If You Could Go Anywhere

by Paige Toon

  He stares at her, then he stares at the cappuccino cup, and finally, at me. I must look like all of my Christmases have come at once. Milk – yay!

  The door whooshes open and a guy saunters in. He’s tall and broad with short dark hair, high sculptured cheekbones and a strong chiselled jaw.

  Cristina beams – beams! – and I watch with amazement as she comes out from behind the bar to clasp his face in her hands.

  I’ve barely seen her cracking a smile – not even when she was bouncing on my bed like a two-year-old.

  The guy exchanges a couple of curt words with Teresa, but he greets Alessandro with a handclasp before turning his attention to me.

  Wow. Check out the length of those eyelashes.

  ‘Stefano, this is Angie. Angie, Stefano,’ Alessandro introduces us as Cristina disappears through the door at the rear of the restaurant.

  ‘Aah! Giulio’s daughter!’ he exclaims with a smile that is so bright and sparkling that it makes me want to hunt out my sunglasses. He bends to kiss me, taking his time about it, and my cheeks feel well and truly warm when he’s done.

  ‘How are you finding Roma so far?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m loving it.’ And, I have to say, it’s improving by the minute.

  Cristina returns with a stack of folded cream-coloured fabric, chucking one piece to Teresa, another to Stefano, and keeping one for herself. I watch as all three of them put them on: aprons!

  Stefano works here? He looks like a model, not a waiter!

  Giulio bursts out of the kitchen, shouting in Italian and gesticulating wildly. Stefano, Cristina and Teresa scatter while Alessandro speaks to Giulio in a calm, collected manner. Giulio returns to the kitchen and Alessandro comes out from behind the bar.

  ‘What was that about?’ I ask as he picks up the telephone.

  ‘The seafood supplier didn’t turn up today,’ he replies, dialling a number. ‘We need prawns, pronto.’

  I sip my coffee as he makes a call.

  ‘Good,’ he says when he’s hung up. ‘Our friends at another restaurant will help us. You want to come with me for the walk?’

  ‘Sure!’ I finish off the last of my coffee and hop down from the stool.

  He calls out to the others to let them know what we’re up to. Teresa gives us a filthy look. What’s her deal?

  ‘How long have Teresa and Stefano worked with you?’ I ask, trying to make sense of Teresa’s mood as we walk out of the door and take a right along the wide, well-kept pavement.

  ‘Stefano, about four years. Teresa, one.’

  ‘Cristina and Stefano seem to get on,’ I comment casually.

  ‘Yes, they are very good friends. Stefano has been on holiday. Cristina has missed him, I think.’

  ‘And Teresa? What’s her story?’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ he replies.

  Is it my imagination or does he seem uncomfortable?

  ‘She doesn’t appear to fit in as well as the other two.’

  He shrugs. ‘She’s not really part of their gang. It was Stefano who introduced Cristina to Rebecca. They go out together a lot.’

  Interesting. ‘How did Stefano and Rebecca meet?’

  ‘They were in the same class at university, studying law.’

  I glance at him. ‘But Stefano didn’t go into law?’

  ‘No, he hated it. He quit university in his second year. He wants to be an actor, but his parents do not approve.’

  It’s cooler than yesterday, and I didn’t bring my jacket, but Alessandro keeps a brisk pace so I’m feeling warmer as we walk. Tall trees line the road and sunshine streams through the leaves overhead, dappling the pavement with light. We pass a lively café, a couple of boutique clothes shops and a greengrocer with a jewel-like array of fruit and vegetables out on display. A stout man in a black apron calls out a buoyant greeting to Alessandro and he replies with a cheerful one of his own.

  I’m glad of the chance to see more of the Parioli district – it seems like a nice place to live and work.

  ‘That’s Bruno’s over there.’ Alessandro points across the road at a restaurant with an ivy-covered trellis out the front, dripping with fairy lights.

  I bet it’s pretty at night.

  As soon as Alessandro steps off the pavement, I dart past him at a run.

  ‘I’m not used to this many cars,’ I tell him as he walks towards me, a look of bemusement on his face at my apparent eagerness to reach the other side.

