Living in Bright Shadows

A 20th Century, four-generational novella - set in Italy, Ireland, England and Spain: The Fusciardis, who travelled from Italy to Ireland at the tail-end of the 19th Century, the Devlins living in Belfast and London from the ‘40s to the ‘90s, and the Buchanan-Trees in Spain in current time. Spanning four generations, the stories twist and tumble around the lives and families of two estranged sisters, Isabella and Sofia Fusciardi. Love and loss, deceit, ignorance and childhood trauma, seven stand-alone but interlinked stories based on dark and complex aspects of human relationships within families. The saga opens in 2007 during preparations for a London television retrospective on the life and death of Jack Devlin, world-famous artist. Before he died, Jack wrote a poem for friends and family about his unconventional life...

All Cool. "He divorced his wife for you, darling; the least you can do is marry him!"

Sofia tapped her pink cigarette against the side of the ashtray and noisily took another sip of Babycham. She licked her lips at the thought of a famous photographer becoming part of the family. Vanessa and Daniel Tree had met at the inauguration of Mr Chow in Knightsbridge, the first designer restaurant of 60s London. Daniel's snappy lime-green Mr Freedom fedora complemented the wide-lapelled cream suit he had bought that morning from Joseph of Molten Street. His shoes were of fine, red lizard-skin. Vanessa was in full Biba regalia: gold velvet pants-suit, thigh-high lace-up suede boots, matching deep purple feather boa and enough dark eye shadow to make a panda wince. Her best friend Jenny had nearly convinced her to rent an Afghan hound to take to the party but, attractive as the idea was as a fashion statement, Vanessa could not bear to exploit an animal. It had proved unnecessary to attempt to attract any attention, though, as she and Daniel had taken one look at each other, recognised a style soul-mate, and fallen instantly in lust.

Next morning a heavy gold ring fell from Daniel's pocket as he picked up his cream herringbone trousers. The night before, he had laid them neatly across the chair by the Regency Suite four-poster. The ring bounced twice and then rolled in an arc across the floor, clattering to a halt by Vanessa's right toe. It rocked briefly before balancing on the diamond full-stop to the wavy letter `D'. Vanessa and Daniel both froze for enough time to allow him to compose his features into a look of non-surprise when she glanced up at him.
"Er... I did mention it in the taxi. Maybe you don't remember? You'd really had a lot to drink. But it's cool. It's not a problem. OK?"
He held her face in his hands and gently kissed her lips.
"Renée and I have an open marriage; she does what she wants and so do I. It works well. No hang-ups, no hassle. Free spirits. Capiche?"
He smiled down at her frowning face.
"OK." he whispered. "Come here."
It took Vanessa just six months to discover that he also had two small daughters. So she packed her enormous, yellow leather Gladstone bag, jumped into her silver Triumph Herald soft-top and roared off to Cornwall to forget him. And she tried hard but for her 21st birthday Vanessa felt so sorry for herself that she spent the next week in bed, depressed and mostly alone. Paper plates and cups littered the floor of her chalet and the fullness of the ashtrays gave her chalet-mate serious cause for concern.
"Damn," she thought. "I really do miss Daniel."
Six months later, when she realised he was serious about divorcing Renée, Vanessa wasted no time in getting back to London and installing herself in his fashionable Earls Court penthouse.
In London they lived happily for two years while Daniel's divorce was in process. As soon as the ink was dry on the decree, however, parental pressure for them to tie the knot was on. Within weeks, their wedding at Chelsea Town Hall was organised. It was not long before their relationship started its descent, as Vanessa fought to overcome her increasing feelings of insecurity and Daniel his feelings of entrapment.
Then the heavy emotional guns came forward: Daniel's twin daughters Julie and Chrissie, whom he saw twice a month.
"Dad, when you and Vanessa get married, will we be bridesmaids?"
"Well, you know, we're not sure we are getting married. Besides, Vanessa doesn't like church weddings. So if we do, it'll be in a kind of office, not a church. OK?"
He was crouching on the floor, buttoning up their denim jackets and helping them into their red knee-length wellingtons. They were going kite flying on Hampstead Heath. "But don't worry," he said. "You'll be sitting up front with us and wearing your Bus Stop gear. OK?"
It was clear that Julie, the bigger of the two and older by seven minutes, had no intention of being anywhere other than right at the front. She was permanently three inches taller than Chrissie and more forceful in every way. Although she was only eight, Julie had not only acquired a Welsh lilt and was a spit of Renée but, like her mother, she pushed and wheedled her way into everything, including her father's affections.
"But that's not fair!" Julie whined. "Mummy said we could be bridesmaids." Her face resembled an undercooked suet pudding, puffy and sweaty, her lips already sensual. "Mummy says Vanessa only ever thinks of herself and we won't be invited," she wailed. `I hate Vanessa!' Mucus dribbled down onto her fleshy top lip and formed a little puddle there.
"Mummy said that?" Daniel was horrified. "Rubbish! Of course you'll be invited. You'll all come." Renée too I expect, he thought grimly to himself. What the hell was happening, he wondered.
He stood up and shook the knees back out of his soft pink cord trousers, hitching them up to sit squarely on his hips.
"So let's just wait and see, shall we? We haven't even decided that we are getting married yet!"
"Mummy says that Vanessa doesn't like children," Chrissie sneered while wrenching at the legs and head of her Barbie-doll.
"Oh, for God's sake!" Daniel was losing it now. "Look, whatever happens, you'll be there and you'll be at the front with us. OK? So please just stop listening to what Mummy says about Vanessa. She really doesn't know her. Now, are we ready? Then let's go!"

With a dramatic wave of his arm he managed to both open the door and steer his daughters out in front of him, the beginnings of a migraine hovering over his right eye.