I stare out of the kitchen window, watching Frankie in his tree house as he plays with his new pet. I mean, it’s not really a pet, it’s a frog he found hopping around by the pond that he’s holding ever so gently in his hand. I can’t hear, but I can see his lips moving, so I imagine he’s telling the little reptile all sorts. It’s also not a real tree house because, having realised it was going to be harder work than he thought, Nathan resolved to prop pieces of wood up against the tree, so he’s just sitting underneath that – even I could have done that.
It’s a Saturday morning. Nathan has gone for a run, my mum is in the living room painting her nails an alarmingly bright shade of pink, and I’m here, cradling a cold cup of tea, watching my son make the best of a pretty rubbish situation. Of course he thanked Nathan for the tree house – and he probably meant it when he said it was great, because his dad made it for him. Nathan assures us that he’s going to do it properly over the coming weeks, but we’ll see.
There’s a knock at the door. It’s amazing, how often people knock on this door, given that we’re in the middle of nowhere.
‘I’ll go,’ my mum says, hopping to her feet with an agility grandmas don’t usually boast, which reminds me…
‘Did you tell people at school we were sisters?’ I ask her as she heads for the door.
‘They believed me,’ she says with a wink. ‘If I were you, I’d admit it’s because I look young. Better than the alternative.’
I frown.
‘Alfie,’ she squeaks as she opens the door. She leans forward and gives him a kiss on the cheek, which makes him blush.
‘Hello, Viv,’ he says. ‘Just here to see if I can take your…Lily out for the day.’
‘You can take my Lily anywhere you like,’ she tells him. ‘Can’t he, Lily?’
‘Where are we going?’ I ask.
‘I have the answer to a few of your problems,’ he tells me.
‘Oh my God, time travel,’ I say sarcastically.
He laughs.
‘Not quite, but it’ll do the trick.’
‘OK, great,’ I say. ‘Viv, are you OK looking after Frankie?’
‘Of course,’ she replies. ‘I think the boys are planning on doing more work on the tree house today anyway.’
Alfie peers outside.
‘They might want to try building it in the tree,’ he suggests.
‘I don’t think Nathan is up to it,’ I say. ‘He’s trying though.’
‘Well, you know I’m great with stuff like that so if there’s anything I can do or…if Nathan needs a hand, just let me know.’
I am almost certain Alfie would rather do anything than spend time with Nathan, so I appreciate the offer.
I knock on the kitchen window to get Frankie’s attention before waving goodbye.
‘Right, lead the way,’ I say, following Alfie towards the front door.
As we’re getting into Alfie’s car, a sweaty looking Nathan comes bounding over.
‘You never apologised to me for accusing me of stealing your dog,’ he says to Alfie.
‘You never apologised to me for leaving me to raise our child alone for eight years – shall we call it quits?’ I say, giving him a look with my eyes that suggests he shut up. ‘Frankie is outside waiting for you, he’s ready to do more work on the tree house.’
‘I’m pretty beat from my run,’ he says, stretching his quads. ‘Do you think he’ll take a rain check?’
I don’t answer him, I just close the car door.
‘Poor kid has already waited eight years, what’s another day, eh?’
‘I suppose he seems like he’s trying,’ Alfie says hopefully.
‘Yeah, he seems like he’s trying, but also, he seems like he’s not really trying at all. You’d think he’d be jumping through hoops to try and make things right but he’s all talk, far-fetched stories and empty gestures. Frankie thinks he’s amazing though. He’s all about his dad, he barely has time for me these days. I’ve raised him single-handedly – my entire life, since the day he was born, has been all about him, and here Nathan is, getting all the glory with his cheap moves and his crap tree house.’
‘Hey, Frankie knows you do everything for him,’ Alfie tells me. ‘His dad is just this new, exciting thing. And, you know, he could always be worse.’
‘He could, sorry,’ I say. ‘So where are we going?’
