‘Here comes the most difficult part of the judging. The moment we must bid one competitor arrivederci.’
Giovanni fussed with the four of them, pulling them into a straight line, and Carlo instinctively wrapped a supportive arm around Alessio’s shoulders.
‘Grazie di cuore for your passion, for your enthusiasm.’ A cheer rolled to the stage from the crowd. ‘But leaving us this tappa, on account of his dish’s lack of creativity and what the judges agreed was a tenuous connection to the sea, is Carlo Catalano.’
Alessio felt Carlo pull from his hold. He stepped forward and shook Felice’s hand, then Giovanni’s, and gave a nod of respect to the judges. Then, dropping into a slapstick bow, he applauded his competitors as he left the stage.
The only sense of relief Alessio felt was that he had clearly pleased Francesca. Moving to the next round of the competition was simply a bonus.
A contented breath left his lips and he went to remove his chef whites. As he turned he caught the moment Sebastiano and Elio shared a dark, loaded look, before both turned to stare in Alessio’s direction.
Clearly, the competition has only just begun.
* * *
Francesca couldn’t contain herself. Once Alessio had been released from the competition and had returned to the trattoria, she pounced on him.
‘Alessio! Incrediblie! Sei stato troppo bravo! Veramente, troppo!’ She threw her arms around him, nearly winding him. ‘I can’t believe you did that! You went in the water!’ She reached up and tousled his salty hair.
Before Alessio could reply, or even acknowledge the special moment, Elena chimed in. Closing the front door, she shut out the rest of Impastino. ‘And here I was thinking that we were upholding some kind of charade.’ She gestured to the way Francesca gripped Alessio’s shoulders.
‘I’m not doing anything wrong, Mamma. We are just celebrat—’
Elena pulled the white lace voile curtains over the windows and snipped, ‘Perhaps you should do so in a more appropriate and dignified manner?’
‘Mah!’ Maria bustled past Elena and joined in the group hug.
Francesca squeezed him tighter. ‘I am so proud of you! You were brilliant today.’ The space in her chest which had previously held all her tension and worry now effervesced with joy and hope. She stepped back to take stock of him, holding his hand at arm’s reach. ‘You are now a true member of the Trattoria dei Fiori family, and of Impastino.’
Francesca turned to welcome Elena into the shared embrace, only to notice where her mother’s stare had landed – on Giacomo’s silk scarf. A knot looped around Francesca’s stomach.
‘That was my husband’s, you know?’ Elena’s voice shook as she gestured to the scarf.
Alessio pressed a hand to the scarf before respectfully removing it and giving it a quick fold against his chest. He proffered it to her and said, ‘Yes. Francesca told me about the long legacy. I hope I did it justice.’
Francesca’s eyes darted between the two, her stomach turning another revolution.
Elena paused for a moment, her gaze settling on the scarf. ‘You did. Believe it or not . . .’
Both Francesca and Maria straightened.
‘Uhm . . . thank you, Elena. I appreciate that.’ Alessio’s outstretched hand still filled the space between them, the scarf symbolic of all the weight of Giacomo’s passing and the unfillable void he had left behind. ‘Why don’t you hold on to this until the next round?’
Francesca watched the rise and fall of Elena’s chest as she considered this.
‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘You keep it. Some of Giacomo’s kitchen magic might just rub off on you between now and then.’
Francesca blinked disbelievingly. This was a momentous step for Elena, a grand gesture of support, no matter how curt or uncomfortable the delivery. ‘Mamma . . .’ she said softly, turning to throw her arms around Elena. Although her mother had been caught off guard, Francesca did feel Elena’s arms wrap around her to return the hug. Right now, this was enough.
Elena cleared her throat, and with what Francesca could see were eyes on the verge of tears, she said, ‘We have dinner service to prepare for. Congratulations, Alessio. But now life must go on.’
Alessio nodded. ‘Sure. Thank you.’
Just as Francesca turned to suffocate Alessio with another hearty embrace, Elena added, ‘The finocchio di mare . . .’ Her eyes came to rest gently on Francesca. ‘That was a thoughtful touch, no matter how foolish you looked up there, sopping wet like a fishing net. Mamma, dai, in cucina.’ Elena took Maria by the arm and whisked her through the swinging doors.
Alone in the dining room, Francesca gripped the front of Alessio’s shirt to pull him towards her and whispered, ‘Are you ok? How did it feel up there?’
Alessio grinned down at her. ‘Fucking amazing. I loved every second.’
