Prosecco and Promises

by Prosecco

  ‘Sad for me – I had to do all the cooking because no one trusted her! I wouldn’t be surprised if she pretended to get out of the work, except she really loved to be involved.’ Allegra swept her hair back and shook her head, her face shining with thoughts of the past. ‘You know, that was the one thing that made me laugh when Isa left with your dad. Niccolo’s mother congratulated him on an escape from a life with heartburn!’

  I clasped my stomach, hooting loudly. ‘Oh, no! Poor Mum!’

  ‘Poor Mum? Poor Niccolo! All those years he quietly ate those “just mildly burnt” cookies!’ Allegra snorted. ‘The man had a constant stomach ache!’ My aunt held up her hand. ‘Actually, I have some pictures of us all as teenagers – I’ll run up and get them.’ She turned and thundered up the stairs, suddenly seeming very much like her own daughter, who had woken me up when she thunked up and down the stairs after her shifts. I didn’t mind. It felt nice to be in a house with noise and movement and life, where there were sounds over breakfast and you could hear the shower running when you walked down the hall, or the sound of the television in the background. This house was full of people who were always doing something, whether it was cooking or arguing or singing to themselves. Apart from Nikki, my cousins were awkward teenage boys with very little English, who smiled or nodded on their way out of the house, or sat yelling at the football on television in the family room. It was nice to hear movement in the house, even if I didn’t always see everyone. The house itself felt alive.

  My home had not been filled with happy noise in quite a while. There had been the occasional silliness: giggles with Dad watching comedy DVDs, or while showing him videos of funny animals. There had been random ridiculousness: Marjorie’s chanting in the morning during her ‘transcendental meditation’ time, along with the ‘gong baths’, and heavy breathing during her yoga. And then there was quiet. Whispers in the kitchen, the whimpers I pretended not to hear at three a.m. whilst Dad cried that he was tired of it all, and Marjorie’s shushing and pleading. The house was made of glass.

  I leaned back against the kitchen counter, eyes closed as I just listened. A few people were home: I could hear footsteps and thumps and the TV. I could hear the odd bit of traffic outside, the beeps from irritated cars on the weaving roads, and the soft crash of the waves in the distance. It was a balm. And then I heard a distinctive sound. Two shuffling steps, and the dry crack of a wooden stick on tiles. Nonna was standing by the door when I opened my eyes. She looked even smaller when she stood, but her shoulders were back, her chin up defiantly. She was a proud old woman, and I wouldn’t have minded her not being the fluffy grandmother if she didn’t hate me quite so much.

  Her white hair was pulled tightly back into a bun, and I searched her features for something of Allegra, or my mother, or me. But she was a stranger with a blank face, her dark eyes unyielding. She just looked at me, eyes flittering across my face, resting on my left earlobe.

  ‘Your mother leave,’ she said croakily, not meeting my eyes. She leaned heavily on the cane, her shoulder against the door frame. ‘No come back.’ She shook her head slowly, lips a thin line. ‘No honour, no marriage, no goodbye.’ She clicked her fingers loudly. ‘Just go.’

  ‘I’m sorry—’ I started, but she shook her head sharply, then turned on her heel and shuffled off down the hall, without a backward glance.

  Lovely. My mother left to be happy, to follow her dreams and live a life with the man she loved. And even years after her death, her mother couldn’t forgive her for that? Or show her daughter any kindness? What kind of family was that?

  Allegra walked back in, placing the photos on the kitchen counter, the smile on her face falling as she looked at me. ‘What? What happened?’

  ‘Your mother,’ I said bitterly.

  Allegra closed her eyes briefly. ‘Mia, she’s just… she’s old and grouchy and it pains her to see what she’s lost. You look so much like Isa.’ She stroked my arm, then drew my attention to the photos on the counter. ‘See?’

  The photos had an older finish, soft and matt, from a different sort of era. There were so many dark-haired women, smiling and laughing together. There was my mother, her tanned skin, her perfect oval face and long curtains of dark hair. She had her arms wrapped around an impossibly young Allegra, grinning at something her sister had said.

