by Sally Rippin
Stella pushed back her chair abruptly and strode around the side of the desk. Lina cowered under her furious glare.
‘Of all the . . .’ she fumed, towering over Lina, her nostrils flaring. ‘I knew it! How dare you? I’ll bet you didn’t even write this article, did you? I should have known a twelve-year-old girl couldn’t write a story like this. Was it your father who put you up to it? Is that it? Your so-called journalist father?’
‘No!’ Lina shouted defensively. ‘It had nothing to do with him. It was all my idea. Honest!’
Stella raged on. ‘Pathetic! Truly pathetic. The both of you. Miss Gattuso,’ she spat, like the very word was distasteful, ‘I will ask you now to leave my office. And in case you were to ever consider pulling a stunt like that again, I will have you know that you, my dear, will be published in the Age over my dead body!’ She strode over to the door and wrenched it open.
Lina’s heart fell to the pit of her stomach. Her future career was over.
She pushed back her chair and solemnly walked out into the corridor where her father was waiting. He looked up at her with wide eyes as Stella’s office door slammed behind her.
‘She didn’t want the article,’ Lina said simply and strode down the hallway, holding her head as high as she was able.
Her father grabbed his hat from the bench beside him and dashed after his daughter.
Later, in a little city cafe, over coffee and lemonade, Lina finally told her father what had happened in a wobbly voice. Now that it was all over, Lina just felt shaken and drained.
Her father stroked her cheek as he listened, tears springing into his eyes. ‘You did the right thing,’ he said tenderly. ‘I am very proud of you. What Stella said is not true. No career is worth threatening the lives of the people you care about. You will be a fine writer without her help, mia cara. Even better than her. Because you have integrity where she has none.’
Lina nodded. ‘Thank you, Pa,’ she said. And at that moment she didn’t mind that her favourite writer had not turned out to be the hero she had hoped she would be. Lina’s true hero was sitting right in front of her.
WHEN they got home, Lina’s father had a nap and Lina changed into her old clothes to help Nonna in the kitchen. When the family asked about how the meeting had gone, Pa answered on Lina’s behalf. ‘They didn’t want the story. Maybe next time.’ And the steely look he gave them was enough to warn them not to press Lina further.
Lina had no time to dwell on her awful morning as she and Nonna were kept busy baking biscuits to take to Julia’s Christmas drinks.
Who cares if that awful Stella Davis doesn’t want my story? she told herself as she kneaded pastry dough and dipped Nonna’s famous crescent-shaped shortbreads into chocolate. She’s not going to stop me being a writer! Papa faced far worse trying to get his stories published in Italy. One mean old lady isn’t going to stop me! All the same Lina couldn’t help feel an ache in her heart, tender as a bruise, to know that someone she had once so admired had turned out to be so ruthless and unkind.
At 5 p.m. that evening, Lina pushed open the tall iron gates of 51 Peppercorn Crescent and the family stepped into Julia’s garden, arms loaded with baskets of Nonna’s biscuits and Pa’s homemade wine. Lina heard her nonna murmur about how unkempt it all was, but to Lina it looked just how she imagined an abandoned castle might look: rambling rose bushes, unruly wisteria and the whole front of the tall white building overgrown with ivy. It was the exact opposite to Mary’s neat lawn and the sensible concreted courtyards that Lina’s family preferred.
‘You’d think with all the money they have . . .’ Nonna grumbled until Ma hushed her with a glare.
Julia answered the door in a pretty pink dress and Lina was glad she had kept her green chiffon dress clean enough to wear again that evening.
‘Lina! Thank goodness you’re here! Bronnie has just burnt the hors d’oeuvres!’ Julia rolled her eyes and lowered her voice to whisper conspiratorially. ‘They love entertaining, it’s just the cooking they can’t stand.’
Lina giggled and they followed Julia down the long dark hallway. It reminded her a little of the grand hallways at St Brigid’s, except much messier. Leaning against the antique hall stands and narrow tables was all manner of clutter, from mismatched rubber boots to broken umbrellas. Lina even spied a golf club here and there. Along the gold and cream wallpapered walls, below the heavy wooden frames of the oil paintings, were scribbly children’s drawings in crayon. Julia caught Lina looking at them. ‘Dad doesn’t believe in stunting a child’s creativity,’ she said, with a wry smile. ‘You should see the walls of my bedroom!’