  Everything is new and exciting to me right now, even traffic.

  The restaurant owner, a man in his fifties, greets us when we enter the restaurant, and he’s even more effervescent when Alessandro introduces me.

  ‘Giulio is very happy to have you here,’ Bruno tells me with a wide smile.

  His friendly son, Carlo, also comes out of the kitchen to be introduced, bringing with him a polystyrene container for us.

  ‘That was nice of them,’ I say when we’re on our way again.

  I try not to run across the road this time, but I do walk fast. Very fast.

  ‘The restaurant trade is like one big family,’ Alessandro replies. ‘We help each other out.’

  ‘How many people work at Serafina’s?’

  ‘Apart from Stefano, Cristina and Teresa, there is Dario, Edgardo, Marcella and Susanna. Dario and Marcella help out in the kitchen, but the others are part-time. You’ll meet them on Friday night and at the weekend.’

  It’s Wednesday now.

  It’s only when we arrive back at Serafina’s to a cold look from Teresa that I realise I retrieved no information about her at all.

  Chapter 14

  On Friday morning, I decide to walk to Serafina’s, reasonably confident that I’ll be able to find my way after Alessandro’s repeated directions. The sky is blue, but I take my raincoat anyway, not trusting that the weather won’t turn as it did yesterday. Alessandro has given me a lift home the last couple of evenings, but I imagine it’ll be busier tonight and he might not be able to get away.

  Listening out for traffic and looking left and right several times before daring to cross the road, I bound up a few steps and enter a small triangle of parkland. It’s so dense with trees that the sky overhead is mostly obscured. I’d probably feel vulnerable taking this short cut if it weren’t for a teenage girl walking her dog nearby.

  I wish her a good morning in Italian and she repeats ‘Buongiorno’ back to me.

  Coming out onto the road, I head uphill past several identical apartment blocks, enjoying the sensation of my thighs burning. After Nan passed away, I went all over Coober Pedy on foot, making the most of being able to visit the homes of friends who had previously had no choice but to come to me. But all I’ve done here in the last couple of days is sit around. Alessandro has let me take up residence at a table in the corner of the restaurant and I’ve been on my laptop, replying to messages on Facebook and determinedly trying to learn Italian via an online course. More than anything else, though, I’ve been watching what’s going on around me.

  I think I’ve got a pretty good grasp now of how it all works. Giulio seems to be, on the whole, a well-liked boss, full of smiles for staff and customers and only throwing the occasional tantrum when something goes wrong with kitchen supplies. On Wednesday it was the prawns, and yesterday Enzo was late with the ravioli delivery. Giulio berated him fiercely, but the two men quickly resolved their differences and it was delightful to meet the husband of the aunt I never knew I had.

  Antonio and Maria, I adore, even though they barely speak a word of English. Dario and Marcella don’t either – the former is in his late teens and does the washing up, and Marcella is a few years older and helps mainly with food preparation.

  I like Stefano a lot – he’s friendly and funny – and Cristina has also grown on me in a big way. She notices everything and has a brilliantly dry sense of humour, but with Stefano, she really lets her guard down and it’s been a joy to watch the two friends banter with each other, something they
often do in English so I feel included.

  Teresa, however, is hard to warm to. She’s often sour and moody, but when she’s serving, she dials up her charm to full power and her smiles make her impossibly beautiful. The customers clearly can’t tell that they’re false, because her tips are better than everyone else’s – I know this because she makes a point of counting them out at the end of each service.

  Stefano also seems to fare well on the tip front, but Cristina’s surly demeanour does not reap rewards. I like her all the more for being genuine.

  As for Alessandro, he mans the bar and manages the restaurant as Giulio spends most of his time in the kitchen, only coming out to occasionally converse with his regulars. Alessandro is professional with customers, but somewhat aloof with staff, which came as a bit of a surprise to me after our night drive around Rome. His personality seemed warmer then, but at work, he’s remote.

  *

  At the end of the road is a small café and the sound of coffee beans being ground reminds me of the noise that Grandad’s opal-polishing machine used to make.

