story about S, the ex, begging F to stop the food coming (as he couldn’t say ‘no’). I know his sister talks. I know nothing about his brother (before we meet, really). I know there are a myriad of aunts and uncles and cousins and second cousins, etc.
I know his mother and father ran a dry cleaning and laundry place in the town and are now retired.
To be honest, it’s difficult to remember exactly how it was when I first met them. They are all, without exception (well, except for 1) utterly charming and so nice to me …… it seems. I say ‘it seems’ since a) I don’t speak Italian very well and b) apart from his niece (his sisters child), no one speaks English at all! This makes for, shall we say, short and shallow conversations.
So, let’s see. His father is a really sweet man. Kind, gentle and, well, tiny! But then, I guess, F isn’t exactly tall. He sports a moustache that would have been perfect in the 30s or 40s. He is slim (although F says he used to have a ‘pot belly’ but it is hard to believe. He cooks. He cooks some wonderful stuff. Now he kisses me on both cheeks as Italians do. I’m not sure if it means anything or not. He tries to hold conversations with me. I try to hold them back. His Italian is better than mine!
His Mum is lovely. She is the local ‘help everyone that needs it’ person, apparently. She is not thin but not huge either. A typical (for those of you from the UK) Italian Mum. When we were going to stay at the House, she immediately went to find some old curtains that we could use to put down on the floor for the dogs. Apparently, she likes me because I eat – i.e. I eat more than other people. This is true, I suppose. Although I have mentioned it before, I will say it again – when she cleaned the House for us, she made up only the one bedroom, with a double bed. She knows, of course.
Both his Mum and Dad have stopped mentioning S – at least in my presence. Not that it bothers me at all, but it is worth noting. It is almost as if, until I had been ‘sussed out’, I needed to know there was competition. It’s OK, I knew – if only because F did the same sort of thing. Now I am accepted or, at least, it feels like I have been. I shall, of course, remain polite and nice for many years yet – not that I get impolite or horrible, ever – just that I don’t get out of the ‘being on my best behaviour mode’! It’s a thing that I do.
They live in a large flat (for Italy). I’ve seen the other houses the family lived in as a child. Not a large family. Parents and three kids. Middle class as they had a shop/business although my parents would have looked down on it as something lesser, no doubt, even if my mother’s mother was a shopkeeper.
Johnny and A, I have described before. They were truly fantastic. Lovely people. I learnt afterwards that things have not always been rosy between F & Johnny and, from what I am led to believe, they didn’t speak for years. Although twins and, although they have a similarity, they aren’t really alike. I think (but this is only a guess on my part), there is some envy on Johnny’s part. F, after all, left home, has lived in the US, the UK and Austria, travels for work (and that is always exciting to outsiders) and, having left the hometown, has shirked his responsibility for ‘the family’ and, of course, like the prodigal son, every time he returns, the fatted calf is duly slaughtered. The fact that this is as much to do with F’s personality as to anything else, bears little weight on the argument. But his is just my supposition. Johnny and A know that F is gay and that I am the new boyfriend. It makes things easier.
B, his sister, is lovely. She is a large lady. She teaches disabled or disadvantaged children. The first time I was taken to her house, F showed me the living room. It was immaculate. He said that her flat was always perfectly clean and tidy. Ten minutes later, B gave me a tour. She jabbers at me as if I can understand every word she says. She jabbers away at anyone who will stay still, long enough to listen. We went into the lounge. She apologised for how she hadn’t been able to clean it and so how it was a mess!
She did a rice salad for us to take to Umbria. To have eaten it all would have taken an army of people or the two of us about 2 weeks. F complains about her and her incessant talking but he’s not unlike her in many ways. She has suffered from depression and the drugs that she has been taking over the years contribute to her size. She is lovely to me. I think she knows but, in any case, when we were talking, on the beach, Sunday afternoon, and F translated for her that he had told me that, even if he’s away and if the weather is good, I should come down anyway. Straight away she said I should come to her place ‘to be fed’!
