Free The Enlightenment of Nina Findlay by Andrea Gillies

a plot that had been a scruffy car workshop in the ’60s, occupied a corner at the convergence of two quiet Victorian roads. Their wide, flat-faced two-story house, built in 1971, was the first modern building in an otherwise ubiquitously nineteenth-century locale,and was something of a talking point. When they first moved in, Anna would find locals at the door wondering if they could have a wee look; wasn’t this open-plan layout going to be awfully expensive to heat?

    Anna had been dismayed by the apparent disintegration of the threesome in the summer holidays, but was philosophical. It would just be a phase, she said to Nina. She’d acknowledged the change in front of the boys, that day, when she’d opened the door in the fence and asked them to come for a photograph. She must at least have her annual photograph, she said. The door, made out of a modified hinged panel with a bolt on both sides, was one that the two fathers had made together when the children were small and went back and forth. The parents had gone back and forth, too. There were frequent get-togethers on weekend summer evenings over wine, usually at Giulio’s invitation (he worked in wine; there was always wine). Maria joined in but she was unmistakably just a little less keen to socialize, trying to keep the visits to a fixed schedule and openly averse to their dragging on too long. She didn’t like the neighbors, and particularly not Anna, but their leaving early was also a kind of self-knowledge: when she and Giulio drank too much there’d inevitably be bickering that could tip into open warfare. She’d object to the length of Giulio’s anecdotes. He would call her a joyless nag. She might say that he’d had enough to drink. He’d say that it wasn’t any wonder that he drank. She’d say that she wasn’t going to be chastised in front of their friends. He’d say that was rich coming from her. Later, many years later, Nina would see Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? on television, sitting cuddled up with Luca on a night thatPaolo was away, and she’d say, “Do Liz and Richard remind you of anyone?” and Luca, wincing, would say, “So much so that it feels almost like one of my own memories.”
    “So that’s your parents,” she’d said. “I wonder who’d play mine.”
    Luca had considered the question. “Max von Sydow and Daryl Hannah.” They’d laughed because it was true. They’d laughed some more imagining the four having dinner together, and this had spiraled into a routine that was added to intermittently for weeks.

    Having made his terse farewell, Paolo left the Findlays’ sitting room, stomping off through the front door and banging it behind him. Through the large glass window that dominated the front of the building, nine-paned like a tic-tac-toe board, they saw him stride past, his mouth set into irritation. Luca and Nina watched in silence, then caught each other’s eye and laughed again, Luca pressing his lips together and blowing a laughter raspberry through them, the kind done in the presence of pomposity.
    He stopped quite suddenly and looked pained. “Jesus, he’s turning into such a wanker.”
    He and Nina went outside, to the wooden seat behind the shed at the end of the garden. It was a south-facing corner and the day seemed almost warm there, out of the wind. No sooner had Nina sat down and put her hands on the edge of the bench, wrapping the ends of her fingers underneath, than she squawked in pain and withdrew. “Splinter. Fucking splinter.” Luca had taught her how to swear, though she exercised her new talent only in his presence. “Bollocks. Fucking hurts.” The fingertip looked instantly as if it were infected, puffing and pinking.
    Luca had taken a packet of Marlboros and a lighter out of his jacket pocket, having told Nina that he was going to teach her how to smoke. He put the cigarettes back and said, “Here, let me look.” They peered at the index finger together. “It’s gone right