Page 31 of My Lemon Grove Summer
She tugs her black nylon top at the bottom, showing more of her cleavage and the nylon trim at the top of her bra, full of promises that presumably never see the light of day with the lack of potential partners around.
‘How much for the pasta?’ I say, hand still on the corner of the last packet, stopping it from slipping from my clutches. She licks her lips again, and then slowly and clearly names her price.
I’m standing out on the street, my empty shopping bag by my side. Trying to take in what just happened there.
Whatever it was – extortion, bullying, or a quick-thinking business mind – I lost. I didn’t get the pasta. There was no way I could pay what she was asking. Even Sophie seemed shocked as she slowly translated her mother’s words. The woman held my stare, and slowly I lowered mine, dropping the bags of pasta onto the counter. I was beaten.
‘Tell your mum . . . no wonder this is a ghost town at those prices!’ I told Sophie.
And now, I have no idea what to do. I look up and down the street. To my right is the square and the town hall. Before that, the alleyway leading to Luca’s restaurant with its views out over the town to the sea beyond. And just off the main road, the houses that were meant to be ours. Everything covered in dark volcanic dust.
What on earth am I going to do? I can’t go back with no food.
It would be just as cheap to eat out at those prices, I think. I walk slowly towards the restaurant’s green-painted gate. Could I perhaps buy food cooked here and serve it as our own?
Suddenly the gate opens and out steps a man I recognise from our first night here. It is Luca’s father, Romano, the man who, if I’m reading between the lines correctly, has managed to appropriate our relocation fund. As he climbs into a badly parked car, I go to march forward, words springing up in my mind but not quite forming themselves into the right order for all the things I want to say to him. But then Luca steps out behind him, stopping me in my tracks.
My stomach twists and knots. I feel furious, I can barely speak. I glance up the hill to the big red mansion and realise this must be his house, and judging by the sound of building work coming from it, the new gymnasium is being built there too. My mood darkens even further.
I shout, ‘Hey! I want a word with you,’ and take off after the car across the uneven cobbled street. ‘Hey! Come back!’
The window is rolled down and he clearly hears me, but he doesn’t stop, just holds up a hand by way of goodbye, infuriating me even more. The arrogance of the man! The battered old car lurches off down the road, clipping the wing mirror of another badly parked vehicle, but he doesn’t stop and no one seems to notice. It just about sums Luca’s family up! They seem to think they can do anything they like.
I march angrily towards Luca. ‘Did you see what just happened there?’
His face drops. ‘Is it your car?’
‘No, but it belongs to somebody!’
‘I know. The people round here, they’re terrible drivers,’ he says, as if it’s perfectly normal. ‘How are you? Settling in? Sorry that Etna has not given you such a good welcome.’
‘No, we’re not settling in,’ I say crossly. ‘In fact, we’re all getting ready to leave, as soon as the dust settles. As I’m sure you must know.’
‘Oh no! You don’t like it here? Not that I can blame you.’ He shrugs. ‘It must seem very quiet to you. I’m not surprised you want to leave.’
I take a deep breath. ‘We don’t want to leave,’ I say as patiently as I can. ‘We have to. All the money for the project to help us set up home here . . . it’s gone!’ I glare at him, and then up at the sound of building work coming from the mansion on the hilltop.
‘Oh no! Not again!’ He throws up his hands.
‘Not again?’
‘Well . . . I mean, yes, there are some people who think that the best way to make money is to take the easiest money. As you can see, I’m not one of them.’ He indicates the restaurant.
‘But that is your father’s house, isn’t it?’ I point to the red villa.
He sighs heavily. ‘Yes, that is my father’s house.’
‘And you work for your father?’
‘Not directly. But he does own this restaurant – well, the family does. It originally belonged to my uncle who died. I run it with the help of a chef, Valentino, though he is very old now. My family, well, it’s a difficult situation. My father has not been a well man since . . . He’s not been well for some time, and so we try not to create any upset. No one wants to be responsible for causing his heart to give out.’
‘And you, are you like them? Do you do what you like?’
‘I do not.’ He holds my gaze and shakes his head. ‘No. Apart from growing lemons.’ A slow smile spreads across his face and then, infectiously, across mine as I think about the smart lemon grove I saw the other day. I’d love to ask more, but I have other problems on my mind.
‘Well, I’d better get on. I have to find a way of sorting out this next mess . . .’
‘What mess? A problem? Can I help?’