She knows everyone on the beach. She probably knows everyone in the whole town(s). She lives just down the road from the House. He complains about her but I think he really has a soft spot for her. She is the ‘older’ sister and probably looked after the twins. She has a niece, named after F but the female version. His niece is about 18 and is going to or about to go to some sort of medical school. She is very sweet and beautiful. She sits with us on the beach. When I asked F about this he said that he was her favourite uncle and that doesn’t surprise me. He is always buying her presents and stuff and, from what he says, always has done. She speaks some English but is a bit shy – but, again, quite lovely with me.
B is married to Fa. He is the exception. Although quite nice and he does seem friendly, for some reason that escapes me, I can’t ‘connect’ with him (if you see what I mean – I mean to say, I can’t properly communicate with any of them but he seems, somehow, more distant). However, the Sunday before last we did have a bit of a chat over Sunday lunch. It was a difficult and awkward chat but at least we both tried. F doesn’t really like him very much, I think.
I’ve also met the aunt and uncle who live near to the House. Not to speak to really, just as we passed by and I was sitting in the car. We did go to their daughter’s place last Sunday (again, very close to the House). We didn’t stay long but later, when we were on the beach, she texted to say that she ‘like[d] your new boy’. Obviously, I asked if she knew and, yes, she did!
Many people said that I had ‘changed’ after I met F. Some implying it was for the better and others for the worse. And, yes, I’m sure I’ve changed. Some people recognised that I was happier, for certain. I wonder if they see that in F too? Certainly, in spite of the communication barrier, they seem to have taken me in and I’m ‘part of it’ as far as that can go – unless they always do that, of course, with any of F’s friends.
Still they are all nice and very friendly and I like them and, I think, they like me. I hope so and I hope they see that F is happy with me, which I think they do. We shall see. We go back again this weekend (another long weekend) and then again in a couple of weeks, F will fly from Spain to Parma on Friday night and the intention is that I go down that night too – if the weather is reasonable.
“You know that I don’t actually believe all this stuff, don’t you?”, I say. Actually, I don’t believe much of anything, I think, as I write this. Further, I never really have but, certainly, it’s taken me 50 years to get to the point where I believe less than I used to.
He doesn’t reply. Later I say “Oh, go on then, let’s see what she says”.
In the end, although I don’t believe it, I still want to know. It doesn’t even make any sense in my head either. I’m nervous – well, not exactly nervous but something lesser. It’s a kind of anticipation.
She holds both of my hands, palm upwards, F next to me to translate.
“You’re very sensible”, F translates to me. She says this a number of times. I agree that I am. Later, in the car, I say that I must be very boring. F doesn’t reply. Either he didn’t understand or he agrees. It’s not good. Perhaps I am too boring!
We had gone to the bar on the seafront again. This woman, someone that R & F used to be at school or college with, is there again with her daughter. Her daughter is a bigger version of her. She’s about 16 but looks older (the daughter, obviously). It’ll be the ‘goth’ look that she wears that will do it, I suppose.
They’re really nice. I forget names. Too many people that I met, really. The woman, I am told, reads hands. She reads someone’s hand. Another guy she takes away to read in ‘private’ at another table. That’s when I say that I will do it. I don’t believe it but I want to hear good things.
We sit at the same table when the other guy has left.
Apparently, I shall have a long life. This does surprise me given that I’ve been smoking for over 40 years! Ah well, I don’t believe it anyway. And, yet ……
F later says that we should cut down on smoking. I say why, since I will live a long life. He says that yes but I don’t want to spend the last 20 years in hospital. It makes me laugh but he has a good point.
See, my grandfather, whom I really loved and admired and everything, lived until he was 82 or 83 (in spite of my sister saying that he didn’t) and he smoked until he was in his sixties. So, although I don’t believe her, I want to believe her and it does fit in with my own theories.
She assures me that I am very sensible. This is true – to some extent. I want to say that whereas I may seem sensible on the outside, I did kind of leave everything to come here 6 years ago and that I am constantly pushing myself to NOT be sensible since being sensible doesn’t really let you experience anything. I did that for far too long.