Lina smiled and skipped to keep up with her friend, while her parents and her brothers shuffled along self-consciously beside her, stiff in their tight-fitting good clothes and overpolished shoes.
At the end of the corridor, Julia opened a heavy wooden door onto an enormous room. Light and music spilled out over them.
‘Dad! They’re here!’ Julia yelled. ‘You might want to turn the music down!’
‘Oh!’ said Alfred, striding across the room on his giraffe-like legs towards the old gramophone, a martini glass in one hand. ‘I’m sorry!’ He lifted the needle gently from the record and suddenly the room fell quiet. ‘I just find it impossible to listen to jazz quietly. It drives my dear Bronnie bonkers, doesn’t it, my darling?’ he said gesturing to the woman who had just appeared in another doorway.
‘Helloooo!’ the woman drawled, tottering towards them in ankle-twisting heels. Lina heard her grandmother’s sharp intake of breath. Bronnie’s silvery-blonde hair was piled up high onto her head like fairy floss, and stuck with jewels and clips. Her fingers were covered with sparkly rings. Her dress was a mass of multi-coloured flowers, cinched with a wide sparkly belt, and even her stockings were threaded in silver. Next to Nonna’s sensible brown and her mother’s demure navy, Julia’s stepmother looked like some kind of crazy peacock who had swallowed too many jelly beans. Lina loved her at first sight.
It didn’t take long before Alfred had fixed them all up with a drink and even Nonna was eventually persuaded to accept a sherry with a festive paper umbrella hooked onto the glass. Soon the music went back on and in no time Alfred was regaling them all again with his stories until Lina’s parents were crying with laughter. Even if they weren’t able to understand all of his jokes, the way he told them made it impossible not to laugh. Everyone loved Nonna’s biscuits and Bronnie’s burnt vol-au-vents were happily tipped into the bin. Bruno and Pierino chased Enzo up and down the spiral staircase and Nonna was soon giggling like a school girl.
When the sun began to slip lower in the sky and the garden became invitingly mysterious, Lina and Julia snuck out the back door to hide among the lavender bushes.
‘You haven’t told me what happened today,’ Julia said, clutching Lina’s hand. ‘I’ve been dying to know!’
The memory of that awful morning in Stella Davis’s office came flooding back into Lina’s mind and she shifted uncomfortably on the little stone wall where they were sitting.
‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ Julia said, noticing Lina’s expression change. ‘Didn’t it go well?’
Lina sighed deeply, then told Julia the whole story, comforted to see her friend puff up in rage.
‘That’s awful! How truly awful of her! Imagine! She just wanted the story to herself!’
‘I know,’ Lina agreed. All her anger had well and truly left by now. Only the sadness remained.
‘I will never read her column again!’ Julia fumed. ‘And don’t take any notice of what she says about not getting published in the Age. Dad knows heaps of people there. Even the news editor who is way more important than her! Do you want Dad to send your story in? He loves your stories. He goes on about what a great writer you are all the time!’
Lina shook her head and smiled gratefully. ‘Thanks, Julia. Maybe another time. But I think I’ve decided that this isn’t really my story to tell anyway. I’m kind of relieved it didn’t get
published now, to tell you the truth. I would have hated to get John into any trouble.’
‘John?’ Julia said, poking Lina in the ribs. ‘He has a name now! So, when am I going to meet him?’
Lina laughed, realising how easily she had let his name slip now that she was with someone she trusted. ‘One day. Maybe. Who knows? Now stop asking me about him. Anyway I have more exciting news for you. We go to see our new house tomorrow morning!’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful, Lina! I can’t wait to see it,’ Julia said, clapping her hands together.
‘Me too,’ said Lina smiling happily.
CHURCH dragged intolerably that Sunday morning, but when the congregation finally poured out onto the sidewalk, Lina was delighted to see Gino’s delivery truck waiting for them. He waved jauntily and tooted his horn.
‘Gino’s driving us to see the new house?’ Lina said excitedly, looking up at her father.
