‘That place was amazing,’ said Mary as she and Natale stood outside Margherita Margherita. They’d just visited the crystal shop that stocked everything from small tumble stones to large jagged chunks of gemstone.
Natale smiled. ‘Maria – we have seen the Coliseum. Yet you seem more impressed with the little stones there, instead of the large ones that built our city’s impressive amphitheatre.’
They’d just walked past the awe-inspiring monument. Brave and bold, it stood against the bluebell horizon, sunlight illuminating it like an Instagram filter, Mary thought. The areas eroded and damaged by weather, over the centuries, gave it an even greater sense of strength. Despite the mid-July crowds it stood still and calm, like a mountain emanating serenity.
For some reason, an image of Dante came into her mind, along with thoughts of the harsh weather he’d faced in his life. Daily she witnessed his fearlessness as he ventured out with Oro among the crowds. A strong, unwavering, steadfast will, qualities you’d name if you personalised the Coliseum. He also had cracks: glimpses, now again, of broken parts.
Having broken parts … she could relate to that. Perhaps, in another life, she and Dante could have been good friends. However, yesterday Rocco had delighted in expanding on what she’d found out from Natale. He’d told her that Dante thought an English waitress was a waste of resources – and an inconvenience, what with her having to live-in. Yet as far as Mary knew, Dante and Sarah had got on well. So what didn’t he like about Mary? Only this morning he’d once again been snappy with her, as if the night when he’d mapped out her face hadn’t taken place.
‘The shop was so much bigger than the crystal stall on Hackney market.’
‘I picked up lots of pretty crystals for my jewellery-making.’
‘Prettiness isn’t important.’ Mary grinned. ‘I’ll say it again – it’s their healing properties that count.’
‘Let us not continue that argument,’ Natale said and grinned back. She gazed at the restaurant in front of them. ‘It certainly looks popular, here.’
They waited to be seated. Dante hadn’t stopped talking about this competitor, so the two women had decided to investigate their rival for themselves. Window boxes brimmed with violet and yellow flowers. Illustrated on either side of the door were large daisies, against brickwork, just like in Gabriel’s painting. Mary picked up a menu from a nearby table, and fanned her face. With schools starting to break up, the number of tourists had begun to swell.
Finally they came to the front of the queue.
‘Tavolo per due?’ said a young waiter.
‘Si. Grazie,’ said Natale and he led them over to a table that sat outside, just in front of a glass window.
They ordered drinks. ‘Love the vases with daisies, on each table,’ Mary said and tapped her foot to the Italian folk accordion music playing in the background. Three small children sat at a neighbouring table and coloured in drawings of pizza. Mary turned to look through the glass window. ‘Look through there, at that wall, next to the bar. They’ve pinned up children’s drawings. It looks like they held some sort of competition.’
‘Clever thinking.’ Natale gazed at the scribbling kids. ‘Keep the little ones happy, which means their mamma and papà will stay longer – and spend more money.’
‘And look!’ Mary stared at two parties leaving. The waiter pulled out one of the plastic daisies, from each vase, and gave them to one member of each group, to take home.
‘Molto clever,’ said Natale. ‘The customer puts the daisy in their house or hotel and it reminds them to come back here.’ She gazed at a group of middle-aged men. ‘They are business associates who used to come to Pizzeria Dolce Vita.’ She scanned the menu. ‘As Dante said, just look at the choice of crusts and toppings – and the prices are lower than ours.’
‘Yet the atmosphere is that of an authentic Italian restaurant. It’s as if here you get the best of both worlds.’
‘This is not good. Now I understand why my brother has been so worried. This restaurant is hitting the mark.’
‘I wonder if the owner is here. I want to know if she’s rude to everyone or just Dante.’ Mary could see how it might happen. Dante wasn’t the easiest person to get on with. Or so it seemed. Many a time, now, she’d watched him chat and laugh with strangers. Mary felt an uncomfortable twinge in her chest. Perhaps he’d just taken a dislike to her.
The waiter came over and Natale ordered a plain margherita with a green salad. Mary decided on a folded-over calzone with four cheeses and caramelised onions.
‘I thought I was unadventurous!’ teased Mary, once the waiter had left. ‘You didn’t fancy one of their specials?’
‘No. If their margherita tastes good then that is cause for concern. Intricate toppings can hide a poorly made dough or bland sauce.’ She shook back her brunette locks. ‘But talking about being adventurous, you are the one who has moved abroad. Two weeks in and how are you going?’