  Under other circumstances, the memory might make me feel sad or nostalgic, but instead, I’m filled with elation. It has just hit me: I’ve done it. I’ve left Coober Pedy and I’m in Italy on the other side of the world. I’m free.

  On impulse, I head into the café and buy myself a warm, flaky pastry to eat on the rest of the journey to Serafina’s.

  I’m still smiling when I arrive at the restaurant.

  Yesterday, Giulio promised with his hand on his heart that he would dig out some photos for me and I’m pleased to find he has them ready and waiting. We sit at the table in the corner, side by side on the bench seat.

  ‘This is when I was seventeen years old,’ he says, passing me a photo of a tanned teenager in light-blue shorts and a yellow T-shirt. I bring the photo closer to my face and study it. His hair is longer – a very dark shade of brown – and there isn’t an ounce of fat on him.

  We flick through a few more photos, and as he ages, his shoulders broaden out and his hair lengthens until it comes to shoulder level. He almost always has his same friendly smile, and everything about him glows with youth and vitality. I can see what my mother saw in him: he was a very good-looking guy.

  ‘Is this Serafina’s?’ I ask, studying a photo of him standing with his father. They’re both wearing white T-shirts and jeans.

  I knew straight away that it was my late grandfather, Andrea, because he looks so much like Giulio. Andrea must’ve been about the same age that Giulio is now – mid fifties – and Giulio is about twenty-five. He met my mother when he was twenty-seven.

  The walls behind them are painted red and covered with knick-knacks: shelves full of copper pots and pans, decorative plates and figurines, and long strings of garlic, chilli and bunches of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling.

  ‘Si, yes, Serafina’s. See what I mean? Cluttered.’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply with a smile, and despite what I said about liking the fresh, clean style of today, I can totally see the appeal of the old look. It reminds me a bit of Jimmy’s home. His wife, Vicky, used to collect figurines and painted plates and she’d hang up dried herbs in the kitchen too – Jimmy never took them down after she passed away and they were coated in dust when I went to his dugout a few weeks ago, having not been there in years.

  ‘Leave it,’ he growled when I reached for a sponge, wanting to wipe down a surface or ten. ‘If I’d known you were going to fuss about, I would have come over to yours. I’ve lived with the dust all my life, girlie. It’s a war I’ve never tried to win. Now, what’s this you’ve got to tell me?’

  I rang him earlier that morning to ask if he was in, having just spoken to my father for the first time. I wanted to bring Jimmy up to date and it was a relief to see his stunned expression at the news. The world wouldn’t have spun quite so perfectly on its axis if I’d discovered that Jimmy had lied to me as well.

  The thought of my old friend at home alone in Coober Pedy makes my heart squeeze. I hope he’s okay.

  ‘How old are you here?’ I ask Giulio, returning my attention to the photos.

  ‘Twenty-four.’

  He’s sitting on a deckchair in the sunshine and beside him is another dark-haired, attractive man of around the same age.

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘That is Giorgio,’ he replies, and something about his tone makes me glance at him.

  ‘He was my best friend,’ he tells me. ‘He died a couple of years after this photo was taken. A rare brain tumour.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say softly, glancing at my father. Sadness has pulled his features down, making his shoulders droop. I’ve never seen him like this and my insides swell with sympathy. But his sombre mood lasts only a moment.

  ‘Giulio and Giorgio!’ he exclaims perkily, making me jolt. ‘We were like brothers. We grew up together in Tivoli.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alessandro approaching with a couple of coffees.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say as he places them down on the table: an espresso for Giulio and a latte for me.

  His corresponding smile warms my insides. I think he likes seeing Giulio and me together.

  ‘Aah, Giorgio,’ he murmurs, peering over my shoulder at the photo. This is followed by a few words in Italian, clearly meant only for his stepfather’s ears.

  My curiosity is piqued. It’s rare for him to exclude me.

  Giulio replies in Italian and I sense unwillingness, but when Alessandro persists my father seems to concede to whatever it is he is suggesting.

