Page 19 of A Place in the Sun
‘I need to fix that end of the bench,’ says Giovanni. ‘It’s been repaired more times than I can remember, but keeps going.’
‘I could make cushions if we could get hold of some fabric. But it’s not cheap, even at the market.’
The coffee smells good. I pick up the cup.
‘This is Caterina,’ he says. ‘She came to the village …’he glances at her for approval and she nods ‘… after leaving a difficult situation with her husband.’
‘I left with nothing,’ she says. ‘It’s hard to imagine now.’
I hold the cup and don’t move. Here am I, worrying about too much lasagne, and I can’t imagine what this woman went through to get here.
‘I …’ I stutter ‘… I’m so sorry. It must have been very hard.’
‘Thank you. It has been difficult but this place has been a blessing. We’re finding our feet again.’
Giovanni smiles his very attractive smile. ‘What can I say? It’s the fabulous food she comes for!’
‘And the company,’ she says.
‘And we love her for her mending.’
‘I have been making a new tablecloth too,’ she pulls out a piece of patchwork from her basket and runs her hands over it, ‘with all the scraps. But I’m running out.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, admiring it.
‘It’s good to keep busy.’ She gives me a smile tinged with sadness. ‘It keeps the bad dreams at bay. Making something where there was nothing. There is something good to be found in the most desperate places. These scraps were ready for burning. But they have something wonderful to offer when put together like this.’
I think about the house, the work it will take to ready it for sale as a holiday home in Tuscany. The furniture needs replacing and the walls repapering. Ibarely know where to start. But part of me is finding comfort in the old kitchen table and the worn plates. I check myself: I can’t be sentimental about it. I have to do it up to sell it. We can’t live on fresh air, however beautiful it is here.
‘Have you always sewn?’ I ask.
‘I worked as a hairdresser at home. I had my own salon. But my husband didn’t like me having my own business. It became a problem to him.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘I felt unsafe. I wanted the children to be safe and it wasn’t safe where we were so we came here. It feels safe here.’
‘And she has started working on the garden,’ says Giovanni.
She smiles. ‘I’ve never gardened before.’ She gestures towards the little garden with sunflowers. ‘I’ve always sewed, but gardening, planting seeds, that is something new.’ I can’t imagine what she has endured, her life turning into fear for herself and her children.
We fall into silence.
Then Giovanni points to the pile of lasagne dishes on the scrubbed table in front of me. ‘I see you had more visitors.’
I wonder: ‘Was this something to do with you, La Tavola, the community kitchen?’
He holds up his hands. ‘Nothing to do with me, I promise. But I’m guessing you won’t need a meal this evening!’ He laughs and I can’t help but join in. ‘It’sFriday and we always deliver a meal to those who need it on Fridays. It’s just a simple dish but the routine is good for people.’ He tips his head back to the kitchen where rows of little tinfoil containers are lined up on the table ready to be filled.
‘What’s on the menu tonight, Chef?’ I’m falling back into my old life, then wishing I hadn’t. I don’t want to be thinking about menus, costings, unpaid bills. I don’t want to think about food at all.
‘Not lasagne,’ he says, making me laugh again. It feels good. Caterina has picked up the tablecloth and is sewing a patch into place.
I study the room from where I’m sitting: the cool whitewashed walls, the intimate but spacious dining room, the fireplace with blackened edges, suggesting it is used in winter. What an amazing restaurant it would make, filled with candles in winter, olive branches and greenery in summer. I shut down the idea straight away. I must stop thinking like that. I don’t want anything to do with restaurants again. I am never heading back into that world.
‘Are you sure you didn’t initiate all these gifts to us? I know we were hungry when we got here but we really are fine now,’ I say. ‘We’ve been to the shop and I have plenty in.’
‘Lots of lasagne now, too!’ laughs Caterina, examining her sewing, being in the moment and finding fun in it.
It feels good to laugh, to talk to people other than the children, and Marco, of course, which, now I think about it, might seem strange to people if I were to tell them.
‘Although,’ says Giovanni, ‘food is so much more than just cooking something to eat, isn’t it? It’s about the experience, company, conversation, laughter, debate. It’s about inclusion. It’s about feeling part of something.’
