Page 20 of A Place in the Sun
I sip my coffee and gaze out of the open door to the sun-drenched patio. Once again, I experience a pang, wishing Marco was beside me. That I wasn’t doing this on my own. I look between Giovanni and Caterina when a boy appears at the door, about the same age as Luca.
‘This is my son, Pietro,’ says Caterina.
‘Hi,’ I say. He points to a van pulling up outside.
‘Pietro doesn’t speak,’ says Caterina, almost matter-of-factly. ‘Not since we left our home and his father.’
My heart twists.
‘My daughter.’ She nods to a girl who has followed her brother. ‘This is Isabella, she’s eight.’
She wishes me ‘Buongiorno.’
‘She is hoping to make biscuits for the meal tonight. To take to the community.’
Giovanni and Caterina get to their feet, she putting aside her tablecloth.
‘The food is delivered here from the shop in thevillage. We’ll see what they’ve got and plan a pasta sauce,’ says Giovanni. ‘You will have met Tommaso at the shop.’
‘I did. He was very kind.’ I remember him giving the children lollipops.
‘He’s a good man. Lives with his wife who is bed-bound. He cares for her, runs the business, and brings us any food that is unsold to make into our meals for the community. Anything going to waste, he brings here.’
‘That’s brilliant,’ I say, with a rush of excitement I haven’t felt since Marco and I would sit and plan menus … Again, I shut down the memory. ‘I have to go,’ I say. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
‘No problem. You know where we are now. There’s always a cup of coffee if nothing else.’ He smiles widely again. I can’t help but wonder if he has a partner in his life. Maybe he and Caterina have found each other, which makes me feel … hopeful: perhaps there is a life for the two of them after what she has been through.
‘I just need to return these dishes and thank the ladies who made them. And tell them we’re fine, that there’s no need to bring us any more,’ I laugh again.
‘Good luck with that!’ says Giovanni.
‘Do you know where they live, or how I can get the dishes back to them?’
Giovanni chews his bottom lip. ‘Sure. Tell you what,why don’t you swing by later when we’re delivering food? You can take the dishes back and deliver a meal to them at the same time.’ His green eyes are dancing with a bit of devilment. ‘It’s not cooking, or prepping,’ he says. ‘I promise. You’re just returning the dishes.’
‘Yes, of course, sorry. That would be great. I’ll pop in with the meals and return the dishes. Thank you.’ I turn to leave.
‘Oh!’ Giovanni calls after me as I reach the door. ‘Did I mention that we sit with the people we hand out meals to? While they eat. Many won’t have seen anyone all week.’
I stare at him. ‘Sit with them?’
‘It’s company, while they eat. Because …’
‘It’s about the experience,’ I repeat his words to me.
‘Exactly,’ He heads towards the door and the waiting van outside.
I really want to pull out, but I can’t. He’s right. It’s just giving a little bit of time to help. I can do that. As long as I don’t have to divulge too much about myself.
8
‘This is Alessandro,’ says Giovanni. He’s standing outside the gate that leads into the walled garden when I arrive at La Tavola with the children that evening. The swallows and swifts are dipping and diving from the stone walls of the deserted buildings, wheeling across the valley and back again. I’m carrying the dishes, keen to deliver them and get home.
Beside Giovanni, there’s a young man on a mobility scooter. Giovanni has a hand on his shoulder. ‘Alessandro will show you where to return the dishes and deliver the meals.’
‘Ciao, Alessandro.’ I hold up a hand, balancing the heavy dishes on the other. ‘Luca and Aimee.’ I introduce them. Luca shakes hands with Alessandro and Caterina, who has joined Giovanni outside the front gate. Aimee hugs Mr Fluffy and moves closer to me.
‘Good to meet you, Luca,’ Caterina says. ‘Perhaps you would like to go with Pietro, my son. He is delivering a meal to Francesco, an older resident in the village. No family any more. He gets a little confused. Pietro makes sure he has labels in the kitchen on things like the oven and the washing-machine, so he knows which is which. He once found a bowl of tomatoes in the washing-machine and Francesco’s socks in the fridge.’