She says I have come out of a very long and very painful relationship! Well, as my regular readers know, I have had two long-term relationships. the first for 10 years and the last for almost 21 years. I think OK but I didn’t think it was SO painful! But I can’t say that; F is doing the translation. I suppose that most long-term relationships can end bitterly or have years where one or both parties are very unhappy.
Apparently I started another long relationship. “That’ll be you”, I say, gleefully, to F. I know he is pleased by this.
>She says I am ‘transparent’. ‘Yes’, I say to F, ‘everyone thinks there is something that I am hiding and I keep trying to say no, this is me and this is it!’. I’m not sure he understood but I feel it’s a good thing that she’s told me – it means, maybe, to him, that he can trust me.
Again she says I am sensible. In the car, the next day, it suddenly hits me. Another of those bloody ‘false friends’. I say to him – “She didn’t mean sensible last night. She meant sensitive?”
He doesn’t know the difference. He tries to explain what it means. I explain what it means to him. “It’s someone who feels things more deeply. Someone who gets hurt very easily”. “Yes”, he replies.
So, it turns out I’m not as boring as I thought! Maybe that’s why he didn’t answer – he didn’t understand!
Of course, seeing as he’s met her before I was down and being as she’s a friend of R, who probably knows almost everything about F & I (at least, from F’s viewpoint), she may already know about the long-term relationship bit.
And saying you’re going to have a long life? Well, what am I going to do if she’s wrong? Ha!
And, I’m obviously with F and, since F’s previous relationships (except 1) haven’t lasted for more than 6 months, this would be quite a long-term relationship ….. for him. Perhaps she was telling him more than telling me.
On the other hand, if she wasn’t, then, maybe, it would help him to relax a bit more about ‘us’!
So, no, I don’t believe it. There was nothing bad. She ran out of things to say that were good, I think. Or, maybe, she saw me as the non-believer that I am and wanted shut of me? But the things she did say, although a bit general, made me feel good or confirmed my view. Maybe I should only believe the good bits?
“We can come down in March, next year, and do a bit of cleaning and painting”
We can. I agree. Yes, that’s right, that was me agreeing to doing decorating, even if, as usual, I will end up with more paint on me than any of the walls. I agree to it not only because of the implications of the statement but also because it will make him happy and it will make it more comfortable for us.
The house is, as usual here, not a house at all but a flat. For those of you in the UK it is, what we would call, the downstairs part of a two-storey, detached house. The upstairs currently being occupied by an 80-odd-year-old uncle – the upstairs part has been promised to Johnny which is why the flat is ‘jointly owned’.
It is old but not old enough to be rustic nor charming. It is not, at first glance, in a particularly nice area. It is close to the main railway line. It is surrounded by other houses with gardens and, more importantly, dogs that a) live outside and b) tend to bark at our dogs (a lot).
Dino, I’m sure, taunts them. He walks around in front of them. Slowly, deliberately, staring at them, walking as if he is walking on eggshells. They bark. He stares. Then stops staring and walks quietly on, a few steps, then stares again. Is he petrified of them or taunting? I’m convinced it’s taunting.
Given a second glance these houses would not disgrace one the nicer parts of the UK and have gardens to match, carefully tended and watered. The trains that go past, surprisingly, don’t make so much noise. The roads in the area would not look out of place in a Cornish village – narrow and difficult for two cars to pass each other.
We are, unfortunately, a little too far from the sea to just walk there. We are, also, just a little too far from the main town to walk there. Here you would need at least a bike, if not a car. With the dogs, a car.
The flat is quite big, by Italian standards. The entrance hall is large enough for a three-seater sofa on one side and a sideboard on the other. The kitchen is large enough for a large, marble-topped table in the centre that would very comfortably fit 6. The units are not new (probably early 70s) but serviceable.
The bathroom looks as if it hasn’t been touched since it was installed in the 50s (my guess). The sink has no hot water. At least in the 50s they hadn’t got round to having avocado suites! The bedroom that we were ‘allowed’ into is very large. The furniture looks like it is from the 40s or 50s. Maybe, because it’s Italian, it is later. Either way, it lacks the clean beautiful lines of the 30s or the sleek modernness of something later. Old but not old enough to be beautiful – just old. If it were in the UK I would expect the smell of mothballs and find myself smelling them anyway – but it’s probably all in my head.