  There were others, and Allegra pointed out which uncle or aunt or second cousin, telling a story about when Lucas lost his teeth at his eightieth birthday party, or how much Auntie Maria enjoyed the stripper at her hen-do. Each person had a history, a funny anecdote, and a connection to a hundred other people with a hundred other stories. I felt very little, at the end of my family tree. Just me.

  ‘Wow, I forgot I had this.’ Allegra slid the picture over to me. ‘Your mother and your father, just before they left the island.’ I picked it up carefully, not wanting to smudge the edges. There they were, younger than I was now. She wore a red dress with white spots, her dark hair long around her shoulders. He was slimmer and still had hair, dark and thick. The way they were looking at each other made my throat close up. I had to take a few slow breaths, clenching my teeth together. He was looking at her with a look of unbelievable delight – complete surprise that he had found something so wonderful. Hers was a different look of love – it had a confidence in it. She looked at him like he was her destiny. My mother’s expression clearly said that this was meant for her, and she was ready.

  ‘They left the next day,’ Allegra said.

  ‘Were you angry with them, like Nonna?’

  Allegra paused to consider this, looking out of the window, twitching her lips. ‘It wasn’t the same. Mama was upset because of tradition, and respect and expectation. She worried about what the village would think, what Niccolo’s family would say… Me, I just missed my sister. I wanted her here when I had my kids, when I wanted someone to cry with and eat chocolate with and drink wine with. I wanted to grow old with my sister.’

  Before, I’d always seen me and Savvy sitting as little old ladies in the Ferret and Trouserleg, laughing into our shandies, or drinking sangria on a SAGA holiday, teasing each other about not being able to get out of our sun chairs. But Savvy had a boyfriend now. She had Milo and their plans for the future. She had a life abroad, where she lived and studied and worked and built up her dreams. Before, when she’d been dating The Moron, I’d never worried, I knew I’d always be there. But Savvy’s life had changed path, and she’d met someone who made her feel alive – so we wouldn’t be that person for each other any more.

  And I was surrounded by a family who didn’t really know me. I was on my best behaviour, but it was like one long first date, where I was trying to convince them I was loveable.

  ‘You keep that one, it’s a special photo, isn’t it? It’s a beginning.’

  I nodded. ‘It’s nice to have a photo of beginnings. Not knowing that something might become something else.’

  ‘I guess I should take a picture of you with Salvatore then?’ Allegra stuck out her tongue, screwing her eyes up as she did so. It was so unexpected, I laughed. She then wrapped a grey-and-white striped apron around her waist, knotting it in a floppy bow, and handed me a black one.

  ‘Okay, are you ready to learn?’

  History, culture, heritage, all just by making dessert?

  ‘I am absolutely ready.’

  * * *

  I wasn’t half bad, in the end.

  I made a mess, but following clear instructions was okay. Allegra said she wasn’t like the rest of her family – she liked to measure things. She was scientific instead of working on gut feeling. She was ridiculed and teased for her strict adherence to numbers and timings, but no one could fault the results.

  The cannoli looked just as pretty as the ones adorning the windows of the cafes in the square, filled with a thick, sweet cream and the pastry rolled into crispy cigars. Even my grandmother paused when she bit into one, smiled ever so slightly, and gave me a grave nod. Allegra gave me a thum
bs up.

  We made other things, too: fresh pasta from scratch, pesto sauce made from the herbs in the garden. The meal that we sat down to at the end of the day, just me and Allegra at the kitchen counter, was one of pure achievement. I had made this, I had created something that had fed and nourished people. And I had learned about my aunt too, not just from the stories about my mother, but from understanding who she was as well. A whirlwind of emotion – of care and worry. She was like a stubborn little horse, carrying everyone’s emotional baggage until they pissed her off and she kicked back. She was funny and sensitive, and there was so much of my cousin Nikki there, too – the easy way with people, the ability to chat about almost anything, and ask questions that made people feel special instead of on trial.

  The phone rang whilst we were sipping glasses of limoncello. Nikki had waltzed in to join us, still energized after studying and a shift at the bar. She answered the call, and, as the caller spoke, she looked over at me.

  I almost panicked, worried that Marjorie hadn’t been able to get through on my mobile and had called, but that wasn’t it.

