‘Now that I do know,’ said Rebecca. ‘Everyone’s heard of Cristiano Ronaldo, but in England we have Fernandes, Dia, Silva all playing for the Premier League.’
‘You know your football?’ asked Felipe, wondering why he was surprised.
‘Of course I do. I grew up with Man U supporters.’ She beamed. ‘If you can’t beat them, join them.’
Intrigued, Felipe wondered what her life at home must be like. It was clearly the opposite of his, surrounded by women, whereas she had a predominantly male family. Was that why he was drawn to her and enjoyed her company so much? Because she was one of the boys?
His mother bustled in. ‘Ay, ay, ay,’ she said, waving her hands and speaking in rapid Portuguese. ‘Why is the table not set?’
She berated Katerina, who’d been curled up on the sofa, absorbed in her phone. The girl jumped up and started laying the table, shooing Rebecca and Cristina over to the recently vacated sofa.
Felipe helped, placating his mother and handing cutlery to his cousin.
‘Have you had any thoughts about a new cooker,querido?’ she asked in Portuguese, which was a sure sign of her agitation. ‘Should we have the one with the big griddle or the one with the medium griddle, and how many burners? I just don’t know.’
‘Don’t worry,Mãe. I’m going to the distributor this weekend and I will talk to him about his best recommendation.’
‘Oh, you’re a good boy.’
He nodded, although he wished she would make the decision. She was the one that used the damn thing, day in and day out.
‘If it is bigger, it would be good, but not so big. And then if it is too small?—’
‘Mãe.Why don’t we book an appointment with the distributor, and you can take a look.’
She patted him on the arm. ‘No, you can do it better than me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
He smiled down at her and gave her a soft kiss on her cheek. ‘I’m always here for you,Mãe. For all of you, you know that.’
‘I do and I’m so grateful.’ Tears shone in her eyes and she dashed them away. ‘Now food. Who is hungry?’
‘I’m starving,’ said Cristina, looking up from painting Rebecca’s last nail.
Ten minutes later, Ana brought the dish to the table and placed it in the centre, the food sizzling lightly on the big brown earthenware platter. As always, it smelled delicious; hismãewas a brilliant cook. Ana deftly served the food, and he watched as Rebecca examined the portion on her plate, her face sombre as if she were keeping her reservations at bay. It wouldn’t have surprised him if at any moment she’d picked up her fork and poked it.
His mother taking her seat was the signal to begin and the room fell silent apart from the clink of metal on china. He delayed starting, still watching Rebecca.
Her expression was almost comical as she approached the food with the same wariness with which one might approach a rabid dog. Then, scooping up a forkful, she steeled herself as she took a mouthful, preparing herself for the anticipated revulsion. It was even more amusing when her eyes popped open, widening with sudden surprise, and then she caught him watching her and she flushed pink.
‘Like it?’ he asked with a teasing smirk.
She nodded, looking around quickly as if to check no one else had noticed her initial reluctance. ‘It’s… really nice.’ Delighted with herself, or so he assumed from her sudden smile, she added, ‘Really good.
Maria smiled, oblivious to Rebecca’s previous misgivings. ‘I will share the recipe. You can take it home to yourmadre. She can cook it for your family.’
Rebecca pinched her lips together. ‘My mother isn’t really much of a cook.’
Maria dropped her knife. ‘Is she unwell?’
Rebecca frowned in confusion. ‘No, she just doesn’t like to cook.’
‘Doesn’t like to cook?’ Maria pondered this with a look of puzzlement as if it were far too difficult to comprehend. ‘What do you mean? Who cooks for your family? Who looks after them?’
Rebecca looked over at Felipe as if appealing for support, but he genuinely had nothing to offer. He couldn’t imagine his mother not being in the kitchen or directing operations. Even in the dark days immediately after his father’s death, when his mother had been an automaton, she had still found the energy to cook dinner every night for them all. And it was all of them. His two sisters, the three young cousins who had already lost their mother at an early age, and himself. Even though she had found it difficult to cope with the grief, it was her way of showing that she cared for them, that they were still family.
‘My mother doesn’t like cooking. She finds it a chore and… she used to cook a big roast dinner on Sundays but then… my father and brothers would have other things to do. It would just be me and her. She said it wasn’t worth the effort for two.’
‘Puxa, that is sad,’ said Maria, shaking her head in gentle disapproval. ‘I shall teach you how to make this, so that you can make it for yourmãe.Show her good food is for one, two or twenty. It is always worth making food; it nourishes body and soul. The cooking and the eating. Food and eating together has been at the heart of the Rebelo family. It is what took us through the darkest of times.’
