The only other upgrade was a pinboard on one wall covered in photos, many with cheerful greetings:Ciao! Saluti! Che bella!scrawled across them with smiley faces and rows of kisses. Old folk holding hands outside Sant’ Agata, toddlers clinging delightedly to the pink and turquoise horses on the mini roundabout that was set up in summer, families with grins as wide as their pizza slices. Thanks to the spread of social media, the once unknown village was beginning to attract its share of day trippers.
Stella ordered her breakfastal banco; she’d save time and money standing up at the bar. She tore a piece off her sweet focaccia to dip into her cappuccino. Its surface was decorated with a pretty leaf. How many visitors had ordered the same coffee and taken a photograph of that?
She ate quickly, wiping her fingers on the flimsy paper napkin. Domenico’s shop was calling. She felt in her pocket for her uncle’s reassuringly heavy bunch of keys, paid quickly, and set off up the narrow pavement. She could hardly believe she was doing this without Joe by her side. She’d been so sure he was going to apologise in the morning and in turn she would have apologised herself. She’d believed he’d come to a compromise, that they’d stay in the village for just one or two days – enough time for Luisa to rope in somebody else. But he’d gone off with barely a backwards glance. The Joe she knew wouldn’t do something like that. It must have been a knee-jerk reaction; he’d soon be back. She pushed away the thought that perhaps she didn’t really know him at all.
The shop key turned easily in the lock. Stella laid her case on its side behind the counter; she’d take it over to Domenico’s place when she closed up for lunch. She removed the old cloth draped over Mirtillo’s cage; the budgie gave a small chirp. She hung the cage back outside and sent a quick message to Luisa to tell her she was opening up. A thumbs-up back and a report that Uncle Domenico had got some sleep: those were the easy parts.
A leatherbound book lying on the shelf beneath the counter proved to be the order book, nearly identical to the one the two brothers had used back in the 1980s. Not much had changed, thank goodness. No computerised systems with unhackable passwords to worry about, no unfamiliar software with unfathomable glitches. The great grey metal till opened with a satisfying ping. Stacks of euros were arranged neatly in its five drawers. There were plenty of coins too and the till roll was nearly full. No reason why she couldn’t turn the shop sign from Closed to Open.
Stella took a deep breath. She could do this. She walked over to the door, flipped the sign and took up her position behind the counter.
Her phone buzzed in her bag. Stella jumped. It had to be Joe! He must have got part way to Portofino only to change his mind. Everything was going to be all right.
She grabbed her phone from her bag. Her daughter on a video call. Stella would make this brief. She didn’t want to tell Lauren about Joe’s departure. Not yet.
‘Mum!’ Lauren’s face filled the screen. Her cheeks looked a little pink, as though she’d caught the sun.
‘Hi, darling! You look well. Is the weather good?’
‘Beautiful.’ Lauren swung the phone in an arc. Stella caught the tip of her daughter’s chin followed by part of the garage roof, an explosion of yellow flowers in a hanging basket, then a close-up of tarmac and immaculately painted toenails.
‘Err, lovely,’ Stella said, not quite sure what she was supposed to have gleaned from the rather dizzying tour.
‘Where on earth are you?’ Lauren said.
‘Oh, just in a shop. In fact—’ Stella laughed nonchalantly ‘—it’s actually the old general store your grandpa used to run with your great-uncle Domenico. Isn’t that a funny coincidence!’
‘What are you doing in there?’
‘Just, umm, shopping. There wasn’t a corkscrew in the apartment.’
Lauren’s nose loomed large against the screen. ‘Mum, you’re behind the counter!’
‘Am I?’ Stella looked over her shoulder. ‘Oh, so I am. Aren’t I daft!’
‘I know you’ve been missing your old job. You’ll be asking to have a go on the till next!’ A frown creased Lauren’s forehead. ‘Wait a minute. You’re right next to the till and the drawer’s open. I can see all the cash.’
Stella elbowed it shut. She groped for some plausible explanation.
‘Mum, why are you still in Leto? Weren’t you supposed to go to Portofino today?’
‘I… I can’t really explain right now, Lauren. I’ve got to go.’
‘Tell me what’s going on. Is Joe with you?’ Lauren had switched to her doing-business voice. Stella was tempted to accidentally cut her off. But she’d only phone back.
‘Joe’s gone,’ she said.
‘Gone? What do you mean, gone?’ Lauren twisted her head, her hair catching a trailing strand of ivy.
‘Gone. You know – left, departed, scarpered, whatever you want to call it.’
‘I know the meaning of theword, Mother.’
Mother.Stella was definitely in trouble now. She could feel one of Lauren’s little talks coming on. They were even worse than Carol’s.
Stella stumbled out an explanation as quickly as she could.
Lauren let out an exasperated huff. ‘Of course Joe’s going to be cross! Of course he’s going to be fed up! Any normal person would have told this cousin of yours to sort out her own family dramas. I’m sure if you send her a message apologising and call a taxi firm, you can meet up with Joe. You’ll sort everything out.’
