‘A wedding anniversary?’ she asked, her mouth dry.
‘Yes.’ Carlo ran his finger under the booking in the diary which sat open on the table by the napkin and cutlery station. It was also where the phone lurked, allowing them to jot down bookings and take the odd pizza order. These had been a little thin on the ground since a fancy, cheap, sourdough place had opened up in town – they delivered, and their trendy brand was appealing to people just like her. Oh, and their pizzas wereincredible! Not that she’d ever share this with Carlo. Or admit to feasting on them, eating quickly and greedily within the confines of her bedroom, feeling all at once disloyal and in complete raptures over the beauty of their bubbly, blackened, divine, soft, salty dough.
‘Mrand MrsKelleway. You know the Kelleways, they come in a lot. The old man likes to splash the cash.’
Kelleway ...She spoke the word in her head as Carlo drew her back to the present. She nodded, and her ugly, bulky knees went a little soft.
‘I don’t ...’ she began, trying to calm her flustered pulse and think logically of how she could get out of there quickly. ‘I don’t feel too well.’ She pulled open the neck of her shirt as if, in some cartoonesque fashion, to let off steam. The thought of serving Cassian, of him seeing her here at work! It was mortifying. Not that she was ashamed of her job – no, siree – she was embarrassed to see him anywhere! But the thought of being trapped here, in such close proximity ...
‘Daisy’ – Carlo put his podgy fingers over his mouth – ‘don’t do this to me! We have a busy night! Have a drink of water and put off being ill until your shift ends.’ His eyes crinkled into the smile that made her love working for him and his wife. They were lovely people who paid her well, treated her kindly and sent her family a boxed panettone and six bottles of red wine each Christmas. ‘I’m half joking. Are you sick?’ He took a step towards her, his concerned expression almost more than she could stand.
‘No, I’m not sick, I’m ...’ How to describe it?Dreading it! Wishing I could fall through the floor! Wondering if I can hide in the cupboard? Wear a disguise?‘I’m fine.’
‘Grazie Dio!’ He held his hands up.
Daisy walked to the long table in the window and ran her hand over the back of a chair, trying to swallow down her nausea. But suddenly the desire to vomit overcame her and she rushed to the loo and retched until she spat.Dammit!Taking her time to wash her hands thoroughly, she braced her arms on the sink, looking directly into the mirror, trying to steady her trembling limbs. Nerves always had the power to get the better of her.
Loping back into the kitchen, Gianna stared at her, concerned. ‘Carlo said you’re not feeling well. Your lasagne is ready, but maybeI can make you something different, darling? Some green tea?’ she asked, as she wrapped the ciabatta slathered with herby garlic butter in foil, before reaching for the wooden brush doused in olive oil, which she let dance over the fat focaccia studded with sweet roasted onions and olives, and sprinkled with flakes of sea salt.
‘I’m okay, Gia. I might eat later, it’s just ...’ She liked her boss, found her easy to talk to – far easier than her own mum who was more than a little preoccupied, what with her napping and all. Daisy could joke about it mentally, but the truth was she missed her mum, missed her being present, missed squabbling over the Monopoly board. ‘Iknowthe family that are coming in tonight. The Kelleways.’
‘Yes, of course, they’re regulars.’
‘And they’re my next-door neighbours.’
‘Yes, I knew that, and it’s great!’ Gianna nodded with a forced smile. Daisy wondered if she was tired. ‘Like a party! It makes it easier to work on a Friday night instead of being out with your friends! Or something like that. I don’t know, what can I say that will make it seem better?’
Daisy felt the creep of tears. ‘It’s not so great.’ She sighed.
Gianna’s words had only exacerbated her sadness; she didn’t go out on a Friday night. She didn’t have friends to speak of. I mean, yes, there were acquaintances at school, a couple of girls she could chat to at chess club, but the kind of mates you could call on and make plans, talk about boys and go dancing with, text any random or funny thoughts? No, not that kind. She didn’t really know why but she’d always found it hard to find her gang. Girls in her classes were in the minority and those she studied with were as socially awkward as her.
There had been a couple of girls – Melodie and Fiona, who lived in the neighbouring street – who she’d hung out with a couple of times, watching DVDs while their mum, who was friendswith her own mother, drank wine in the kitchen. It proved to be a glue of sorts, but her mother’s wine-drinking kitchen catch-ups had been non-existent for the last few years and by default so had her friendship with Melodie and Fiona. Not that she missed them. Melodie’s hobby was eatingallthe snacks and Fiona’s hobby was whining that her sister had eaten all the snacks.
‘Daisy, Daisy! This is not like you!’ Abandoning her brush, Gianna wiped her hands on her apron and reached for her, holding her in a warm hug. ‘You’re not happy? I want you to be happy! Why don’t you go out with that nice boy who hangs around outside sometimes on his bike? What’s his name? He has a nice face, long hair!’
Daisy closed her eyes briefly, wondering what it might feel like if Gianna was her mum, knowing she could only benefit from contact like this, concern like this. She felt a lance of betrayal that she could even consider such a thing. But how she hated how her mum’s depression had stolen the woman she loved away. She wished she knew how to steal her back.
‘It’s Dylan. Dylan with the nice face and the long hair. But he’s just someone in my class.’
‘You should give him a chance. Things like attraction and love are not always instant – this is real life, not a movie.’
‘Don’t I know it!’ Daisy sighed, kind of wishing that it was.
‘Sometimes things need a gentle prod.’ Gianna smiled.
‘Did you have to give Carlo a gentle prod before you fell in love?’ She loved to hear stories of how things started for couples, wondering what her own story might be and when it might begin.
‘Carlo ...’ Gianna laughed softly and bit her lip in memory. ‘I was so unsure, even when we were standing in front of the church doors, me in white and he with hair oil holding back his thick, dark locks, and everyone we loved throwing rice at us. We didn’t know what was ahead – who does? But we’ve woven a story. I’m no longer that girl who stood blushing on the church steps in front ofFather Alberti. I mean, look at me, Daisy, my waist is thicker, hair thinner, bosom bigger, bottom wider.’
Daisy smiled at the woman who was still, despite her dire self-assessment, beautiful.
‘But I gave him a chance and here we are, and it’s not all been sunshine and roses. We never got to be parents and that broke my heart, but there came a day when we decided enough was enough and folded away the baby clothes, dismantled the crib, wrapped up the hand-knitted blankets and gave away the soft toys. It was never going to happen for us. And that was that. The point is ...’ She coughed to clear her throat. ‘I guess what I’m saying is, you need to find someone who gets you, who likes you and who you like in return.’
‘And love.’ She pointed out the obvious.
‘That too is very useful, but liking is, I think, just as important. I want you to be happy.’
‘And I am happy most of the time. It’s just that the Kelleways are’ – how best to describe them? – ‘perfect.’
