Page 72 of My Lemon Grove Summer
‘Wait! Zelda! Come back!’
But I ignore him.
Suddenly there is a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder overhead, but I barely notice it, or the downpour that follows, soaking me, plastering my hair to my head. I am absolutely focused on where I’m going. I’m going to speak to Il Nonno and get my lemons back, and nothing and nobody is going to stop me.
Chapter Thirty-six
Actually, I have no idea what I’m going to say as I march up to the big gates of the over-the-top, pimped-up villa and stare the CCTV camera in the eye.
‘Come on! I know you’re in there!’ I shout, pushing the buzzer and leaving my finger on it for the count of five. The rain is lashing down on me, my hair is stuck to my face, but I hardly notice it. Overhead, there is another flash of lightning and a crash of thunder. This time I shriek. My nerves are shredded and my reactions on high alert.
I look around me. The headless statue is gone. Probably in for repair somewhere. But the branch I knocked its head off with is still there. It seems there is only one way to get this man’s attention. Hit him where it hurts. His precious ivory tower.
He knows nothing about this town or how the people here live in fear – of Etna, and of him and his family business. They are too scared to be seen to be mixing with us, let alone welcoming us. He doesn’t seem to understand that we just want to build a life for ourselves and in turn help revive the community. How dare he try and chase us out! He doesn’t have a God-given right to the place. It should belong to whoever puts the effort in to care about it!
I’m not running away any more. I did that enough when I was younger, when things got on top of me at school or in the care home. But that’s all in the past. Now I want to put down roots.
I look the CCTV camera in the eye again, and I swear it winks at me, taunts me.
‘Come out, Romano, come out and tell me what you’ve done with them!’ I shout over the torrential rain, rivulets turning to rivers around my feet, which are soaked like the rest of me. I can see my reflection in the eye of the camera, hair stuck to my face, mascara running down my face to join the water cascading down my cleavage.
I look at the gate, waiting for it to swing into action with a squeak. But it doesn’t move.
‘Okay, Romano. You asked for it!’ I draw the branch back like a baseball bat, eyeing the camera as if it were the ball careering towards me.
Suddenly the gates groan and start to move. I stop mid swing and slowly lower the branch to my side as an irate Romano appears at the top of the steps up to the front door.
‘Get away!’ he shouts. ‘Go back to where you came from! You’re not wanted here! Touch any of my property and you will pay for it. I warn you, young lady.’
But I’m not listening. Instead, still clutching the branch, I march through the gates and up the steps until I am right in front of him.
‘Where are my lemons?’
He looks at me blankly.
‘My lemons, the verdello. Where are they? You don’t need them. You only want the subsidies from the land. I’m not trying to compete with you, just using what is otherwise going to waste. What is your problem?’
‘My problem? You! You are my problem!’
There’s another crash of thunder. There is no part of me that isn’t soaked, but I don’t care. I don’t care at all!
‘It’s not me that’s your problem,’ I say. ‘It’s the fact that your wife left you. You’re still taking it out on everyone else, dishing out punishments, keeping any spoils to be had for yourself.’
‘I am providing for my family. Looking after them. That doesn’t make me a bad man!’ he shouts over the rain as it slams down from the sky and bounces back up, thigh high, from the ground.
‘At the expense of everyone else . . . yes, it does!’ I yell back.
‘You know nothing about me or my family!’
‘I know that Luca is a good man who has stayed here to support you, but he has dreams, and they’re not about marrying his second cousin!’
‘Luca will do what I tell him. Stay away from my son. This is business. Love has no place in a marriage. It’s about protecting what we have and the ones we love.’
‘He’s a grown man; you can’t blackmail him forever into thinking he needs to look after you. You clearly don’t need looking after, you’re obviously—’
Suddenly he looks down, and then holds his hand to his heart. He takes a step back and leans against the door frame.
‘Oh, don’t start . . .’ But I stop myself. What if he isn’t putting this on? What if he really is having a heart attack? I can’t tell. He couldn’t really be that manipulative, could he? ‘Romano?’ I say. Guilt rushes in and pushes out all my angry thoughts. Did I do this to him? I just wanted to make him see; I just wanted my lemons back! ‘Romano!’ I shout at the top of my voice. And then I hear another voice.
