Page 26 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

The carriage had been lovingly restored to its former glory, the original layout perfect for teaching, the buffet counter now equipped with an espresso machine, and the WC in full working order.

‘Allora, Lucy,’ said Elena, ‘today we have a mixed group of fifteen who were with us last term. Many of our students work shifts, so we try our best to be flexible. Some are tour guides from Pompeii and Herculaneum, some are airline customer service agents, there’s Giuseppe, our postman, Pierre, he’s a maître d’ and young Matteo, who works here, at the mozzarella factory.’

Lucy followed Elena’s gaze to the large steel and glass building in the distance.

‘Next week I show you how we make the best mozzarella in Italy.’ Elena kissed the tips of her fingers. ‘But now we must prepare. They will be here very soon.’

Lucy placed a large Fortnum & Mason bag on the table.

‘Do you have hot water? I thought I could serve some Earl Grey tea and Edinburgh shortbread,’ she said, prising open a tartan patterned tin. ‘To break the ice.’

Elena lifted the lid on the stainless steel urn and flicked the switch.‘Bene.Matteo remembered.’

As the students began to arrive, Lucy busied herself by pouring teas and handing round the shortbread.

Elena tapped her teacup with a spoon and a hush descended. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is with the greatest pleasure that I introduce to you, all the way from Scotland, our new English teacher, Lucy Anderson!’

Spontaneous applause ricocheted around the railway carriage as Lucy, teapot in hand, smiled warmly and mouthed ‘Grazie’.

Drawing a steadying breath, she scanned the sea of expectant faces and reminded herself that while she must speak clearly, she was not addressing a group of six- and seven-year-olds and shouldn’t speak in a slo-mo, condescending voice.

‘Thank you, everyone. I am so happy to be here and look forward to getting to know you all over the coming weeks. But before we begin, if you don’t understand my Scottish accent, please don’t be afraid to speak up.’ She cleared her throat and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I was born on the west coast of Scotland…’

As Lucy recounted her life story, it struck her again how mundane her life had become – how she had allowed fear and a desire to please quash her ambition, goals and dreams.

‘Do you believe there is a monster living in Loch Ness?’ piped up a young woman in airline uniform, her red silk scarf tied like a pretzel.

‘That’s a good question, and one I guessed I might be asked. What’s your name?’

‘Martina.’

‘Where are you from, Martina?’

‘I am from Spain.’

‘Do you work for an airline?’

‘Sì. Iberia ground crew.’ I go… will go to afternoon shift after.’

‘In answer to your question, Martina, I personally have never seen Nessie, but many people say they have. In fact,’ Lucy said, opening her briefcase, ‘I have here a few photos to pass around. These were taken by people who claim to have seen her. Do you think any of them could be the monster? I leave you to decide.’

The class held on Lucy’s every word as she described the haunting beauty of craggy mountains, moody glens, dark, deep andmysterious waters, in which the elusive monster was believed to be hiding. Lucy smiled inwardly. All those weeks watching and waiting for Nessie to appear hadn’t been wasted after all.

‘Now, would anyone else like to tell me – in English, of course – a little about themselves, where you’re from, about your families, your jobs, your hopes and dreams for the future?’

A young man in the front row immediately rose to his feet.

‘My name is Matteo. I am twenty-one years old, and I work there.’ He pointed to the mozzarella factory. ‘Since five years.’

Lucy couldn’t help but notice several faint scars on the inside of the young man’s arm.

‘Nice to meet you, Matteo.’ Lucy nodded her head encouragingly. ‘Did you start working there after you finished school?’

‘No, I… I…’

‘Take your time,’ Lucy said with a soothing smile.

‘I leave the school at fifteen years.’ He ran his hand through his thick, raven hair. ‘Signor Moretti, he give me a chance for a new life, abetterlife.’ He swallowed hard, voice faltering. ‘He was like a father to me.’

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