The other bedroom, the one we are not permitted to enter, apparently, now I am told, because it might contain “mouses” (sic), is supposed to be as big as the one we are sleeping in. So, for here, the house is huge.
Outside, there is a garden to four sides although one of those sides is given over to the flat above with the uncle who, for mid to late eighties, looks surprisingly robust and in fine health. So the garden, for this flat is on three sides. I learn, later, from his father, that F’s father used to have vegetables growing here until last year, when it became too much hard work for him. He’s had stomach cancer or something a year or two ago – I don’t like to ask too many questions.
You can see that anyway. Although it is grass, there is an unevenness about it which implies it was once tilled soil. At the back there is a kind of patio area with another, very large, marble-topped table – suitable for eight or ten people, under a cover that has seen better days but the structure is sound. It’s not a canvas covering but something similar – only now there are a few holes. To one side are some sinks – it could almost be a kitchen outdoors – just without a cooker.
The walls, on the outside are concrete. Unfortunately it has not been kept perfectly and so, over time, has become porous, which shows through into the rooms inside, the paint over the plaster peeling off in places. I imagine this place feels damp in the winter.
It’s not ‘pretty’ but it could be made to look much better. F says that they might have to pull it down and rebuild. I don’t think so. Unless, here, it is all done differently. They have planning permission for some extension (I think something where the ‘outside kitchen’ now is) – to make another kitchen and convert the existing kitchen to a bedroom.
Certainly, the garden could be rather lovely. It gets the sun most of the day, so needs some trees for shade – or else, use it for vegetables.
We talk about coming here again and coming here next year. I tell him the dogs love it here, which they do but also, sneakily, because I know how to say the thing that will matter and therefore means he will want them to come more often.
Which is, I guess, why we are talking about tidying up a bit before next summer.
Later he says to me that I should come down here on my own, if he has to work and if the weather is going to be reasonable.
“You can go to eat at my Mum’s” he says.
Later, on the beach (I still owe you a post about the beach), his sister comes by with some home-made fruit salad for us, after lunch. She talks. As she’s telling a story to F she will look at him, and then look at me, who is watching her intently as I’m trying to understand the stories. F tells her that I don’t understand so she doesn’t have to look at me. She looks back to him and continues her story almost without pause. She looks at me again. Sometimes F reminds her that I don’t understand. She talks too fast.
He mentions that I might come down on my own. She says I can come over to her flat for something to eat. She is sweet although I would end up the size of a house if I was there often enough!
We go back there this weekend, again for a long weekend.
The main thing about going back there this week was that, even if I did have four days at work, it felt as if there hadn’t been a break in the holiday. Getting back, although not filled with that relief that I used to have coming back after the holidays (maybe because we were staying on our own), it wasn’t as bad as last time. This time F was with me and that just made everything right.
I realised, reading back, that the holiday doesn’t really come across in the right way.
True, the journey down, the first night and most of the following day were terrible – but, after that it was truly wonderful.
>For the first time that I can ever remember, arriving home did not give me that feeling of satisfaction at all. I wanted to stay. I wish I had been able to stay. F is down at his home town for another week – maybe it’s that he didn’t come back to Milan with me.
OK so, in short – after the first day, every day was really nice or, even wonderful. Most of it was relaxing. 4 days in Carrara and some new experiences for me. Taking Dino to the seaside and having a dog that really wanted to swim was one of them. Having an ice-cream sandwich was another (but that’s for another post).
The first few days in Carrara were a bit different, in that we were staying at Johnny’s place, so it wasn’t just us. Plus there were family to deal with – not in a bad sense – but we went to see the sister, the parents, etc. Another post will talk about going to the beach. It was fairly relaxing.
>On the Saturday we travelled to the place in Umbria. This place was in the hills but with a wonderful view. The flat we had was nice and much bigger than we had thought. There was a small terrace overlooking the woods and the valley. The sun shone (after the Saturday) and it was hot. We would, most days, spend the morning by the pool, have a simple lunch on the terrace and then play cards and/or go back to the pool. In short, we didn’t do much expect for the one day of visiting. But it was so peaceful, so relaxing. No computer, so reading (again, for the fifth or sixth time) ‘We Need To Talk About Kevin’ and starting (again for about the sixth time) ‘The Blind Assassin’ – my two favourite books of all time. We competed at cards and at sudoku – it was fun.
