Page 34 of My Lemon Grove Summer
Lennie’s frown turns to a smile.
‘He’s bringing food from the restaurant?’
I nod and beam. That’s it. No need for any further explanation.
‘Isn’t that going to cost a bit?’ Lennie frowns again.
‘Let’s just say he’s doing us a favour. To make up for his family’s behaviour.’
Lennie shakes his head, smiling. ‘You always find a way, Zeld!’ He pulls me to him and kisses the top of my head.
After I told Lennie about my encounter with the woman in the shop, he was all ready to go down there and give her a piece of his mind. But I stopped him, told him I had everything organised. I crossed my fingers and prayed that Luca wouldn’t let me down like the rest of this town has. Hoping he’d stick to his word. And he has! But that hasn’t helped quell the butterflies in my tummy.
‘I brought pasta!’ he calls as he parks the moped on its stand.
‘Brilliant!Grazie mille, Luca.’
Lennie gives a nod and pulls down the corners of his mouth, followed by a smile, impressed by my attempt at Italian.
‘Two of the things I love about you, your ingenuity and your have-a-go spirit! Even if you haven’t a clue what you’re doing or saying!’
‘Hey!’ I nudge him playfully in the ribs and we both laugh as he holds his chest, feigning injury.
Luca makes his way over to us holding the bulging bag.
‘I brought pasta,’ he repeats.
‘That looks heavy for pasta,’ says Lennie.
‘I brought pasta machine . . . and ingredients. To make fresh pasta.’ Luca beams.
‘Fresh pasta?’ I say.
‘Of course. It’s much better. And cheap, too!’
‘But . . . I don’t know how to make fresh pasta.’ I look at the bag and realise my brilliant plan has suddenly hit a pothole in the road to success.
‘I will help,’ he says, and pushes the unruly hair from his face. ‘We’ll cook together. Come!’ He nods towards the kitchen, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.
‘Buongiorno.’ Luca greets everyone gathered in the kitchen, shaking hands and kissing the women on the cheek. ‘So, we make pasta,sì?’ he smiles.
‘Are you a chef, then?’ asks Tabitha, with what looks to be a glimmer of flirtation. She’s put down her laptop, so that’s something.
‘No, not a chef. I run the restaurant you came to but I don’t do the cooking. Valentino is the chef. He’s been doing it for years.’ He stops and thinks. ‘Years and years. Since I was a boy, anyway.’ He laughs. ‘Everyone here has been doing what they do for years and years. And the younger ones, they all left, years and years ago!’
He starts pulling out the contents of his bag, and despite his cheery manner, I can’t help but think how sad it must be to live in a place where everyone is old and dying and there is no one the same age as you, apart from the odd cousin.
‘Maybe one day you’ll get to leave too,’ I say, and then realise how blunt that sounds.
He stops. Shrugs. ‘Maybe. One day,’ he says, his smile slipping, and he stares at me and I get that sudden electric-shock feeling again.
I look away quickly and he bends down and pulls something very heavy from the bag. A large metallic object that lands on the table with a thump.
‘My grandmother’s pasta machine!’ he announces proudly.
‘We’re really making proper pasta?’ Sherise asks in awe.
‘Not from a tin?’ says Barry. We all turn to look at him, and he mouths, ‘What?’ and shrugs.
