Daisy sighed dramatically. ‘I suppose. But I don’t see why I can’t just stay here on my own. I’m not a child.’
‘But you’re not an adult either. Plus, we all have to do things we don’t want to do at times,’ said Nick. ‘Isn’t that right, Maddie?’
Luckily I’d just swallowed my mouthful of pizza this time and didn’t have the awkward chew-watch thing to deal with.
‘Absolutely,’ I said, meaning it emphatically.
I didn’t add that, lately, I seemed to be doing things I didn’t particularly want to do approximately ninety per cent of the time.
Nick and I hung back a little as we walked the five minutes back to the hotel. He laced his fingers through mine.
‘It’s nice to see you’ve chilled out. You’re not thinking about work anymore, are you?’ he said.
‘Barely,’ I replied.
Did I really have the confidence to say no to Tim? It felt like bad things would happen if I didn’t do what he wanted, but then rationally I knew that he’d just moan a bit and then probably forget about it. But he’d be disappointed – I thought that was what I found hard. Disappointing people. And yet I did anyway, probably, without trying half the time.
I paused to look in the window of one of the many boutiques along the street. They certainly loved their fashion in Florence. This particular display had dresses suspended from the ceiling, like pieces of art.
‘I’m a bit worried about this tour tomorrow. I don’t knowanything about wine, as you’ve probably worked out by now,’ I admitted.
‘The fact you always buy Australian kind of gave it away,’ said Nick.
I looked at him, genuinely confused. ‘What’s wrong with Australian wine?’
He reached out and ruffled my hair. ‘Oh Madeleine. You have a lot to learn.’
I pushed his hand away. ‘Please don’t be condescending,’ I said.
He made a little huffing sound. I’d heard him do it before, when he was on the phone to a colleague usually, or sometimes to Daisy. But he’d never done it to me. ‘I was joking, Maddie.’
Joke or not, it had annoyed me and I was glad I’d said something. It wasn’t a huge thing, but it felt huge to me, because I was usually so busy trying to please Nick that I tended to overlook the things he occasionally did to upset me. Like inviting people round without warning me first and cancelling dinner plans at the last minute because something had come up at work. It was normal to annoy each other, surely. And yet, I couldn’t quite get rid of the underlying feeling that I had to be on my best behaviour for him. Or else what? I wondered.
We carried on walking, Nick a few steps ahead. I twirled my engagement ring around on my finger, suddenly finding it even more difficult than usual to imagine my wedding day. I’d spent a lot of my adolescence dreaming about what my special day might look like. How handsome and besotted by me my husband would be, how voluminous my dress. Who I’d have as my bridesmaids (this had changed many times over the years depending on who was currently my best friend – I was going to ask Lou and Daisy, but hadn’t quitegot round to it). But what I used to think about most was what my in-laws would be like. I’d pictured this couple, still in love after many years together. The mum loved baking and the dad loved gardening and they both loved their son and therefore, by extension, his new bride. In my daydreams they became like second parents to me. That is, parents who actually noticed I was there and who were genuinely interested in getting to know me. They wouldn’t be judgemental or unkind, and they would think me extremely funny and interesting. And while I was fully aware that this was just a fantasy, that things rarely worked out like this for anyone, Rosamund and Peter were far from the second parents I’d dreamed of and this dynamic – Nick and Daisy and Sophia – was categorically not how I’d imagined it.
‘You don’t think I’ll make too much of a fool of myself on the vineyard tour, do you?’ I asked, feeling quite vulnerable, suddenly.
For the most part, I didn’t have a problem with owning my lack of knowledge – I couldn’t be an expert on everything, could I, nobody could (although this was probably news to the Leveson-Gower family). And at least I was getting out there and making an effort to learn. But there was a limit to how many sneery looks I could take. And Daisy was right – six hours sounded LONG!
‘How do you mean?’ asked Nick.
‘Well. Do they ask you things? About wine? Stuff I should know the answers to?’
‘It’s not a quiz. They tellyouabouttheirwines.’
I relaxed a bit.
‘So it’s not like they give you a glass of wine and you have to say that it’s got notes of this, or hints of that?’
‘I mean, I don’t think so. But so what if it is? You can tell if it tastes like strawberries or apples or whatever, can’t you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Your palate’s not that underdeveloped.’
‘But all wine tastes pretty much the same to me,’ I protested.
‘Ah. Hence the Yellow Tail Shiraz.’