‘Did your lovely dad put you up to this? Alfonso is always asking “Come va?” and tells me whenever a customer is pleased with my service.’ Her chest glowed. ‘I think he makes up the compliments, if he thinks I’m looking stressed.’
She grinned. ‘No. I just … Sarah … never seemed completely relaxed. We felt terrible when we discovered she’d been ill. She’d seemed so happy – apart from not really getting on with Rocco. Oh, the arguments …’
‘Didn’t she ever talk to you about her problems? Not even a hint?’
‘No. We didn’t have the closeness that I … sort of … already feel with you. It is strange, no? With some people you just click.’
Do you? Mary hadn’t had much experience of that, apart from Jill.
Was it her fault? Had she built an emotional moat? Occasionally she’d let a boyfriend cross over – like Jake. But even then, it took a while – if ever – for Mary to completely let down the drawbridge and open up.
Yet she did feel comfortable with Natale. Accepted. ‘Yes,’ she said, shyly, ‘you are easy to talk to. And I don’t seem to mind when you tease me – like laughing when I wore different-coloured socks.’
‘It must be British eccentricity,’ said Natale, airily. ‘Unless you have trouble remembering which is right and which is left.’
‘Why would I need to remember that? Honestly, you Italians are so obsessive …’
‘Because we are NORMAL,’ she insisted, with a deadpan face.
‘NO ONE who likes Justin Bieber is normal,’ Mary replied.
‘I only pretend to, for Lucia’s sake,’ said Natale indignantly.
They both laughed.
‘But seriously,’ said Natale, after a sip of sparkling water, ‘it is strange, Rocco and Sarah not getting on. He is a treasure. Been with us, ooh, five years. We helped him celebrate his twenty-fifth birthday, just after he started. A couple of months ago, he turned thirty.’
Relatively young, thought Mary, yet his face seemed to carry the scars of a lifetime’s responsibilities and disappointments.
‘Is he married? Rocco never speaks of his private life.’
‘No. He lives with a friend. Angelo. Rent is high in Rome. It makes sense to share. He’s a real asset. Such a strong work ethic. We are always telling him to take a break, but he won’t. Our place is like a second home for him. You wouldn’t think he had his own to go to. Thank goodness.’ She swallowed. ‘Rocco virtually ran the place single-handed after Mamma … after she died, almost one year ago.’ Natale shrugged. ‘I just don’t get why Sarah would find him difficult.’
Mary pursed her lips. Give her an hour and she could explain. But it was early days and if Rocco was so popular with the Rossi family, then perhaps she ought to keep her concerns to herself. Even if he had blamed her for a coffee order he got wrong. Plus laughed at her Italian in front of customers.
‘I heard that you’d lost your mum,’ she said, softly. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘You would have got on with her. Mamma loved astrology. Why do you have such a big interest in crystals?’ she asked and Mary wondered if she was changing the subject on purpose.
How could she tell her the truth? That she’d never had a steadying influence in her younger days. Foster parents changed. Caseworkers swapped clients. Whereas crystals – they remained steady. They offered hope – and a wisdom she’d received from nowhere else. A lump formed in her throat.
‘Years ago, I read about them in a teen magazine,’ she said, tentatively. ‘That article triggered my curiosity. It was about a girl who’d just had her heart broken. Every night she slept with healing crystals under her pillow. Six months later she was engaged to another bloke.’
‘So … your crystals help you emotionally.’
Cautiously, Mary nodded.
‘They have made you feel relaxed and at home, in Piazza Navona?’
Her face broke into a smile. ‘How could I not feel relaxed? My room is so spacious and bright. Lucia makes me laugh. You and I have some lovely chats. And I get to do my baking.’
‘Si,’ said Natale. ‘The ginger cream sandwich cookies you made, yesterday, were particularly delizioso.’
Granted, the first few days had been challenging. Mary was used to living alone and thought she’d prefer the quiet. However, soon she found herself looking forward to breakfast conversation with Natale, about the day ahead, and the evening mochaccino outside had become something of a habit – but not with Dante. Sometimes Alfonso kept her company but normally, in the evening, she’d find him sitting alone inside, in deep contemplation. Or Gabriel might pop across the piazza to see her for a friendly chat. However, Dante had reverted to being coolly polite. Granted one afternoon he’d sat down with her, at the back of the restaurant, to point out mistakes she was making with her Italian. But that would have been for the good of the restaurant. Apart from that he had kept his distance, emotionally as well as physically.
