Page 53 of My Lemon Grove Summer
‘Oh, for the wedding. It’s not for a few weeks,’ I tell her.
‘Per l’Etna,’ and she turns and looks at Etna’s smoking peak.
‘Ah . . .’ I say, understanding. She’s thanking me for having the wedding, for keeping Etna happy, like all the other gifts we’ve been getting, left on the doorstep.
The man points to his wonderful flower-filled garden and I think he’s telling me I can have as many flowers as I like for the big day. Then they both wish me a long and happy marriage, like theirs. That is exactly what I wish for Lennie and myself too. And we have all the ingredients to make it happen. I can see the two of us just like this in years to come, I think.
I thank them, feeling rather choked, and kiss them both on each cheek. Then I carry on walking into town, carrying my bouquet of flowers and a bottle of limoncello. It may not be as special as I was expecting, but it is still limoncello and home-made! The smell from the flowers is so powerful; there is definitely lemon blossom in there too. I would love something like this for my wedding bouquet.
I walk through the closed-up town, past the grocery shop, where I hear the canary singing. I see Carina inside. She stops sweeping the wooden floor and turns to look at me, giving me a dark stare. I lift my chin and keep walking, taking strength from the flowers I’m holding. I’m not going to be bullied out, I tell myself.
I keep focused straight ahead, looking at Etna and her smoky top, framed between the buildings either side of the narrow cobbled street. As I reach the square, a voice behind me says, ‘Hello!’
I turn. It’s Sophia.
‘Hello,’ I say.
‘How are you this morning?’ she asks.
‘Where did you learn your English?’ I say.
‘I watch a lot of Netflix.’
How sad, I think: all this countryside and she’s stuck indoors, doing schoolwork on her own and watching box sets and films online.
I carry on walking and she falls into step with me.
‘Shouldn’t you be getting back? To your studies?’
‘Thisisstudy. I’m doing English. With you. Like you’re my teacher.’
‘But I’m not your teacher.’ I smile at her tenacity. ‘And I don’t think your mum would like you hanging out with me.’
‘My mum is just cross because my dad was English and she’s brought me up on my own. Also, Il Nonno says that we can’t have any more people moving into the town because it would take our jobs and what little money there is to go around. We need to look after the family.’
‘Maybe Romano needs to be a bit more open-minded. New people will bring more businesses and jobs,’ I say. Now I do sound like a teacher.
‘He cares about his family and looking after us all,’ she says, clearly repeating what she’s been told. ‘But I agree . . . he is very old-fashioned in his views. Next thing he’ll be wanting us to pull out of the EU and be independent!’
I practically splutter with admiring laughter, not only at this young girl’s language skills but at her handle on current affairs too.
‘I’ll see you later, Sophia,’ I say as we reach the end of the square.
‘Okay. I’d like that. And it’s Sophie! It’s great having a friend to chat to,’ she adds as she turns back towards the shop.
I look up at the big villa and swallow. I could back out. But I want Romano to know we’re not going to be bullied. In fact, I want him to come on board with us, help us organise the street party, see how it could benefit the whole town.
I take a deep breath and walk towards the big metal gates. I’m determined to make him see that us coming here is a good thing.
Chapter Twenty-six
I’m waiting by the huge studded front door of the villa, having buzzed the button by the gate and announced myself into the small speaker there. I look around at the big stone balcony, the lamps like lollipops dotted all around, the statues of naked men and women and the huge swimming pool with lions spouting water from their mouths at each corner. There’s a pathway leading from the house towards the foundations of a new building that is obviously going to be the gymnasium. For the community . . . pah! For his own personal use by the looks of it!
I can feel the fury building up in me again. This man is doing his best to pull up the roots that we are all trying to put down for ourselves here. I’m not going to take it lying down, I tell myself, just as I hear bolts being drawn back and the door slowly opens.
Standing in front of me is the man I saw that first night in the restaurant. Today he is wearing a long-sleeved shirt that strains over his round belly and, despite the heat, a leather waistcoat. Without the black hat, his head is bald.
I look at him and see my own reflection in his dark glasses, and I lift my chin defiantly.
