Page 29 of Summer, in Between
‘Yep,’ I say.‘Thanks so much for your help.Matty and Tommy would have left me to it all by my lonesome.’
‘No worries.’He shakes his head.‘I said that already, didn’t I?You must think I’m such a dumb tradie.’
‘We don’t use that expression in this house,’ Mum interjects from the dining table.‘I’m married to a tradie, you may recall.’
‘Yes, but look who your tradie’s married to.’Paul winks.‘Must be the smartest tradie on the planet.’
I punch him in the arm.
‘What was that for?’He rubs his arm.
‘Oh, don’t pretend that hurt,’ I say.‘You’re tougher than that, a big, strong surfer tradie.Since when do tough guys make cutesy jokes with old ladies?’
‘Watch yourself, Caterina,’ says Mum.‘Who are you calling old?’
‘Can I call you Caterina?’asks Paul.
‘Only if you want a punch in the face instead of the arm.’I swing a soft punch towards him, and he catches my fist.His hand moves down mine until our fingers interlock.He doesn’t take his eyes off me.
‘So, why’d you leave the party?Was it that bad?’
Nonna’s head appears in the kitchen window.Startled, I drop Paul’s hand.She’s light on her feet when she wants.Her face is flushed from either the exertion of climbing the stairs, or from the spectacle of her granddaughter and a handsome strangerabbracciando,or canoodling in Matty-speak.
‘Ready,mi bella?’she says to Mum.
Mum’s brow furrows as she considers the glass in her hand.
‘I can take your mother home,’ says Paul, ‘I only had half a glass.’
‘Are you sure?’Mum’s gleeful tone doesn’t quite match the question.In her mind, she’s already cracking open another bottle.‘Mum, happy for Paul and Cat to take you home?I’m okay, but it’s summer, you know?Poliziottieverywhere.’
‘I’m very grateful to you,’ says Nonna to Paul, patting his cheek.
‘No problem,signora.Just let me know when you’re ready.’
Nonna holds her handbag in both hands low against her hips.She couldn’t be more ready.She’s determined to get home before dark, never mind the fact that dusk is still hours away and her house is less than a fifteen-minute drive.She kisses Mum on both cheeks and calls out to the boys.They bound up the stairs like puppies and I feel a swell of love for them.There’s no prepubescent self-consciousness in these two when it comes to their grandmother; their faces are as full of the adoration they felt for her as when they were toddlers.If the beach is my happy place, Nonna is theirs.
‘Can I come too, Paul?’says Tommy.
‘Nope,’ I say.
Paul shrugs.
‘Sorry, mate, your sister’s the boss.’
He starts to whine before Nonna holds his face in both hands.In Italian, she tells him to back off and let me have some time alone with myragazzo.I roll my eyes and stick out my tongue.
‘What did your grandmother say?’Paul asks me, quietly.
‘She said she likes Cat’s tits in that top,’ Matty says, and Nonna clocks him over the back of the head with her hand.
‘Diavolo!’He laughs and takes her arm to help her down the terraces under the stairs.I can hear Nonna giving Matty an almighty serve in Italian, a soliloquy that rolls off her tongue like high-pitched automatic gunfire, but she is completely and utterly wasting her breath.He’s laughing all the way to Paul’s car.
