Rage erupted inside him. “I’m not doing it for Noah Farman. I realised last night that I’m being unfair to my family. They don’t know me. The real me, I mean.”
“It’s a big move.”
Carmine nodded. “Well overdue. Surely you think I’m right?”
“Of course I do. Monica said that she’s convinced they’ll be okay about it.”
Perhaps he should draft her in. There was safety in numbers after all.
“Where is she?”
“In London with work.”
Damn.
“You can do this alone,” Samantha said. “These are your parents.”
She was right. Even so, he was absolutely terrified.
“Then will you call Noah?”
Carmine shook his head. “He knows where I am.”
Samantha sent the paperclip sailing across the desk to him.
“You are ridiculous,” she said. “You won’t get anybody better than him. I hope you realise that.”
Carmine digested her words. They did have a ring of truth around them. Perhaps he would take the higher ground and contact Noah. This had gone on long enough.
He wouldn’t be admitting that to Samantha for the foreseeable future.
I just hope he answers.
As he walked from Brockton station to his parents’ house, Carmine took in the buildings, which were as familiar to him as the back of his hand. Of course, the ownership had changed over the years. The buildings remained the same.
The video rental store where he’d got all his movie fixes was now a phone repair shop. The sweet shop that his mother would give them all spending money for had been replaced by a cheap bakery. Even the Woolworth’s where he’d built his CD collection had morphed into a chrome and mirrored bar advertising cheap drinks.
The high street was definitely under threat. That’s what made it so remarkable that La Piazza had weathered these storms. It was a testament to his father as host. The food, of course, was spectacular. Mainly people came for Stefano and his witty banter. He had the unique ability to celebrate every customer. Whether a rich footballer or people who’d saved up to have a night out.
Raoul worked hard at it. Monica told Carmine that Raoul kept a database to remember facts about all their clientele. It was a decent idea yet Stefano held that information in his remarkable brain. He was a natural.
Carmine turned onto the road he’d spent the first twenty years of his life. Each house had four storeys. When they’d moved in, Stefano had declared he’d never leave and so far, he’d remained true to his word.
Of course, their mother dreamt of a cottage in the countryside. Stefano wouldn’t hear of it. How could he relate to his customers if he wasn’t among them?
It was a convenient excuse. His father was also exceptionally tight-fisted. The thought of spending his hard-earned cash on a big house would literally keep him awake at night.
Halfway down was the Amato family home. A building that had signified safety for all of Carmine’s life. Now he felt only dread as he put his key in the lock.
Was all this about to change?
“Ciao,” he shouted as he came through the door.
“Darling,” his mother called. “We’re in the kitchen.”
Of course they were.
He hung his coat on the banister and went through. His parents were sitting at the vast dining table. They appeared to be doing a jigsaw.
