Page 14 of A Place in the Sun
‘Are you from here?’ I ask Giovanni, even though I’m determined not to get involved in local life. We’re not staying. I don’t want the children to become too attached, then have to uproot them again.
He shakes his head. He looks through the arch, into the kitchen and out of the back door towards the gently rolling hills. ‘This village was just here when I needed it most,’ he says. ‘I was travelling through and … I got stuck here, I suppose.’ He gives a little laugh.
‘And La Tavola?’
‘I like to think I’m giving something back. And, as I said, I’m always looking for more volunteers,’ he says, with his lovely smile.
For a moment I see a face peering through the open front door. I squint, but it may be the bright sunlight playing tricks with my eyes, creating patterns andimages, a bit like seeing Marco standing in this kitchen. I shake my head, focusing on the here and now and what I know to be certain.
‘Sorry, kitchens and I aren’t a good match. Besides, I’ll have my hands full here!’ I look around the room, taking in imperfections that were barely noticeable in the half-light but are now illuminated, showing the work that needs to be done. I wonder where I’m going to start.
‘Okay …’ Giovanni says. ‘If you need anything, you know where I am.’
I raise a grateful smile. I’m back in the here and now, not in some far-off place where Marco had made plans for our future, telling me about the house and the village as we cleared away in the restaurant kitchen after a busy dinner service. ‘You will love it,cara,’ he would often say as we waited for the sale to be finalized. I loved hearing about his plans, about a time when life would be easier and everything would work out perfectly.
‘I won’t be calling on you again,’ I tell him. ‘But thank you so much. I think I’ve used up all my helpful-neighbour tokens.’
He smiles at me, a small dimple in his left cheek. Even his eyes smile. ‘This village is keen to help each other, well, mostly … whether you want it or not,’ he says thoughtfully, then adds, ‘If only they would do it together.’
I have no idea what he’s talking about but followhim through the front door into the sunshine and thank him again.
‘Mum,’ Aimee says, ‘a lady came by and gave me this.’ Aimee is holding a dish wrapped in a tea-towel. It looks heavy and I take it from her. ‘She said to give it to mymamma. A welcome gift.’
‘What lady?’ I spin round, but no one’s there. I lift the dish to my nose and breathe in the warm, seasoned herby, tomatoey smell. ‘Did she say who she was?’
Giovanni is beside us, one hand across his body, the other to his chin.
‘She asked my name and how long I was staying.’
‘And what did you say?’ I’m concerned. Stranger danger, and all that.
‘That this was the house my dad bought. But I said I wasn’t allowed to tell strangers my name.’
Giovanni looks down at the tea-towel-covered dish.
‘What is this?’ I ask him.
‘As she says, a gift,’ he says, taking the corner of the tea-towel. ‘May I?’ He looks up at me with dancing, playful eyes.
‘But why? Who’s it from?’
He lifts the tea-towel, bends his head and breathes in. ‘Aaah, I would say that’s Teresa’s … definitely Teresa’s sauce.’
‘Teresa? But why?’
He straightens up, his T-shirt tight across his broad chest.
‘She’ll have brought it for you for dinner, lasagne, a welcome gift. We look out for our own here.’ He turns to leave.
‘Well, that’s very kind but …’ I’m not sure what to do with such a generous gift from a stranger.
‘I know – you’re fine.’ He raises a hand in the air, still smiling, his tool-bag in the other.
‘Yes.’ I bite my lip and wishing I was better at accepting help. ‘But it’s very kind of her.’
‘Kind, but also a way of finding out who you are and what you’re doing here.’ He winks. The dog I saw at La Tavola yesterday has been lying patiently outside and now gets to his feet to join Giovanni. ‘The ladies round here don’t cook unless they have to, these days, which is why the community kitchen helps those who need it.’ He looks at the dish. ‘This may be the first of many, I would assume … Like I say, you know where I am if you need me. Just call up to La Tavola.’ He sets off, walking up the cobbled street, the dog at his side, and I’m left standing, with the warm dish of lasagne, which smells amazing.
‘At least that’s dinner sorted,’ I say, as I head back inside and put it on the kitchen table. I imagine Marco leaning over it, breathing in deeply, just like Giovanni did, and nodding approvingly.