‘We are going to visit my friend Biagio,’ he says, parking his car outside a row of terraced houses. ‘Biagio is practically a local celebrity around here. He moved over from Italy when he was younger, got married and opened up the ice cream hut on the beach. I remember when I was younger, I’d love going to see him for a 99. He was this loud, passionate, friendly person and he made every customer feel like the most important person in the world, like one of his best friends. Off the record, a couple of years ago the gambling problem no one knew he had came to a head and he lost his business, his wife left him…The official word is that he gave up his job for health reasons. He’s doing OK now, but he’s bored. Not only would it do him good to get a job, but the man can sell food – and I mean really sell food – and everyone loves him. He’d be a real asset.’
‘And you think he’ll work for me?’
‘We’re here to find out,’ he replied with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
We walk up to Biagio’s bright green front door. Just a few seconds after Alfie presses the doorbell, we’re greeted by a short, smiley Italian man.
‘Alfie,’ he sings, grabbing him, practically standing on his tiptoes to reach up and kiss him on the cheek – everyone is getting to kiss him but me today and this feels so unfair.
‘Ciao, bella,’ Biagio says as he pulls me close, kissing me on both cheeks. ‘Alfie’s told me so much about you.’
Biagio’s English is perfect but his Italian accent is strong, which is kind of charming. The way he sings his words, packing them with enthusiasm – it really stands out amid all the low-pitched Yorkshire accents I’ve been trying to get used to lately.
‘Come in, sit down,’ he says. ‘Alfie said you were coming so I made a little antipasti.’
He shows us into his kitchen, where the table is laid out with meats, cheeses, olives and bread.
‘A little?’ I laugh. ‘There’s so much food – it looks amazing.’
‘Mangia, mangia,’ he says.
We all take a seat at the table and chat. I ask Biagio questions about his life, he asks me questions about mine. We make small talk about the town until Alfie gets down to business.
‘Biagio, I was telling Lily that you might be looking for work,’ he says. ‘I told her you’ve been a bit bored since you stopped selling ice cream.’
‘I lived to sell ice cream,’ he tells me, his hands together. ‘It’s a simple job, but the one I was born to do. I got to talk to people, spend my days on the beach…’
‘Well, I don’t know if Alfie has told you but I’m opening up a new deli on Main Street, and we’re looking for staff. Someone who knows food well, someone who is great with customers – you seem like a great fit.’
Biagio shrugs.
‘I may be a good fit for the job – and the job may a good fit for me…but is the deli a good fit for the town? Who knows?!’
‘Well, I’m working hard to show people that we are. I understand your reservations, what with everyone being so wary of the deli, but…I’m throwing a tasting party on Monday evening, why don’t you come along?’
‘I didn’t know that,’ Alfie says. ‘That’s a great idea.’
‘Didn’t I tell you?’
Probably because I just came up with it. Well, it was an idea I’d been thinking of, to invite a few people in to taste test some of our foods, but throwing a party ASAP sounds like a great way to get Biagio and the locals in to see the place now it’s finished.
‘OK, sure. I’ll be there on Monday night and we’ll see if your food is as fantastic as mine, eh?’
I laugh.
‘This will be hard to beat,’ I tell him. ‘But I’ll give it my best shot.’
After more kisses we head for the door.
‘He seems really nice,’ I tell Alfie.
‘He is, he just had a spell of bad luck. Seriously though, you’re not just doing him a favour, he will be great for business.’
It certainly would be nice, to have such a fun, friendly, passionate employee – if only to balance out Channy, who’s only in it for the money.
‘So how long have you been planning this tasting party?’ he asks once we’re back on the road.
‘It’s a relatively new idea,’ I say.
‘You came up with it when you said it, didn’t you?’ he laughs.
‘OK, yes, but it’s not a lot of work. I just need to make the place look beautiful, have my bosses send me some supplies on Monday, and then get it all set up by the evening. It’ll be great. The hardest part will be getting people to turn up,’ I point out.
‘You know I’ll help you,’ he says.
‘Thank you,’ I reply.
‘What are friends for, Blossom?’
I feel my smile fall. There’s something about when he reminds me we’re just friends that breaks my heart.