Page 4 of All Mine
Etienne considered his waiting staff rota for a split second.
Etienne: Saturday afternoon? About 3?
Fox: Lifesaver.
Walker: Shift finishes at 4. I’ll join you then.
Fox: Boys, you’re the best.
Etienne clicked off the group chat and googled ‘how to make a dinosaur’ as he walked through to the kitchen.
Chapter Three
Isabella
A few days later, Tutto Mio was so busy with tradespeople that Isabella was lucky to get ten minutes on her own from the moment they turned up in the morning until they all left for the day. She had to fight to even have enough time to go to the toilet without being needed to answer a question. And usually, like now, it was on the loo that she’d find a minute to reply to her mamma’s messages begging for updates.
Mia Famiglia WhatsApp group
Mamma: How’s it going?
Isabella: It’s going! Ten people on site today.
Papà: Show them who’s boss, Isabella!
Isabella: They already know, Papà!
Mamma: Send me a picture?
Isabella: I’ll send progress pics tonight.
Mamma: Have you eaten?
Isabella: Of course, Mamma. Don’t worry!
She grimaced at the white lie, pocketed the phone again and grabbed a ciabatta roll on her way back downstairs.
She’d spent the first few days, music speaker blaring, cleaning the flat above the restaurant from top to bottom. It was her new home. She washed walls, painted a few even, and steam cleaned the carpets. She had now moved her furniture in and although she didn’t have a lot, it was all her taste, her choice. She’d not wanted to bring the old sofa where she and Daniel used to snuggle, or their marriage bed where they slept and dreamed and made love. Once she’d calmed down enough not to want to set it on fire, she’d sold that on a local website, along with everything else Daniel left behind. She found that she didn’t have much emotional attachment to things when the heart had gone out of her marriage. The atmospheric pictures they’d bought together at a market on the Thames now looked bleak. The cabinet they bought in a junk yard and upcycled to look shabby chic now looked just shabby. Everything went apart from her clothes, her photo albums, her kitchen utensils, her TV and her portable speaker. The proceeds had been enough to start over and the flat upstairs was already homely, if a bit sparse. She’d added lamps and throws and cushions and rugs; the front room and the bedroom were comfortable, cosy. She sent photos to Jesse, who replied immediately with a thumbs up or a love heart. Not that she’d had any time to invite anyone around yet. But at least it was welcoming at the end of a long day when her back ached and she only had enough energy, ironically, to heat up a ready meal before falling into bed.
The team’s focus today was on clearing the cabinets and sorting the new electric sockets in the kitchen. Isabella would start stripping wallpaper, a steamy, sticky job. She pushed her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head and secured it with a bright blue scarf. She wore an old cropped white T-shirt and faded jeans that were already paint speckled, perfect for the job. She snapped a selfie for Gabi, flexing her muscle as she held the wallpaper steamer in the air.
Gabi: Girl power!
Isabella: You know it.
She couldn’t wait to see the back of the floral paper. And she needed it done now so that the plasterer could come next week to skim the walls. Walls first, then reclaimed wooden flooring, then décor. The list was endless. She fired up her steamer, turned on the radio, picked up her stripping knife and got to work.
An hour in, she’d found a rhythm. It was a strangely satisfying job. When the music stopped between tracks, she heard someone shout from the kitchen. Then another voice joined in, then swearing and more shouting. She slammed the off button and ran towards the noise.
The door opened to chaos. Water sprayed from a pipe on the wall at waist height. One builder was already soaked and trying to remove electrical tools from the area, while another guy in overalls was trying to block the hole with his thumb, which just made the water jet in different directions. It was him that was swearing like a trooper. He stopped when he saw her and said, with a shake of his head, ‘Hit a pipe taking out the cabinets.’
The third tradesman had his head in the cupboard under the sink, the crack of his buttocks showing where his jeans hung low.
‘It’s not here. . .’ he shouted before pulling his head out and spotting Isabella. ‘Ah! Where’s your stopcock, love?’
Isabella frowned for a second, trying to think where she’d seen it. Then splashed across the wet floor tiles and yanked open the door to the utility area, where the washing machine used to be for the café. She opened the cupboard in the corner and pointed triumphantly. ‘There.’
Phil slip-slid his way towards her, belly hanging out the bottom of his T-shirt, and once more stuck his head in a cupboard with a spanner. She heard him grunting with effort and then, ‘FUCK!’
