Page 60 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

She smiled and checked the time. It was five past seven. Plumping up her pillow, she took the book on Herculaneum from the bedside table and opened it.

After the morning’s church service, she would leave the Moretti family at the cemetery gates, and take herself off to the ancient city Dario and Valentina had so passionately enthused over.

As she flicked through the pages of the book, something fluttered to the floor. Lucy reached down and picked it up. It was a photo of an off-duty Dario with his arm around a voluptuous, Lady Gaga-esque woman, who radiated typical Italian allure, her silky black hair brushing her shoulder blades

She flipped it over.

Un caro abbraccio, Francesca 2019

A sharp rap rattled the door. Lucy jumped, quickly stuffing the photo under her pillow.

Elena entered in her pyjamas, the woodsy aroma of fresh coffee preceding her.‘Buongiorno.’

Lucy rubbed her sleep-filled eyes and smiled.‘Buongiorno.’

Elena placed the tray on the nightstand, sat on the edge of the bed, and offered Lucy a plate of biscuits.

Lucy put one to her lips.‘Grazie.What are these?’

‘Ossi dei morti,Bones of the Dead.’

Lucy threw the biscuit down as if it were an unexploded hand grenade.

‘In the UK you make pie from shepherd. In Italy we make biscuits from old bones,’ Elena deadpanned.

Lucy raised one brow in puzzled amusement. ‘What?’

‘My grandmother was from Sicily, and every November the second she would make these for the family. Now it is a tradition in our home.’ Elena smiled. ‘They look like bones,sì? Please try.’

Lucy gingerly took one and sunk her teeth into the crispy biscuit. ‘Mmm. I can taste almonds, and just a hint of lemon.’

Elena dunked one in her espresso and held it out to her. ‘The bones taste even better soft and warm. Yes?’

Lucy nodded, mouth stuffed full of biscuit. ‘Mmm. The flavours are stronger now.’

‘Mamma, Mamma!’ Stefano ran into the room, holding out a limp, partially inflated balloon. ‘Why won’t it—?’

The balloon escaped, spiralling jerkily into the air, making a strangulatedwheeesound as it dived downwards, landing on Elena’s head.

When the laughter had finally died down, Elena wiped her eyes, a sad look crossing her face. ‘Go, Stefano.Vai!Wash your face and brush your teeth. I’ll lay out your Sunday clothes on the bed. We must look our best for Daddy and Grandma.’

A shadow flickered across her face.

Lucy bit her lip. She felt her throat tighten. ‘Are you okay?’

Elena smiled, a tiny tear glistening on her cheek.

‘Silly question. Of course you’re not okay.’ She squeezed Elena’s hand. ‘I think it’s wonderful, you know – the way you’re dealing with it. Your openness, your ability to talk about him, to honour him, to laugh and cry, keep his memory alive for Stefano…’ She blinked, struggling to keep her own emotions in check.

Elena sniffed. ‘Grazie,Lucy.Grazie.Now we must get ready.’

Her eyes lit up and her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘And remember, our new housemate will arrive tonight. But shh, not a word.’

Lucy crossed her heart. ‘My lips are sealed.’

Stefano skipped up the church steps, firmly clutching his red balloon. How grown up he looked in his suit and tie, hair slicked back with gel.

He and Padre Paulo exchanged a manly handshake. Lucy let out a wistful sigh. Giancarlo would have been so proud.

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