Page 17 of Livia in Rome
‘Buongiorno.’
I’m barely back behind the counter when the first customer of the day walks in. He’s wearing the unofficial uniform of retired Italian men: beige trousers, polo shirt, newspaper under one arm, and bushy white eyebrows in a tanned face. At first, I think he’s just another regular – it’s hard to tell them apart – but his distinctive sideburns mark him as the man who asked Kenzi to translate that prescription. He’s squinting at me, though I can’t say if he recognizes me – teenagers must be just as interchangeable to him – or if he’s wondering what I’m doing behind the counter. Maybe both.
He chooses a corner table next to the tall metal stand displaying crisps and snacks, and calls out his order. ‘Un caffè e un cornetto, per favore.’
Phew. Coffee and croissant. Couldn’t be simpler. ‘Sì, certo. Un momento solo.’
Cavolo, I should’ve stuck with a one-word answer, because he pauses in the act of opening his newspaper, his brows pulling together in one long fuzzy line. I try not to let it knock my confidence. I can’t getsuch a simple order wrong, can I?
I’m still asking myself that question when I open thepasticceriabox and find at least eight different types ofcornetto, none of them labelled. The Nutella ones are oozing clues, as are the ones filled with berry jam...but the others? They’re sitting there, pretending to have no filling at all. My hand hovers over the crescent-shaped pastries like I’m defusing a bomb but don’t know which wire to cut. Sugar glaze? Sugar crystals? Egg wash? I decide to keep it simple and go for one that has no finish at all.
I’m just taking it over, pretending I haven’t had a mini meltdown over a box of pastries, when Giulio comes into the bar, looking surprised to find it already open.
I’m about to give him a smug smirk of my own – look at me, managing all by myself – when the man clears his throat.
‘Signorina?This is not my usualcornetto.’
Giulio peers at the pastry, then whisks it away and swaps it for a puffier one with an egg wash. ‘You’ll have to forgive our new barista, Enrico,’ he explains in a stage whisper. ‘She’s Scottish.’
‘Ahhh!’ Enrico’s eyes light up. ‘My wife and I spent our honeymoon there. Beautiful country.’ He bites into his pastry with a satisfied nod before adding,‘Terrible weather.’
I wait for Giulio to point out that I can’t even get the classic Italian breakfast right, but instead he joins me behind the bar. ‘Enrico’s a bit resistant to change,’ he whispers. ‘Thecornettoyou gave him was vegan. Easy mistake to make, Scotland.’
‘Err...Thanks?’ I look at his face but, strangely, I don’t detect any smirk or sarcasm. Is it possible our brief encounter on the roof terrace shifted something between us? Even that stupid nickname he keeps using doesn’t carry its usual sting.
Ma bumps the connecting door open with her backside, hands holding the huge bowl of fruit salad waiting to be portioned out. She’s wearing jeans and a simple cotton blouse that’s buttoned up slightly wrong, but it’s still a big improvement on the cat-hair joggers and T-shirt she usually wears. ‘Buongiorno, you two...at it already, eh?’
I go deathly still, all too aware of what this scene must look like through Ma’s boyfriend-obsessed eyes – like I’m flustered by Giulio rather than another customer mishap.
‘If you mean already working, then yes, I am...but Giulio?’ I shoot him a cold glance, making sure Ma sees it too. ‘Shouldn’t you be setting up outside?’
Giulio gives me a mock salute. ‘Subito, Livia.’
I ignore the sharp twinge in my stomach as he goes to open up the sun umbrellas, and that I’ve gone back to being Livia and not Scotland. It’s not like I want us to be actual friends, I remind myself. And being nice to him hasn’t got me any closer to finding out what he’s up to anyway. But I still don’t feel as triumphant as I’d like to.
Enrico clears his throat loudly and I hurry to make his coffee, but as I set it in front of him, I notice he’s rubbing his neck, his teeth clenched in a grimace as he glares at the air-conditioning unit.
‘Oh!’ Ma must have been watching our exchange because she steps in, looking up in confusion. ‘Chiedo scusa, that’s not supposed to be on.’ She makes a big deal of switching off the air conditioning and reassuring Enrico it will stay off.
He smiles, relieved, stretching his neck from side to side.
Ma grasps my elbow and steers me away from his table. ‘You’ll have the regulars coming in with neck braces if you switch that thing on.’
I shrink into myself, hating that she knows it was me...that it didn’t cross her mind for a second that Giulio might make a rookie error like that.
She strokes my cheek, finishing with a pat. ‘Scusami, tesoro.It’s just...air conditioning is a bigthing here. The older generation think it can make them ill...or give them a stiff neck. We can’t afford to lose any customers.’ Her eyes shine with sympathy and concern, but whether the concern is for me or the damage I’m doing to Nina’s business is less clear.
Giulio collects Enrico’s empty plate and cup and I hear them chatting and joking together. ‘It’s too hot for her here, she’s trying to feel more at home.’
The knot in my stomach tightens. Giulio thinks he’s so perfect, smoothing over the ripples I create with his confident charm. But Ma will soon see I’m not the only one slipping up. Forget waiting until I have proof, it’s time to tell her everything he’s been doing behind her back.
Buongiorno a tutti!’
I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to get Ma on her own when Signora Pedretti swoops into the bar in that sudden, unsettling way of hers – a tall, glossy teenage girl at her heels. ‘Due caffè, per favore, Giulio. And make them perfect. I’ve been telling Flaminia here that you’re the best barista in Rome.’
‘No pressure, then.’ Unflustered by the tall order that would have sent me into a panic, Giulio busies himself with the coffee machine while I study the new arrival.
Signora Pedretti’s mentioned this girl before – the god-daughter whose friends are away all summer, like Giulio’s. Her hair is a colour Italians would call blonde, but my friends in Scotland would say is light brown. And her nose – it’s so small I bet her oversized sunglasses are perched on her head because they’d just slide right off her face.