‘You okay?’ said Natale, bringing Mary back to the present.
‘Sorry. My mind was elsewhere.’
Natale raised an eyebrow.
‘I was thinking about Dante. I … I can’t believe how many pizzas he manages to make each day. It’s amazing.’
‘By now you know that my brother never likes to stay still. He is determined to stay busy and that life will continue more or less as it has always done.’
‘He still goes out with his police friends.’
‘Si. He sees old colleagues at least once every couple of weeks if he can. Losing his sight hasn’t affected his love of good food and wine – or office gossip. And he takes Lucia to the park – and swimming, seeing as her dad …’
Mary leant forwards.
‘He left before I gave birth,’ said Natale, quickly. ‘We were both so young – me seventeen, one year younger than him … To be honest, in his company I … how you say … went off the rails?’
‘Really? But you seem so sorted. So solid.’
‘I’ve had to grow up. My parents offered me one hundred per cent support, but made it clear I would have to face my responsibilities. His parents did everything they could to encourage my boyfriend to be part of his daughter’s life, but he disappeared shortly before my due date – apparently went to work abroad.’
‘Oh, Natale. That must have been – must be so hard.’
She gazed at her lap for a moment. ‘It is for the best. With him I drank … smoked … smoked all kinds of stuff.’ She looked up. ‘I almost ended up with a police record.’
Mary’s eyes widened.
‘You are shocked?’
‘Only because, well, your family, from the outside, it seems so … idyllic. And ordinary. I mean that as a positive.’
‘What, the cosy Italian family running a restaurant filled with laughter and singing – and ice cream?’
Mary looked sheepish.
‘And it is true. We love the bones of each other. But with Mamma gone, with Lucia missing a father and Dante losing his sight – I’d say we are far from ordinary.’
‘But you’ve pulled together. Stood together. In my eyes that makes you the perfect family. Always looking out for each other.’
Natale pursed her lips.
‘Sorry – have I said something wrong?’
‘No, of course not – it’s just … you don’t know the whole story.’
What could she mean? But then they didn’t know the full story about Mary. So why should she expect Natale to share every detail?
‘It’s great that Dante helps out with Lucia,’ said Mary. ‘And that must have helped him build his confidence too, in the beginning – trying out activities with a child who won’t judge.’
‘I’m sure you are right – although he has always spent time with her. Did right from the first weeks when her father ran off, in the days when he could still see.’ Natale fiddled with her watch. ‘I don’t know how I would have managed without him. Papà was so wrapped up with being angry and Mamma …’
Mary squeezed her arm. ‘I caught part of Dante’s conversation with your dad, the other day,’ she said, eventually. ‘He went into a school to give a talk? I’d be scared of doing that.’
‘Dante belongs to a volunteer programme, to spread awareness about his condition. Oro always gets thoroughly spoilt by the schoolchildren.’ Natale’s heart-shaped face fell for a second. ‘I don’t talk about this with Papà – he would only worry – but sometimes I think Dante keeps too busy.’
‘Better than staying in and overthinking his situation, surely?’
Natale finished her water. ‘But he even goes to the cinema now. They provide …’
‘We call it audio description, in English.’
Natale nodded. ‘Thing is, he was never a big fan of the movies, so why bother now …? I think he just does it to prove a point and to block things out – Mamma dying a year after his blindness …’
‘What a terrible time for you all.’ It would have been unbearable to watch this family going through such grief. For just a second, Mary’s heart warmed towards Dante. And Rocco – could the waiter really be so bad if he’d been such a support?
Tears welled in Natale’s eyes. ‘You have no idea,’ she whispered. ‘And sometimes it still feels so raw.’
Mary blinked rapidly. She wanted to ask more but knew that often, all people wanted was someone to listen.
‘Dante hardly spoke for a few weeks and then suddenly came to life with all these intentions and a kind of … harder attitude. After the funeral he threw himself into learning Braille and that was when he started to talk about getting a guide dog.’ Natale dabbed her eyes with a napkin. ‘Whereas Papà … I still see him struggle, really struggle with Mamma’s death.’
‘And you?’ Mary said, gently. Thinking about it, the family hardly ever spoke about the mother.