I got a bit of a tan – not that I’m particularly bothered with getting one – but now that I have one, I remember that I quite like it :-).
And we didn’t stay at the pool every day. We visited Todi, Orvieto, Città della Pieve and, on the way back, Pienza (which was glorious and a real gem) – go and buy the cheese there – it’s a specialty.
Saturday night, we returned to Carrara but stayed in the house that is empty but is shared by F and Johnny. His mother had cleaned it and his father had cleared the garden (for the dogs). It’s in a small village next to Carrara. As I’ve mentioned before, his parents don’t know that F is gay. Well, they don’t know officially – however, it was interesting that his mother had only cleaned the one bedroom (we were instructed not to go into the other one as it was not clean) and the double bed was made up for us.
Sunday morning was back at the beach and then lunch with the whole family again (except Johnny and A) and then back to the beach for a bit and then I came home – with both dogs as I decided the responsibility and stress for F to keep Dino would be too much.
F wanted me to take a day off on Friday (tomorrow) and come back down – so I am – and I am really looking forward to it. This time I won’t have F huffing and puffing about bags or anything and it will all be easy and clear – well, apart from traffic, maybe!
Wednesday, 11th August, 2010
It’s 6 a.m. Actually, I’ve had less than four hours sleep. I wish I were back in Milan.
F, though adorable, is too stressed and angry with, well, everything and this is too much like V. This is both unexpected and unwelcome.
For me, a holiday is to be a relaxing thing – I would worry about getting to the airport on time, if we were flying somewhere – but, in general, it should be relaxing. Unless you have something to ‘catch’, then let’s not worry.
F had to work and the dogs had to go in for a haircut – he took them. He called me. The dogs would be ready before 1 p.m. and could I go and collect them. Of course I could.
I arrive a few minutes before, having received the text at 12.45. Not too bad. As it turns out there were other people collecting too and, as usual, they were not ready before 1 but more like 1.30.
F had pre-paid the haircut. This is a little annoying but not enough to spoil my holiday. He meets us as we’re walking back – it’s a surprise – I thought he would finish later. He hasn’t packed yet. That’s OK. Neither have I! Or, rather, I haven’t finished.
I am slow at packing – that is to say, I can be fast – but if there’s nothing to catch I just can’t be really quick.
Later I go to pick him up. We return to my place and load the car. He is unimpressed by how many bags there are! And, whilst I do understand, we’re going by car. Most of the bags are dog’s stuff.
He takes some stuff down to the car and I am to follow with the dogs and the last few bags. He phones, asking if I need help – I am taking longer because I have to close up the flat, take the rubbish out, etc. and this is all taking rather longer than expected and, certainly, rather longer than he would like.
The dogs are already driving me crazy. They know that something is happening and are constantly under my feet. I admit to being a little stressed by them but I know that once I have them in the car everything will be alright!
I get to the car, laden with stuff AND trying to keep the dogs under control. We get the dogs in (then I know they will be fine), then I start to put some bags behind my seat. And this is when it starts. He is frustrated, obviously, and starts taking it out on me – complaining that I have too much stuff (which is, probably true – a ‘dog-walking coat (in case it rains), shoes for walking in the rain, a jacket in the evenings(in case it gets chilly – we shall be in the mountains/hills, etc.).
He grabs some of the bags I have just arranged and puts them in the footwell, at his feet (which means he cannot sit properly), grumbling and complaining – “Why have you got 4 books?”, as an example.
I try to explain that there is room behind my seat but he’s not listening to me.
We go. Most of the journey is in silence except for the CDs he has made and his ‘baby talk’ to Dino.
I am not stressed but I am silent since I don’t know what to say and I am not stupid enough not to know that anything I might say may spark him off. I lived with V for 20 years. I know he hates me driving (but hates driving himself even more). He needs to chill out a bit – in general. Of course, I could suggest that but I’m not that stupid. Still, the journey is good with light traffic, so not stressful – at least, not for me!