  ‘Giorgio was my wife’s brother,’ Giulio explains. ‘Alessandro’s uncle.’ He says something else to Alessandro in Italian, then reaches over and pulls out the chair opposite, indicating that he should sit down. I don’t think Alessandro was expecting the tables to be turned, but he obliges.

  ‘Marta, my mother, was Giorgio’s younger sister,’ Alessandro says as Giulio falls quiet.

  I remember that Alessandro had wanted Giulio to tell me about Marta – and him, her son – over the telephone, but my father had swerved that conversation.

  ‘My mother had depression,’ Alessandro says. ‘I didn’t know that’s what it was back then – I’m not sure any of us did. She had been like this for years…’ He moves his hand up and down, up and down. The next time his hand goes high, he keeps it up there. ‘She fell pregnant with me when she was up here.’ He returns his hand to the table. ‘When I was older, she told me that she had been careless many times. She did not know who my father was.’

  My eyes widen. He’s also gone through life knowing nothing about his father? We have more in common than I thought.

  Alessandro looks at Giulio as he continues. ‘When Giorgio fell ill, he asked Giulio to take care of his younger sister. Giulio married Marta and took us in. I was seven years old.’

  Following Alessandro’s gaze, I turn to look at Giulio myself. He’s motionless, staring down at his folded hands resting in front of him on the table.

  ‘So it was almost like an arranged marriage?’ I ask.

  Giulio erupts into life. ‘I had known Marta her whole life,’ he says. ‘I loved her, si, like a sister, but I cared for her. When I met your mother, Marta was…’ He stops speaking abruptly.

  Alessandro helps him out with the right words. ‘She was at a low point.’

  ‘Si,’ Giulio agrees solemnly.

  ‘Giulio and my mother had only recently got married. Giulio tried to help, but it was very difficult,’ Alessandro explains.

  ‘Very difficult,’ Giulio repeats and even after all these years, he sounds incredibly weary at the memory.

  Alessandro returns his attention to me. ‘Your mother could not have been more different from my mother.’

  ‘Did you know her?’ I ask with surprise.

  He nods. ‘She was like a breath of fresh air.’

  ‘I need to go and check on the abbacchio alla cacciatora,’ Giulio says abruptly, heaving himself
to a standing position.

  I immediately get to my feet too.

  I have always given hugs easily – compassion is something that comes naturally to me – but Giulio hugs me hard in return, and when he pulls away, his eyes are damp.

  ‘I will tell you more about your mother. I promise,’ he assures me.

  ‘I would like that,’ I reply, my eyes tracking his journey to the kitchen as I sit down again.

  That was intense.

  ‘He loved her,’ Alessandro says quietly, reflectively.

  I look at him.

  ‘Giulio loved your mother,’ he repeats. ‘The news of her death, even after all these years, has hit him quite hard, I think.’

  The restaurant door whooshes open and Teresa appears. She glares over at us, and I give her a nod that she chooses to ignore.

  Alessandro stands and collects our coffee mugs, but before he can turn away, I press his hand.

  ‘Thank you for explaining.’

  His eyes rest on mine for a moment and then he nods curtly and turns away, barking something at Teresa. She raises her voice stroppily in return and I hide my smile.

  I’m glad that I’ve seen again the softer side Alessandro displayed during my tour of Rome. I have a feeling that he doesn’t show it often.

  Chapter 15

  There’s another waitress on tonight, one of the part-time staff. Her name is Susanna and she’s tall and curvy with bright red lipstick and a blinding smile. She’s friendly and chatty and I like her the moment we’re introduced.

  Alessandro has mentioned that it’s going to be busy tonight, but he says I can hang out with him at the bar. Of course, what he really means is that I’ll have to give up my favourite table.

  I’ll probably head back to Cristina’s early. I’ve been leaving the restaurant at around eight o’clock the last few nights, reading in bed until I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. I may be over the worst of my jet lag, but I’m still waking up on and off throughout the night and it can take me a while to fall asleep again.

  It doesn’t help that it’s so noisy here – cars going up and down the street, dogs barking, people arguing, sometimes in the reception area right outside the apartment.