Page 11 of My Lemon Grove Summer
Ralph says nothing, but his stiff upper lip tightens.
‘Will there be room for any livestock?’ Sherise asks. ‘Any land?’
‘Land, um . . . well, land is tricky,’ says Giuseppe.
Billy suddenly looks crestfallen.
‘These houses will be for you for now, but there are plenty of other properties here,’ Giuseppe says quickly. ‘You can find something you like and we can arrange for a very good price for our new citizens. As I say, we don’t have much land . . . but maybe enough for some vegetables or something like that.’
Sherise nudges her husband, trying to brighten him, but without any luck.
Not much land? I think, confused, looking back at all the fields we’ve just passed.
We walk on, down towards the main street, and pass through an archway – presumably the old town wall. Giuseppe explains about the dark lava stone used for building roads and walls. All around us the shops are still closed up, apart from the one we passed when we arrived. ‘For all your grocery needs.’ He smiles and holds out a hand.
The same woman as before, heavily made up, with dark eyebrows and bright lipstick, wearing a tight-fitting top and skirt, comes out to look at us. The mayor greets her but she barely responds. There is a young girl there too, aged about nine, smiling widely and waving. The woman looks at us as if aliens have just landed. And to be honest, that’s a bit how it feels. Lennie takes my hand and squeezes it reassuringly. There’s no thrill or sparks, but there is comfort, and that is all I need. To feel we’re in this together, that I’m not alone any more.
We walk through the cobbled square. Straight ahead of us, there are views out to sea, and Etna can still be seen, her smoky top shrouded. We pass tiny alleyways off to the left, before turning to the right, through another archway and down some stone steps.
‘Our trattoria, our restaurant,’ says Giuseppe proudly.
We stand and look at the green door in a stone surround with pink mimosa growing around it. The door slowly opens and I find myself catching my breath. There are steps to the right up to a restaurant with a tiled floor and huge windows; in front of us is what looks to be the kitchen, with a big woodpile by the door. There is a covered terraced area with tables and chairs, leading to another narrow alleyway, which appears to meet up with the main square again in the direction of Etna. And straight ahead, with more mimosa overhead, is the brilliant blue sea. This could possibly be heaven.
I stare wordlessly as I listen to the rest of the party exclaim about how beautiful it is, then slowly follow them through the open door. Whatever this place may throw at us, there are some real gems to be found. Nothing can stop me wanting to make a go of it here, I think.
Dragging my eyes from the view, I turn to thank the person holding the door open, but as I open my mouth to speak, my tongue ties itself in knots and I feel like I’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning, sending a billion volts of electricity around my body.
I have no idea what has happened. But something in my world just shifted, like my core has tipped on its axis. I’m light-headed and weak-kneed at the same time. I’ve never had an experience like this before. What is going on?
Chapter Six
‘Zeld? Are you okay? Zelda?’
I can hear Lennie’s voice, but I’m having trouble drawing my eyes round to him. What am I thinking? Pull yourself together, Zelda! I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I’m staring at this man holding the door open for me, and I don’t seem to be able to stop.
‘Zelda?’ Lennie says again.
Giuseppe joins in. ‘Have you two met before?’
‘No, no!’ I say, as does the man holding the door. He seems as shocked as I feel, while we stare at each other like we’ve known each other all our lives. With monumental effort, I drag my gaze away from his dark hazel eyes with their hint of green and turn to Lennie.
‘Yes, fine, absolutely . . .’ I try and say, though my mouth is as dry as the desert. I’m tingling all over – more than tingling: zinging! There is a full fleet of butterflies in my stomach, and my head feels as if the top might pop off like an exploding bottle of lemonade at any minute. ‘Must be the heat . . . and tiredness,’ I try and say, but I have no idea how it comes out.
Totally bemused, Lennie leads me to a chair at what is clearly the best table in the house, beside a big picture window looking out over the overgrown lemon groves that seem to surround the town on terraces draping down the mountainside towards the sea. You can see everything from this seat: sea, fruit trees and tumbledown houses, the whole restaurant, and the kitchen with smoke coming out of the chimney. The smell of woodsmoke mixes with the fragrance of citrus blossom from the trees below the open window. There are olive trees too, gnarled and bent in the direction of the wind, with a blanket of red poppies all around them. It is heaven.
I must be really tired and hungry for it to have got to me like that, though. My stomach rumbles as I’m handed a menu. I don’t look up at the man, just in case it happens again. But I can smell him – a citrus aftershave – and the butterflies swoop around my stomach once more. Maybe it’s hormones. Last-chance-saloon hormones. Thank God I’ve got Lennie! I glance at him and the butterflies begin to settle as he smiles at me. I sip the water he pours for me.
‘Better?’ he asks.
‘Much. Thank you. This place is amazing, isn’t it?’
He nods. ‘Happy we came? Not feeling it’s such a ridiculous idea now? You know I’m always right!’ he grins. I welcome the familiarity of his teasing, like the secure mooring of a little boat that would be all at sea without it.
I look around the table and catch a glimpse of the man who opened the door. He’s handing the last of the menus to Sherise, who slips her glasses out of her bag. Her husband Billy is looking as though this is the last place on earth he wants to be. But a happy beat starts thudding in my stomach and my chest, and I study the man in the baggy white shirt with the thick, curly dark hair, long Roman nose and smoothly shaven tanned face, as if imprinting his features on my mind like a photograph.
‘Everyone!’ Giuseppe calls for our attention, and I focus hard on him, and only him, just in case I have that strange sensation again. But try as I might, my eyes seem to be drawn back to the smiling olive-skinned man, and weirdly, his gaze keeps flashing back to me.
‘This is Luca,’ Giuseppe announces, holding out a hand. ‘Our host.’