Natale blew her nose. ‘I am the lucky one – Lucia takes up most of my thoughts. For that I’m grateful.’ She sat more upright. ‘Although there is one thing Dante has given up. Dancing. He used to love going to nightclubs whenever he could. He’s inherited Alfonso’s genes.’
Mary smiled and pictured Alfonso who would occasionally enjoy swaying under the canopy at night, Enzo’s jazz music playing in the background after the last customer had left.
‘But, apart from that, it’s as if he has to prove he can enjoy everything. Anyway, enough of talking about my impossible brother – his ego would be even bigger if he knew we were discussing him.’
Not possible, Mary wanted to say.
‘So … you seem to have settled into a routine,’ continued Natale, in a brighter voice. ‘Your organisation puts me to shame! Breakfast exactly at seven, every day. Then you put on washing. Take a stroll around the piazza before your shift. Bake if you have time. In the evening you sit outside, as if taking stock of your day …’
‘Oh dear – am I so predictable?’
Natale gave her tinkling laugh.
‘It’s just … I find routine comforting, I guess – being in a new place.’
‘So far, then, you’re happy?’ Natale beamed.
‘Yes. Thank you.’ Apart from Dante and Rocco disapproving of her. ‘And I know it’s difficult for you, balancing work and looking after Lucia, so I just wanted to say I can always drop her off at school club, or help look after her on the days she is home, perhaps take her on outings, if you want to go out or make your jewellery. Or I can babysit in the evening, when I’m not rostered onto the late shift. She’s such good company and I love children.’
‘Grazie! You are a sweetheart.’
Mary’s neck flushed. No one had ever called her that. And she could count on one hand the number of times, in her life, she’d enjoyed such a heart-to-heart. Was that because Natale was Italian? Were the Romans really more open? Or was it because this move abroad had given Mary the freedom to lower her boundaries and be more approachable?
The waiter arrived and put down their meals. Mary cut into the half-moon-shaped calzone. The caramelised onions melted in her mouth. The dough was just the right thickness – neither too spongy nor crisp. She gazed across the table at Natale who concentrated on every mouthful. Finally she put down her cutlery.
‘Che disastro.’
‘A disaster? Why? Doesn’t it taste good? Because mine was fantastic.’
Natale put her elbows on the table. She rested her chin on her hands. ‘So was mine. That’s the problem. I was hoping that the pizzas might taste as plastic as the free daisies, what with such a gimmicky menu. But the base is exquisite. The sauce has just the right amount of garlic and basil.’ Natale gazed around. ‘We have a fight on our hands. Pizzeria Dolce Vita could sink.’
Mary pushed away her plate. ‘Surely things can’t be that bad – what about your regulars?’
‘Times are hard. Those who used to eat with us a couple of times a week, now maybe come twice or three times a month. Our main trade is tourists and businesspeople – that’s why Papà and I are convinced we need an English-speaking waitress, to have the edge. The Lombardi List is a free, far-reaching advert for us. We couldn’t afford to pay for such promotion ourselves.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘Papà pretends he isn’t worried, but I often catch him staying up late, looking at the books. The last couple of years have been difficult for our family. We haven’t kept on top of the little things like refreshing paintwork. But over recent months, things have started to get better again … I just hope it isn’t too late.’
Me too, thought Mary. If the Rossis didn’t stay on the Lombardi List, it could also mean she’d be heading back to England by the end of August. Just when she was beginning to – dare she think it – feel part of something.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ Mary said and took out her purse.
Natale protested, but Mary held up her hand. ‘My treat. Then let’s get back and formulate a plan to stay on the Lombardi List.’
‘But we have no money to turn things around in such a short time.’ Natale shrugged. ‘We’ve only got a month.’
‘But if I understand correctly, the judge makes it clear that he – or she – doesn’t make the final decision until visiting the restaurants just one week before that deadline, when the tourist season is at full throttle – right?’
Mary’s mind raced. She’d spent her life solving problems with only pennies to spend. Take the time her boiler had broken. She’d persuaded the busy plumber’s apprentice, in the flat above, to mend it if she did his cleaning for a month. And when the twins’ mum, next door, had her purse stolen, Mary persuaded residents of the tower block to rally around. They donated meals and nappies and put money into a pot that raised enough to pay a week’s bills. Mary could do this. One way or another, she’d keep the Rossis on that list.