We arrive at his brother’s place and everything seems good.
As we get our bags out of the car he says that we look like gypsies – so many bags. There is no point in arguing – and I can’t be bothered to argue with someone who won’t listen – this much I’ve learnt.
A, his sister-in-law, has prepared something to eat and we sit in the garden drinking and eating. It is lovely but although the weather is warmish, it is considerably colder here than it was in Milan! We go to bed – early. Johnny has to be up for work early in the morning and, anyway, we are tired (and some of us are fractious, it seems).
We discuss taking the dogs to the beach and decide to wait and see what time we get up in the morning. He watches some television and I start to sleep. He switches the TV off. Unfortunately, that’s when it all kicks off. Dino, having had his ears (I mean to say, ear hair, of course) trimmed, finds, as in the past, that it is tickley. Every minute or so, he shakes his head vigorously, causing his ears to slap, rather loudly, on the sides of his head. Or, he scratches them – again loudly. Or, because he can’t settle, wanders round the very small bedroom, bumping into things. Whatever it is he is doing – it is keeping us awake.
F suggests, after much ‘cazzoing’ and ‘va fan culoing’, that he will go and sleep in the car. I say (because it is true), that I had already thought of me taking Dino there and staying with him. He replies that if I do that he will go and get a train, in the morning, and go back to Milan because ‘I am crazy like that’. He is angry – but what can I do? I say ‘I guess’.
He is obviously looking for someone to fight with.
He starts. ‘You made me come down here’. ‘You wanted to come and forced me to bring you’. Blah, blah. I wait until he is finished.
‘That is neither true nor fair’, I reply.
He gets up and leaves, taking the car keys with him. Oh well, if he’s going to be a stupid arse then let him be.
Dino almost immediately stops most of the scratching and head shaking and moving around – of course.
I resolve: tomorrow, after breakfast, I and the dogs are going back to Milan!
I wake at 6 a.m.
“I’ve had an idea”, he says. I have many ideas, most of which I keep to myself. I now know that he does too.
He doesn’t tell me straight away. Cleaning teeth, playing the new game on Facebook all go towards a delay in telling me. It isn’t until we get into bed that it is explained.
I should, perhaps, first explain that, the holiday plans go something like this:
We go back to his home town and stay with his brother (AKA Johnny Depp) and sister-in-law, taking our dogs (I can say ‘our’ now – see previous post). We go either next Tuesday afternoon/evening or Wednesday morning (possibly early).
We stay there until Saturday (so three or four nights).
On Saturday we (the dogs and us) go to the flat we have booked in Umbria. We stay there until the following Saturday.
The following Saturday we return to home town and he said he wants to go and stay at his parents place. He has an extra week’s holiday. I come back to Milan and go to work and the following weekend I go back down for the weekend and to pick him up and we return to Milan.
You may notice that the dogs are absent from the last paragraph.
I had thought that, maybe, I could leave the dogs with him – that was until he said he would like to stay at his parents’.
I had not mentioned my idea – but although Dino was really good on both car journeys last weekend and was not sick and drooled a lot less than normal, I didn’t fancy a couple of hours back to the home town and then another 2 or 3 hours to Milan. Dino, however good he may be, may struggle with that one.
But, as I say, my hopes were dashed, somewhat, when he said he would be staying with his parents. Luckily, I hadn’t said anything.
Back to his idea.
“Perhaps I could take the dogs for the week when you come back to Milan”, he said, continuing “but I’m worried about Rufus”.
His worry about Rufus (and there is another post coming up on him worrying, probably) is because Rufus is old and I know things that Rufus does that other people (actually only him) worry about but which are fine, really, because I know Rufus. When he does the teeth chattering thing, for example – it’s OK – I know why or, rather, I know the cause. So when F gets worried, I assure him it’s OK.
We need to see the other house that he and his brother owns. We aren’t stopping there not, as I thought, because the flat is not clean but rather because the garden is overgrown and, therefore, is full of mosquitoes and other parasites that might affect the dogs. I’m not overly worried – but I need to see it first. Perhaps next week.