  Nikki smiled, all-knowing and superior, and rattled off something quickly in Italian, before saying goodbye and hanging up.

  ‘Where’s she going tomorrow morning?’ Allegra asked Nikki, without missing a beat.

  Nikki held her hands up, looking between us. ‘Jeez, Mama! That was cousin Mia’s friend, Salvatore. He said he’ll pick you up tomorrow morning for your trip to Naples.’

  My stomach twitched awkwardly at the thought. It had been such a lovely day with minimal drama. And yet I was kind of itching to get back to the shop and organize the drawers I hadn’t got to yet.

  I also discovered that I wanted to tell Salvatore about my day, show him pictures of the cannoli I’d made (long since demolished by my multiple cousins), and the photo of my parents. I wanted to see how Antonio was and ask him about my grandmother. And I wanted to see Naples.

  ‘It’s nothing. He needs to pick something up, and thought I might like to see the mainland.’ I shrugged, then settled down in my seat, feeling my shoulders hunch and my cheeks redden. It was a petulant teenage pose, easily distinguishable a mile off.

  ‘Oh, how thoughtful,’ Allegra said, then muttered something in Italian. Nikki laughed.

  ‘Hey, not fair!’

  ‘Well,’ Allegra shrugged, as she turned to clear the plates, ‘learn Italian then.’

  ‘I’m sure Salvatore could help,’ Nikki teased, and I couldn’t help but laugh along with them. I missed both my parents intensely. But for now, it felt good to be teased about a boy, laughing into my coffee and having yet another bite of cake.

  Chapter Ten

  I awaited the obnoxious beep of the horn as I brushed my teeth and checked my eye make-up. I put on a second coat of mascara. Not for any reason, just because I felt like it.

  I had woken up feeling particularly Italian. My hair seemed to be getting wilder and curlier with the sea air. I’d taken a picture to send to Savvy, and she messaged back immediately:

  You look like a big curly fierce tiger! Enjoy all the old stuff xx

  I felt like a fierce tiger. Maybe it was achieving something with the shop, or knowing how happy it would make Antonio. Maybe it was laughing with my aunt, and the glimmer of almost-approval from my nonna as she ate the food I had cooked. Most likely, it was the promise of a dark, cool room full of old artefacts, and no one to drag me away.

  When it got to five minutes past nine, and the loud sound of a horn blaring still hadn’t summoned me, I went downstairs. Salvatore was sitting at the kitchen counter with Aunt Allegra, smiling and chatting like he was the most charming bachelor in the village. Allegra was damn near swooning.

  I could almost see it through her eyes – her grieving niece and the nice lawyer boy. The perfect romance.

  Salvatore looked up at me, and smiled. ‘Hey, running a bit late this morning?’

  ‘I was… I thought you’d beep the horn like last time.’

  He raised an eyebrow, and looked at my aunt, before returning his gaze to mine. ‘If I remember correctly, you told me off about that. I was selfish, inconsiderate of your neighbours…’

  ‘I’m impressed. A man who listens. A rare thing.’ I didn’t know why I was being so crabby, except that my aunt was looking between us like fireworks were exploding and she was waiting for the grand finale.

  ‘Buongiorno, Nonna.’ I made a point of directing a greeting to the old lady in the corner. I hoped that maybe we were making progress. But she didn’t move. Whether she didn’t hear me, or didn’t want to, I don’t know. One step forward, one step back. I brushed the rejection off, and turned back to Salvatore. His smile flickered, just for a moment, as his gaze drifted to my grandmother. Allegra was awkward too, suddenly, her eyes not resting on anything for too long.

  ‘Shall we go? Ancient dusty things await!’ I clapped my hands, and Salvatore smiled at me, shaking his head a little.

  ‘Sure, here.’ He handed me a takeaway cup of coffee. ‘I brought you this.’

  ‘I have coffee here…’ I gestured around me, but Allegra elbowed me.

  ‘Shh! Why are you being rude? Just say thank you!’ She used a certain, hissing, polite voice I recognized from other people’s mothers. It made me smile so much that I leant across the counter and kissed her cheek. I turned back and smiled at Salvatore. ‘Thank you for my coffee.’ I even gave a little curtsey. ‘Can we go?’

