Page 58 of My Lemon Grove Summer
As well as making limoncello, I’ve been working in the lemon grove with Luca every day, helping to harvest the lemons, loading them into crates and carrying them down to the tunnel entrance. From there he takes them into the dark tunnel ready for delivery. I still haven’t seen his plans for my dress, and I’m dying to. We’ve been gathering all our paperwork to make the wedding official, and Valerie has been organising it and delivering it to Giuseppe. She’s ended up helping him in his garden in town, harvesting tomatoes and onions, which they’re going to serve on little plates at the street party, sliced and drizzled in glorious dark green, peppery olive oil.
Suddenly there’s the roar of an engine from outside, and a cheer. Valerie, it seems, has got the old minibus started and is easing it out onto the potholed drive. Once it’s loaded up with everything that needs to go to town, we squeeze ourselves in too.
‘Is it safe?’ asks Barry. ‘I could always take the bike!’
‘I think at the speed we’ll be going, it’d be quicker to walk,’ laughs Valerie, and as the minibus belches and farts down the lane to the road beyond the gates, we all let out a big cheer, like a coach trip to the seaside.
Valerie parks up just down the street from the square and we all get to work. She puts bunches of wild flowers from the lemon grove in jam jars on all the tables that Luca has already set out around the piazza, covered in checked cloths. The bunting swings gently in the breeze as Barry and Ralph string it between the lamp posts. The two men seem to have become good friends, I think, watching them. Luca and Lennie too laugh and joke as they fix speakers and cabling around the place. Music suddenly fills the square and they both beam like boys, and I feel my heart squeeze and twist, with love and pride . . . and maybe a bit of confusion too.
Giuseppe puts out bowls of sweets, almonds in sugary orange, lemon and pistachio shells and nougat in gold wrappers, like he’s inviting his grandchildren over for a feast. He would make a wonderful grandfather, I think. The smoke from the barbecue spirals upwards and through the square. Sherise and Valerie light tea lights in jam jars and put them next to the wild flowers. It looks wonderful. Soon the air is full of the smell of caramelising aubergines and artichokes, making my mouth water.
Luca comes out with a tray of arancini.
‘Try one,’ he tells me, holding the tray at shoulder height on the flat of his hand. I bite into it, crispy on the outside and soft as you like on the inside. It’s just heaven. I look around at the bunting, the flowers and the candles, and in the distance the big ball of orange sun just starting to set in the sky. This is exactly what this town needs, I think, and we all raise a glass of verdello limoncello and wait for people to arrive.
Sicilians always eat late, once the sun goes down, I tell myself as we wander around the square, hoping to entice people in. Cars pass and their occupants look at us with interest, but no one stops. An elderly couple in coats, bent over, carrying bags of shopping pause to inspect the bunting and the tables. ‘Come and sit down,’ I call to them. They nod, smile, and carry on with apologetic looks.
Nobody stops. No one is brave enough to stop. Nobody comes at all.
Chapter Twenty-nine
I’ve barely slept. That may be down to the banging headache I have. Which may be down to the volume of limoncello I drank, when all the glasses were left untouched. Nobody came to the street party. Only Sophia, who was quickly ushered back inside by her glaring mother, to sit with the caged canary no doubt. I stomp furiously around the lemon grove, picking verdello as I walk, because I can’t think of anything else to do to take my mind off things.
I don’t understand it. Everyone we’ve met has been happy that we’re here and that a wedding is going to happen. But no one wants to be seen to be associated with us. No one will stand up to Romano.
I walk back into the kitchen, where the others are finishing breakfast, and let the verdello tumble from my arms and across the worn wooden table.
‘Hey!’ Lennie says, trying to soothe my bad mood as I bang around the kitchen. Everyone else makes themselves scarce with jobs to do, clearing up from last night.
‘No one came!’ I’m looking in drawers for something I can’t remember. My head is in a complete muddle. ‘Nobody, not one!’ I repeat.
‘Hey!’ Lennie says again, and takes my wrists and pulls me to him. At first I resist, frustration and fury pumping round my body. But he persists, and eventually I give in, letting my head fall into his chest and burying my face there, shutting out all the thoughts that are charging around my brain. Lennie knows me, knows what I need.
‘All that work,’ I practically sob. ‘You had the idea and worked so hard. You’re doing all this to make a new life for us. I just feel I should have done more.’
‘You tried. We all did,’ Lennie soothes.
‘What are we going to do? If we can’t make this work, what are we going to do? Back home to miserable lodgings and dead-end jobs?’
‘Mum says we can live with her,’ he says. I pull away and look at him and we both allow ourselves a little smile.
‘Hardly joining the grown-ups’ club!’ I say. ‘We have everything we need here, if they’ll only give us the chance.’
I look for something to blow my nose on, and Lennie goes to find me a piece of toilet paper.
‘Thank you,’ I say, taking it from him.
‘And blow,’ he says, looking down at me as though I’m a child, and I blow, feeling like one. But I’m comforted by his kindness. I grab him and hug him once more, then look up and wonder how it would feel to put my lips on his.
I move my face slowly towards his. I have Lennie and that’s what important. I’m not taking risks any more. I have Lennie, I repeat. I feel like I’m moving in for docking, like a spaceship, landing on territory I have only seen before and am now about to touch and taste for the first time. I reach up and he, somewhat jerkily, moves his head towards me and then shuts his eyes. I scan his face, his familiar face, and then finally our lips meet and just as quickly part again, and Lennie stands up straight, looks down at me and attempts to smile widely. I feel like I’m mid dance and the music has stopped. These things just need working at. If I said I wanted to be a pianist, I couldn’t sit down and play Beethoven straight away.
‘Something will happen. We’ll make it work,’ he says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about life out here, or our physical relationship.
‘But it’s all because of that man!’ I’m suddenly infuriated again. ‘How can Luca not stand up to him? Tell him to stop being so bigoted, such a bully?’
‘Actually, why doesn’t he?’
‘Because his father has a heart condition. And if Luca does try and tell him anything, his father reminds him of his delicate state of health.’
