Margherita laughed. ‘It is just a custom. See andbeseen. Then everyone goes to Mass to repent for their sins.’
Matthew laughed, but Sarah was too busy taking notes to appreciate Margherita’s sarcasm. ‘And always on a Sunday morning?’
‘Here, mostly. In other parts of Italy, it’s an early evening custom.’ She gestured to the small crowd of people walking together in the direction of a street which ran off the piazza. ‘We have two bars in Fiorellino. That one,’ she pointed to the small restaurant across the piazza, featuring a large redChiusosign across the front door. ‘And another, much smaller, which is between the Chiesa dei Fiori and themunicipio. They take turns to open on Sunday mornings.Andiamo.’ She offered Sarah the crook of her arm and the trio set off.
Sarah, through the kindest, most genuine expression of interest, surveyed the townspeople. Warm and welcoming, they were excited to greet Matthew and Sarah. They were mostly middle-aged couples, a few elderly residents and many showing signs of years of tough physical labour on the surrounding lands. Weathered and bronzed skin was accented by sun-bleached hair, tattered hats were worn alongside dated suits, and all spoke with a familiarity of a lifetime lived together. They hugged and kissed nearly everyone, and the resounding feeling was one of joy and old-fashioned hospitality.
Though Matthew had done most of the talking, Sarah had engaged as best as she could. With Matthew and Margherita’s help, she was delighted to have grasped a handful of new words and a few longer phrases. She added them all to her notes, and took a moment to reflect on the morning.
The people of Fiorellino don’t like change, you see. We are a small community, fiercely protective of our heritage. Of our history. Newcomers . . . well, let’s just say, don’t often stay very long.
Saverio’s warning played on loop in Sarah’s mind. How could this horde of well-wishers possibly push people away? Looking around at the sweet-faced jovial people gathered, she wondered how his perceptions could be true.Ifthey were true.
A man with wild greying hair and a bristly long beard greeted the crowd which waited on the street outside the bar. With a deft whistle of the fingers, he ducked away just long enough to return with a large tray of small espresso cups, each filled and ready to be consumed en masse. The people of Fiorellino cheered and, like a well-oiled machine, set about distributing the little cups among themselves.
What followed was a lull in conversation as the black rousing fuel was downed in a few greedy sips.
When Sarah and Matthew finally had Margherita to themselves again, Sarah cautiously asked, ‘Where are the children? And young people?’
Margherita gave a tight smile and lowered her voice. ‘Many people have left Fiorellino. This is half of the population we had a decade ago.’ Her eyes surveyed the crowd. ‘Perhaps less.’ She finished the last of her coffee. ‘The older generation is leaving us for God. The younger generation is moving away to study and work in the bigger cities. Not many young families stay in Fiorellino.’
A cog in Matthew’s analytical brain clicked over. ‘Why is that?’
With visible restraint, Margherita replied, ‘Because people want to see hope and a future. In a town that doesn’t grow, doesn’t flourish, there’s no room for hope of any kind.’
Matthew’s arm returned to cradle Sarah’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘And do you have children?’ Margherita looked between them. ‘I forgot to ask the other day.’
Sarah felt as if the entire length of her body drew into line, pulled taught on cue. ‘Children?’
‘No. It’s just us.’ Matthew answered, not having noticed Sarah’s reaction to the question.
‘Perhapsyouwill give us the next little flower to join the Fiorellino community.’
Sarah smiled politely, but was beyond relieved when, from over the top of the crowd, Matthew spotted Luca and Silvia.
In keeping with their first meeting, Silvia was overdressed and Luca was underwhelming. Matthew nudged Sarah and they both waved. Luca gave a meek reply by way of a nod. Silvia, noting this, rolled her eyes and clutched her Fendi bag a little closer.
‘Despite the challenges this town might have,’ Sarah began, wanting to redirect the conversation, ‘this welcome has been my favourite of all time.’
Margherita took her sunglasses from her bag and popped them on, allowing her to look at them more clearly through the shafts of blinding sunlight. ‘Who else have you met?’ She returned their empty cups to the tray as it wove through the crowd on the arm of the barista.
‘YourSindaco,’ Matthew whispered, left eyebrow raised.
Margherita scowled and her eyes narrowed. ‘Here’s not the place to talk. But keep your distance.’
‘What?’ Sarah lowered her voice.
Casting a quick glance over both shoulders, Margherita dropped her volume to match Sarah’s. ‘Stay away from him. Trust m—’
‘Eccoti, amore,’ said a man who had joined Margherita’s side, planting an affectionate kiss on her cheek. Sarah recognised him immediately as the gentleman who had served her at Seconda Mano, Seconda Vita the afternoon of their arrival. ‘Scusatemi.Buongiorno.’ He turned expectantly to the fresh faces. Laying eyes on Sarah, he too recognised her immediately. ‘Ah, it’s you! How are you?’
‘I’m well, and yourself?’
‘Benissimo, grazie.’ His arm had now wrapped around Margherita’s waist and he pulled her close.
Margherita looked between the pair. ‘Have you met?’
