Page 8 of Livia in Rome
I place the espresso in front of Signora Pedretti. OK. It was hardly rocket science, and I didn’t get to try any coffee art, but it’s a start. A good one.
Signora Pedretti takes a cautious sip, her lips puckering immediately. ‘Have you changed coffee supplier?’
‘Umm...is there a problem?’ A twist of anxiety knots my stomach when I spot Giulio’s blank expression – I’ve known him less than a day, but I know that face means he’s up to something.
Signora Pedretti puffs out her chest, feathers clearly ruffled. ‘It tastes like dirty water!’
Giulio steps forward, all apologetic charm. ‘Please, forgive Livia. She must have made the coffee grindtoo coarse. As you said, she’s not from here and still has a lot to learn. Let me make you a proper one.’
I clench my jaw, fighting to keep my cool as he expertly makes anothercaffè– just like he planned all along.
This time, Signora Pedretti takes a sip and smacks her lips. ‘Bravo, Giulio. It isperfetto.’
She leans in, mistaking my fury for disappointment. ‘You’ll get the hang of it,cara. Giulio has made countless cups...he’s never away from the place. Perhaps he’ll take some time off now you’re here, see his friends.’
‘Sadly, my friends are all at the coast or abroad, Signora, enjoying the holiday before school.’ He nods in my direction. ‘And I think I’m needed here more than anywhere else.’
If Signora Pedretti hears me grinding my teeth down to little stumps, she shows no sign of it as she drains her cup, hops off her stool and calls over her shoulder on her way out. ‘My god-daughter Flaminia was saying the same thing, Giulio. She’s stuck in the city, too. You two should get together.’
‘What do you think, Scotland?’ Giulio asks when Signora Pedretti disappears from view.‘Would Flaminia like me...or would she find me smug, arrogant and rude?’
I freeze. He heard what I said to Ma. Worse. Heunderstoodme.
‘We can speak in your language if that’s easier for you,’ Giulio says in perfect accented English. ‘At least until you’ve been to a few Italian classes.’
I could froth milk with the steam coming out of my ears.
That. Is. It. No more English. Not a word. Not with Giulio. Not with anyone. Except Isla, I quickly amend. There’s no way I’m surviving this summer without her.
Ma tiptoes back behind the counter a short while later like a nervous cat coming into the cattery for the first time, eyes darting. Her shoulders visibly relax when she sees the place is empty.
‘It’s OK, she’s gone,’ I tease.
‘Hmm...who’s gone?’ She acts clueless but I see the flush creeping up her neck.
‘Signora Pedretti...’ I gesture to where she’d been crawling on the floor twenty minutes earlier. ‘You know, that whole thing.’
Ma’s phone screen starts flashing, and relief washes over her face – saved by the bell. Only the bell is a loud, repetitive meowing sound. I still can’t believe Isla set that ringtone for her.
I drop my hands from my ears as Ma answers, and Pa’s face appears on the screen. I lean in so he can see both of us.
The comb-over Pa denies having is blowing about in the wind like an inflatable tube man, the strap of hisbeloved Leica camera bright against the black shirt he wears to wedding shoots. He’s in a field somewhere and strong gusts are playing havoc with the phone’s microphone. The whole Italians-talk-with-their-hands thing is in full swing as they try to hold a conversation.
Giulio’s been scrolling through his own phone by the counter, but I notice his hand stilling when Ma launches into a rant about the state of the bar and how Nina can’t be coping, financially or otherwise.
My nostrils flare. He’s definitely eavesdropping.
I’m about to call him out on it, when the dying sputter of a moped engine has him bolting outside to intercept the postal worker. He takes a bundle of letters directly from her hands and quickly rifles through them.
‘I’ll take those,’ I say, fed up with him acting like he owns the place.
But he sidesteps me without even looking up. ‘It’s just junk, Scotland.’
I turn to stare daggers at his back, and that’s when I spot a brown envelope peeking out of his back pocket. The beginning of Nina’s name just visible on the fold.
I point an accusing finger. ‘Hey, what’s that?’
Giulio turns, a smirk tugging at his lips. ‘That? That’s my backside, Scotland.’