He nodded. ‘Zio will take Nonna home to start lunch. You kids hop in the back of the truck and Ma and I will get in the front.’
‘Next stop, Brunswick!’ Gino called out from behind the wheel.
They all laughed loudly as the old truck bumped along the road. Not long after, they pulled into a wide leafy street.
‘This is our street!’ Ma said, sounding as excited as a little girl. ‘See how quiet it is?’
‘And . . . that’s our house!’ Pa said pointing up ahead, grinning widely.
‘Where?’ said Lina and her brothers, scrambling over each other to try to see out the window. ‘Which one?’
‘The cream brick one,’ Ma said, proudly. ‘With the big fruit trees out front.’
Gino pulled up outside the house and the children tumbled out onto the nature strip.
‘Oh, Mama!’ Lina gasped. ‘It’s wonderful.’
And it was wonderful. Not as grand as Mary’s or Julia’s houses, of course, and not nearly as big, but it was wide and solid and had a big paved courtyard out front with a fig tree on the left and a pear tree on the right. The branches of the two trees spread so wide that they covered the whole yard in shade, from the concrete porch to the low brick fence. Walking between them on this hot summer’s day was like passing through a tunnel.
Lina’s father unlocked the door and cool air spilled out.
‘It’s the brick walls and ceramic tiles that keep it so cold,’ Ma explained, looking at the floor in delight. ‘Oh, it will be so easy to keep clean!’
‘This is our room on the left,’ Pa said, opening a door onto a big bright room that looked out over the front courtyard. ‘And Nonna’s over here,’ he said, opening the door across the hall onto an identical bedroom.
It’s big! Lina thought happily. Nonna and I won’t be squished up like sardines anymore. And maybe there will even be room for me to get a real desk! She slipped her hand into the pocket of her skirt, crossing her fingers for luck.
They walked further down the hall and Papa showed them the boys’ room and then the lounge room. ‘An electric heater!’ Lina gasped.
‘I told you it was modern,’ Ma said. ‘Look!’ She flung open another door off the hallway. ‘An inside bathroom!’
All the children squealed in delight when they saw the big sunken tub hidden behind the door. A real bathtub! They would never have to bathe in the laundry trough again! Enzo immediately clambered in and grinned up at them happily.
Leaving the bathroom behind, Lina followed her parents down the hallway to a clean wide kitchen with an old wood-fired stove and a double sink under a big window that looked out over the back yard. The yard wasn’t as long as their old one but it was wider and neater, already squared up into empty vegetable plots, with a tidy little tin shed and a chicken run along the fence.
Enzo opened the back door and ran out into the garden, Pierino and Bruno close behind. Lina was just about to follow her brothers when a door off the kitchen caught her eye. ‘What’s in there?’ she asked.
‘Well,’ her father said, opening the door onto a long narrow room. ‘The old Italian couple who owned this house used it for storage.’ He looked at Ma and smiled. ‘But we think we could probably fit a bed in here. Maybe even a desk if it was a small one.’
Lina crinkled her brow and looked from one parent to another. ‘Who for?’ she asked.
‘You!’ they both said together.
Lina gasped. ‘Me?’
They nodded, happily. ‘Enzo can share with Nonna,’ Ma said. ‘That will give Pierino and Bruno a bit more space. And Nonna likes the company. So, we thought this room would be just right for you. I know it’s little, but . . .’
‘It’s perfect!’ Lina exclaimed. She walked slowly into the shadowy room. The only light came from a small dusty window overgrown with passionfruit vines. It was a funny shaped room, long and thin, really not much more than a covered-in verandah, but to Lina, it was the most magical place in the world. It was a room of her own.
‘When do we move in?’ she asked, spinning around to face her parents, who laughed, glad to see her so happy with the little room.
‘When you’ve finished up at school,’ Pa said. ‘Gino and his market mates will bring a few trucks over and give us a hand moving our furniture in. If all goes to plan, we should be in by Christmas.’
‘But – that’s only a few weeks away! I’ll have to start packing!’
‘You just concentrate on your exams,’ Pa said, pretending to look fierce. ‘We’ll worry about the packing. I’m expecting top marks from you, Missie!’
