Page 31 of Livia in Rome
Giulio laughs. ‘My dad says it’s impossible to find adecentcotoletta alla Milanesein this city.’
‘Isn’t that just veal in breadcrumbs?’
‘Sì, but apparently it doesn’t taste the same here . . .’ He circles his hand around. ‘The air . . . it’s different.’
‘Bet he moans about the coffee too, then.’
‘The water changes the taste!’ Giulio and I say at the same time, laughing in surprise at our shared thought, eyes meeting in mutual understanding.
The silence between us as we walk back to the Vespa is a comfortable one. We’ve only ever talked about the bar, or Nina. And maybe that’s why today feels different. I’ve seen the real Rome from unexpected angles, and now I’m seeing him in a new way too – Giulio, who has his own family complications, his own stuff to deal with that doesn’t involve Nina or the problems waiting for us at the bar.
By the time we head back, my footsteps land more heavily on the ground, like I belong here a little more. For the first time since arriving in Rome, I feel like less of a tourist – even though I’ve spent all afternoon visiting the sights.
Giulio parks up in his usual spot just as the streetlamps come on in Via dei Serpenti. One of the bar’s arched wooden doors is pulled shut, a broom resting against it – a sure sign Ma’s started closing up for the day.
Giulio checks the time on his phone. ‘We’ve been out longer than I thought.’
I bite my lip, not because I think Ma will have struggled but because I remember the look on Nina’s face when she heard Ma would be alone at the bar. Question is – was she worried about Ma not managing, or about Giulio not being there to keep an eye on her?
Ma’s voice floats over to us as we approach the door. ‘I can’t do that to her...not again. But what other choice do I have? She won’t listen to Signora Pedretti...and, as far as I can tell, the takings don’t cover the overheads, let alone anything else.’
Giulio and I stop dead in our tracks, eyes locked. Ma doesn’t know about the debts, but she’s starting toput the pieces together – and if she keeps digging, it’s only a matter of time before she hits, well, a big gaping hole where a lot of money has gone missing.
There’s a pause, and then I hear Pa; his voice is tinny, like it’s being filtered through a small speaker. ‘If she can’t keep things going—’
‘But she has!’ Ma interrupts. ‘I just don’t understand how.’
She props her phone against the coffee machine and moves to the side, using the steam from the milk frother to dampen the cloth in her hand. As she steps out of the frame, Pa spots me lurking in the doorway.
‘Livia!’ His face fills the screen as he leans in, as if that will bring us closer. I recognize our kitchen units behind him.
Ma spins round, a whole wheel of emotions turning over her face – surprise, pleasure, worry, guilt – before finally coming to rest on something resembling the expression of a cat toying with a mouse, right before it goes in for the kill.
Her voice is worryingly casual as she angles her phone to give Pa a better view. ‘You remember Giulio,vero? Well, this pair have been gone so long I was beginning to think they’d eloped...like a modern-day Romeo and Juliet...or should that be Romea and Giulio?’
That’s it. I’m dead.
The elopement joke is bad enough, but Ma’s pun takes it to another level of parental embarrassment. She’s positively glowing with pride, too.
Giulio makes a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a yelp, and I have to get him out of here right now – without looking at him, touching him, or even acknowledging his existence – because, clearly, Ma needsnoencouragement.
Pa sighs. ‘They remind me of us back in the day,vero, Caterina?’
And now I’m actually dead.
I lunge for the phone, finger poised over the red circle that will end the call and my humiliation.
Ma pulls away with a laugh. ‘All right, all right. I’ll stop.’ She turns Pa back to face her. ‘Call you later,amore!’ She pouts at the screen and makes a string of loud kissy noises.
I drag a hand down my face. Ma goes on and on (and on!) about how natural it is to fall in love, but she’s the one who’s going to send any boy I’m remotely interested in running for the hills – all seven of them.
Giulio backs out into the street. ‘I’ll . . . umm . . . leave you to it.’
I lean over the counter to gather the empty glassbottles to take out to the recycling bin, not expecting to find any but desperate for an excuse to be busy, and I find myself staring at a cluster of empty Crodino bottles – the aromatic, orange-coloured soft drink pensioners seem to enjoy before meals. ‘Busy today?’
Ma pings open the drawer to the till, ready to start cashing up. ‘The usual suspects. And Enrico brought someone new. A woman who wanted to thank your friend Kenzi. Something about helping with a prescription? I think he was hoping to snag some of Ren’s snacks, too. If you let me finish here, we can take a walk together. Maybe visit the cat sanctuary where Julius Caesar was assassinated, get some pizza on the way?’
Only Ma can fit cats, food and Roman history into one sentence.
