1997 - Genoa

We moved into Genoa as soon as we came back from England after Christmas and New Year in 1997. We bought a satellite system whilst we were in England and brought it back down with us so that we could watch English television.

The apartment was in a little village called Nervi. It was a really nice village, it had a huge park where I took Hattie daily. The down side was that Nervi was like England in the old days. There were no major supermarkets, all the shopping had to be done in the small shops, that meant in and out of all the shops. Another thing was that they shut down between midday and 4 o’clock, it was really frustrating.

The apartment itself was quite strange. It had obviously once been used with one section being for the main family and another small section for the servants! There were two front doors, one straight from the lift, which entered straight into the hallway, and another from the stairs straight into the kitchen. There were two bathrooms, one quite posh between the two main bedrooms and the other next to the kitchen, which also held the washing machine.

Our first day there and it became quite evident that the oven didn’t work. This meant going into the village sharpish and buying a microwave. Neither of us spoke Italian although Steve knew a bit and he also had the confidence to go in and ask for things.

Once again, being in an apartment meant having to take Hattie out every morning and night to relieve herself. Hattie being a dog wasn’t too fussy about where she did it and would relieve herself as soon as she got outside. This didn’t go down too well with one of our neighbours who had a go at us for allowing her to do it. We have absolutely no idea what she said but it was kind of obvious what she was getting at. From then on we always took Hattie round the back of the flats where no one could see her. We would then walk down to the road with her to allow her to do anything else, if she happened to pooh on the way down to the road then we would have a bag handy to pick it up and throw it away.

I started Italian lessons. I made the mistake of thinking that Italian was similar to French. In some ways it is but it’s a lot harder – I think. The Italians were really nice. If someone stopped me to ask me something and I didn’t understand, I would say ‘non parlo italiano’. They were so nice. Most of them apologised and then spoke in English, they were so sweet. Not like the French, if you told the French you didn’t speak French they’d scowl at you and look at you as if to say ‘well what are you doing in this country then?’. This is not to knock the French, as I’m sure the English do it in England as well.

The good thing about living in Genoa was having Portofino next door. Steve’s boss was very well connected there and took us down there a couple of times. A very nice place. Also in Portofino is a large walking area. Most Sundays we would take the dog down there and walk for about three hours. I decided I would do this during the week as well so one morning I gathered up Hattie and off we went. I never did it again without Steve as on my walk around the forest I spotted wild pigs below me. They frightened the life out of me. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I had been on my own but Hattie kept trying to get down to them and I was frightened to death they’d spot her and come have her for breakfast!

Not being used to not having major supermarkets nearby, every Saturday we’d go back to Monaco and do our weekly shopping in Carrefour there. It’s amazing what you get used to and how far you’ll go to get it back!

After a couple of months in Genoa we sold the Barchetta. It was plainly obvious that we didn’t need two cars. Broke his heart to do it but we did sell it to someone who absolutely fell in love with it.

Not long after moving to Genoa it became apparent that I wasn’t getting pregnant. We started to try harder. I would buy ovulation kits. I started to use the Internet on how you could get pregnant quicker. Suddenly lovemaking became more of a chore than a pleasure. Even Steve started to think so. I started to obsess about it. I would work out which three days I was most likely to be ovulating and I would haul him off to bed. You’d think most men would have loved the idea of all that sex but even Steve got to the point of saying ‘not again’!

Steve’s new job meant him being away from home more and of course this meant me being on my own more. Genoa isn’t like the Côte d’Azur. The Côte d’Azur has a lot of ex-patriots in it and it’s easy to find your own people there and make friends – like I had done. Genoa wasn’t the same. I didn’t like it. I could barely speak the language, I didn’t know anyone and I was on my own a lot. I had started my next year of OU this time doing two 30 point courses in databases and programming so this kept me busy and although I wouldn’t say I was lonely I certainly wasn’t happy. I didn’t complain but Steve could obviously see how things were and so suggested that we rent a studio in Monaco. I jumped at the chance. The company were paying for the rent in Italy and we had both sold our houses in England so we could just afford a tiny studio to rent in Monaco and that’s exactly what it was, a tiny studio. I started to spend most of my time back in Monaco so Steve suggested we buy a house in France.

In June 1997 we started looking at houses in France. We saw quite a few in one day but we ended up agreeing on the same one. It was a three bed-roomed house in St Laurent du Var, next door to Nice, very close to the airport and just a two-hour drive from Genoa. We put the offer in on the day we looked at it and the owner accepted – I was on my way back to France, I had friends and I could speak the language.

It was June and I still wasn’t pregnant. I was convinced there was something wrong with me. I remember speaking to my sister on the phone about it as she said ‘well you want to hope it is you as they can do more for a woman than they can for the man’. I assured her that I was quite confident that the problem would be with me. My mother had had trouble conceiving as well. It had taken my parents four years to conceive my brother. It turned out my mother had a cyst on one of her ovaries which had had to be removed and even then the doctors told her that it was unlikely she would ever conceive. My parents put themselves down on the adoption register when they conceived my brother. They went on to have four more children! One unfortunately was stillborn.

Before the sale of the house went through we went for a walk with Hattie, Steve twisted his ankle to the point that he could barely walk on it. It was obvious he should go and see a doctor so whilst I looked after Hattie he went to see his usual doctor in Monaco. We agreed that whilst he was there he would mention the fact that it had nearly now been a year of us trying for a baby.

We were tested. I don’t remember how long after we got the results but the upshot was we couldn't have children naturally. All I remember is that I was in Italy. I remember looking out of the window trying to figure out what it all meant. It hit me the next day. Dawn rang me and she could sense something was wrong so of course when she asked me what was wrong, I just cried and cried to the point that she started crying too. She had just recently had another baby and of course didn’t know what to say. I remember ending our conversation telling her never to take her children for granted.

The day that we signed for the house – July 17th, we went back to the doctor in Monaco to see where we went from here. The doctor’s first comment was ‘well at least you don’t have to worry about contraception anymore’. I wanted to slap him. I would rather be able to have my own children and use contraception than not be able to have them and not worry about it. The nearest specialist was in Nice so he made an appointment for us to see him, unfortunately this wasn’t until September, it felt like a lifetime away and in the meantime we moved back to France.