Lina’s mother nudged him playfully. ‘What your father really means is we just want you to try your hardest.’
‘I will,’ Lina promised. And she crossed the fingers of her other hand. Then she ran outside to find her brothers and tell them her wonderful news.
On the way home, in the back of Gino’s truck, Lina suddenly had a thought. ‘How will I get to school next year?’ she called out to her parents, sitting in the front. ‘Once we’re in the new house?’
‘There’s a bus stop at the end of the street,’ Pa explained, twisting around to face her. ‘It is a different line, much quicker, so you won’t have to leave home so early to get to school. Pierino and Bruno will catch another bus from the same stop.’
‘And me?’ Enzo piped up from Lina’s lap. ‘Am I catching the bus, too?’
Ma turned around to smile at Enzo. ‘Nonna will be taking you to school as always, mio caro. You still have a long time to go before you can catch the bus by yourself.’
Enzo folded his arms across his chest and pouted sulkily.
‘Best news is we won’t have to run into those bodgies again,’ Bruno whispered to Lina over Enzo’s head. ‘We’ll be way out of their territory in our new place.’
‘That’s great!’ said Lina. Then she had a thought. ‘But what about . . . you know? Pierino’s girlfriend?’
Bruno shrugged. ‘Oh, she’s old news,’ he said quietly, glancing up to make sure Pierino wasn’t listening. ‘They broke up a week ago. She decided she’d rather hang out with her nasty pimple-faced brother than Pierino.’
‘Oh no! Poor Pierino!’
Bruno shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t worry about old Pegs too much. He’s better off without her, in my opinion. Anyway, turns out he has his eye on someone new already.’ He grinned mischievously. ‘Didn’t you notice the way he was looking at your friend last night?’
Lina gasped. ‘Julia?’
‘What?’ he grinned. ‘You can talk! I’ve seen you waving to someone on the bus when you get off in the afternoons. Don’t tell me it’s a school friend who makes you blush like that!’
‘What are you talking about?’ Lina said hurriedly, but she could already feel her cheeks beginning to heat. ‘He’s not my boyfriend! That’s just stupid! He’s just someone I talk to on the bus sometimes.’
‘Oh yeah,’ teased Bruno. ‘That’s what they all say. Next thing we know you’ll be wearing his ring.’
‘Who’s wearing a ring?’ Enzo said, twisting his head around to try
to hear what they were whispering about.
‘No one!’ Lina squawked, glaring at Bruno. ‘Bruno’s just being stupid, that’s all. As usual!’ She couldn’t wait to tell Julia the news. But then it dawned on her. Did catching a new bus mean she would never see John Ian Wing again? She didn’t even know where he lived! Everything was going to change when they moved – and quickly, too.
Lina jiggled her knees a little to shift Enzo’s weight and gazed out the front window of the truck. As they got closer to home, the streets became more familiar. There was the park, with the swings she had played on when she was younger. And there was Old Mr Malkowitz’s shop. That was the tree she had fallen out of and grazed both her knees, and that was the little alleyway where her brothers had taught her how to play cricket. It seemed that all her life she had dreamed of moving to a bigger, newer house like the one they were moving to, with wide streets out front and a room of her own. Now that it was actually happening, she couldn’t help but feel just the smallest hint of sadness creep into the depths of her belly. Carlton was everything she had ever known.
But I don’t need to feel sad, Lina reminded herself. Everything I love about my old home in Carlton will live on in my stories. I will have those memories forever. And who knows what adventures lie ahead? I have so many more stories to come!
26th December 1956
Dear Diary,
You are the first real diary I have ever owned. I promise I will write in you every day. If not, at least every second day. Year Eight is supposed to be MUCH harder than Year Seven, so I might get busy sometimes. But I will do my best. Who knows? Maybe some day in the future someone will find THIS diary like they found the diary of Anne Frank, and learn about a girl like them who lived a long time ago.
So, yesterday was Christmas and I got YOU, of course, from Bruno, and a new set of pens from Pierino. Nonna gave me stockings like she always does and Pa and Ma gave me a new winter coat because I am already growing out of my old one. Enzo gave me a kiss and a drawing, but that’s okay because he’s still only five and doesn’t have any money.