  ‘We can go.’ He nodded at my aunt. ‘Ciao.’

  ‘Have fun!’ Allegra’s eyes narrowed as I followed him through the front door, ‘Be nice, Mia.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I hissed back at her. ‘He doesn’t like nice women.’

  I heard her laughter as I closed the door behind me.

  He drove us down to the port, as I sipped carefully at my coffee, closing my eyes at the flavour.

  ‘Good?’

  I nodded. ‘Before, coffee was just coffee. It was fuel, or something. But here’ – I sniffed the top of the cup – ‘it’s just perfect.’

  He nodded, satisfied. ‘A good cup of coffee can make your day.’

  ‘I could never tell the difference before.’ I laughed. ‘Seriously, if my best friend could see me, she’d never believe it. She says I don’t have taste buds.’

  ‘Why, because you eat crap?’

  ‘No, because she’s a foodie, and I was just her useless guinea pig. She made this amazing food, and I could tell it was amazing, but I just chewed it and swallowed it. Apparently, you’re meant to savour the food. Who knew?’

  Salvatore laughed, parking by the water and jumping out of the car.

  ‘So, where’s this best friend now?’

  I focused on the cobblestones, trying not to trip.

  ‘She… fell in love with a bartender and ran off to Barcelona.’

  His hand hovered at my back as he led me to the boat. The gesture was weirdly appealing.

  ‘Well, good for her.’

  ‘Very good for her,’ I agreed. ‘And it was a longer story than that. Her mum is famous, and she’s gone to train to be a chef.’

  ‘The famous mother?’

  ‘No, my friend.’ I smiled, looking at him. ‘I’m happy for her. We were both lacking in adventure. But I miss her.’

  Salvatore paid for the tickets for the boat before I could reach for my bag, and gestured for me to walk ahead, onto the deck.

  I leaned against the side of the boat, looking out across the water. Salvatore leaned next to me, nudging me with his shoulder. He looked perfectly relaxed for the first time since I’d met him. He wore a fitted white short-sleeved shirt and jeans, resting his weight on his tanned arms.

  ‘But you’re having an adventure of your own, aren’t you?’

  I breathed out slowly, shaking my head as I watched the boat leave the port, the people about to become small and insignificant.

  ‘Wasn’t really my choice.’

  ‘Everything’s a choice,’ he said, meeting m
y eyes, challenging me. ‘I can say I was forced back here, my visa ran out, I lost my job… but the truth was, I chose to come back to this island. I chose to be with my family, and lick my wounds. I didn’t fight. I have to make my peace with that.’

  I couldn’t tell him that my situation was different. But I was tempted. I was tempted to lean my head on his shoulder and tell him my dad was dying, and I was honouring a promise and nothing in my very small life was ever my fault. And yet, I couldn’t. Because it was my fault. It was up to me that I hadn’t found a job related to my passion for ancient things; that I hadn’t left the house I had grown up in. I hadn’t quit that stupid job at the make-up counter where I smiled, and smiled, and smiled every day of the year, hiding how I felt, until my dad had boxed me into a corner…

  I was miserable because of my own actions. I was lonely because I had used my father’s illness like a badge of honour, a way of avoiding growing up, or changing, or leaving. And I had blamed everyone else for that.

  Salvatore nudged me again, those dark eyes kind and soft. ‘Hey, you okay?’

  ‘You’re brave, you know? To take responsibility for your life.’

  He shrugged, shaking his head, ‘No. I wasn’t, for a long time. I was angry about everything. But since I’ve been back, changing the shop, building something… it feels like there’s room to grow no matter where you are.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  He turned to face me, wide smile on his face, suddenly young and boyish. ‘And I have you to thank for that. So today is my gift to you. As much archaeology… stuff, as you want.’

  The moment of darkness had passed, and I felt I could breathe again. We could talk about light, simple things. I could stop wondering what that anxious feeling was in the pit of my stomach.

  ‘What I want is to see this “secret room” you mentioned. And pretend to shop for antiques whilst scoping out the competition. And eat ice cream.’

  He grinned. ‘And don’t forget Napoli is the home of pizza.’ He put his thumb and fingertips together, kissing them in a traditionally Italian cliché. ‘Beautiful!’