I suggest that, if he would like, he can keep Dino and I just take Rufus with me since Dino and F have that special bond – they love each other so much.
I also suggest that it would be OK and I would take the dogs back with me because then he can have more of a relaxing holiday. The key (for me) is the other house. I need to see it to determine if I can allay his fears or if he is correct. Maybe next week.
Still, I’m glad that he came up with the suggestion and I thanked him for the idea. I also said that he shouldn’t worry about Rufus and, anyway, I was only a telephone call or text away and, if anything really bad happened, I could be there within a couple of hours.
I know that he did it for me. I understand that and I wish I could explain to him that I understand that and how much I appreciate it.
I had picked him up from the airport. His plane had been late. I took the babies, just as he wanted. He was very happy about that, I knew. I watched, from the corner of my eye, the people around, smiling at the excitement shown by Dino, Rufus and F at seeing each other again. Dino had already had plenty of attention from people as I sat outside the terminal building, having a cigarette. For Dino all the people – too many people; the noise of the aircraft; the sound of the bags being wheeled around – all this was exiting and interesting. But seeing F was his biggest excitement. And he wasn’t sick in the car – well not until I was parking the car when we got back, anyway!
I had dropped F off at his flat. He would unpack and come round. He was very hungry. I suggested I got a pizza. He decided we should go there to eat. I waited outside the block of flats. But, he had changed his mind. It was too late, he said, which was true, really.
In the lift on the way back to my flat, we hugged and kissed. This was my time or, rather, our time for proper greetings. He felt good; he smelt good. I had missed him but also he had missed me, even if he didn’t say it. We watched the new video he had bought.
He talked about going for a session on the sunbed. I was surprised – but he’s quite vain, really – always more than I would have expected; than I do expect. He will shave his chest again, for the summer. I wish he wouldn’t but he will and, as he says, it will grow again.
I am so happy that he is back. I feel so comfortable with him. And then, at one point, a rather strange thing happened or, rather, a rather strange thing crossed my mind. Just for a fleeting moment. “What if I fall out of love with him?. Then he would just be a man.” This happened as he walked to the bathroom. I don’t know why I thought this. I mentally shook my head as if to dislodge this unwelcome thought. It didn’t come back but it made me feel strange.
And later he made me feel so good and I know that he did it for me. He doesn’t say that he loves me but I know that he does.
[This is from a week or two ago] – They are very shiny – being new. He is so proud of them. I had wondered how long it would take and now, finally, they are here.
As is the soft-toy rabbit.
They are, of course, for the dogs. There are three shiny, new bowls. 2 for water and one for food. And the toy is similar to the sheep I bought a few weeks ago. Dino loves it and it makes a noise when you squeeze it so he loves it more.
We go out to a party as planned. We come back to my flat to collect the dogs – and we get some food too, obviously.
We take the dogs out and go back to his place. “Will they like the new bowls?”, he has asked me. I assure him that, even if they say nothing, I’m certain they will love them.
He fills the bowls with water. Whilst he is filling the third with food, Dino finds the rabbit and starts playing with it. He is happy (that’s F and Dino).
He is so proud of the things he has bought.
I may not have a key to the place but I think that Rufus and Dino’s positions in his home are secure.
Well, at least I didn’t let the tomatoes go to waste – like I did last time.
I thought it would be nice. And I cooked it from scratch rather than buying it in a bottle. It was all supposed to go like this ……. I cook the passata (the tomato sauce that goes with bolognese sauce for those of you from the UK (‘cos there isn’t actually a thing called Spaghetti Bolognese here)); I was going to buy some sausages to go with it; I would have cooked and served tagliatelle with some of the sauce and then served the sausages with more sauce and a salad – a nice Sunday lunch/dinner.
Ah well. He informs me that, after a week of eating meat and drinking lots of beer in Germany, he’s on a diet! And the diet – bananas and milk!!!! WTF????
He doesn’t even like milk!
But I cook it anyway. I told him when we were out walking the dogs. He said we could have it tomorrow. Bless him.