Chapter 7 – Luca
When I enter the cafe, an older couple are on their way out, so I say a goodbye and take their mugs to the kitchen.
For a Friday afternoon, it’s quiet. Normally students would be rushing in and out of the shop, iced drinks melting in their hands, while adults finish work early and drop in for a cheeky pastry at the end of a long week.
Now the place is deserted. Everyone’s down at the beach, soaking up the last of the summer before autumn arrives in earnest.
I return to the counter, where Dad is poring over a list of orders and invoices, a fresh cup of coffee by his side. He’s humming an old Sugababes song, which means he’s in a good mood despite the lull.
It’s nice to see him happy, because, despite his best efforts to shield me from pain and ugliness, I know that life hasn’t always been easy on him.
He had to grow up quickly and make decisions no teenager should be faced with.
Miss M and this cafe were his saving grace.
To cover the rent and the running costs of a newborn, he started as Miss M’s kitchen hand.
Mum went back to school while Dad worked the cafe, always keeping an eye on me.
And he basically became a full-time single dad when Mum’s job swept her half a world away.
When Miss M retired, he took over from her.
He seems happy, though sometimes I wonder if he feels lonely without Mum.
‘Do you want to hear something funny?’ Dad says into the silence.
‘I don’t know, do I?’ I say tentatively. I’m starting to think karma is paying attention every time I listen to gossip.
‘I solved the Daniel mystery,’ Dad declares, and the decision is made.
‘Proceed,’ I tell him.
‘He came in here today.’
‘So you didn’t solve it. The mystery walked into the cafe and solved itself.’
‘Do you want to know about him or not?’
‘He came in and . . .?’
‘Said hi and he’d like a decaf latte to go, please. So I asked his name, and when he told me, I was like “Ah, the famous Daniel!” And he blushed.’
‘You think he’s cute!’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t need to.’
Far as I know, Dad hasn’t dated anyone since I was born.
Though there was that morning when I woke and found a stranger sleeping in his bed.
A slightly frazzled Dad explained to my smirking thirteen-year-old self that they’d got drunk the night before.
Dad let him crash at ours but then slept through the alarm that should have given him time to sneak his guest out.
His name was Henry. He looked like a golden retriever and snored like an elephant.
‘I asked decaf Daniel if he’s related to anyone in town, and he said I might know his mum, Joni.’
My jaw drops. ‘Librarian Joni has a son? How old is this guy?’
‘My age, maybe a little older.’
‘I can’t believe Joni never said anything about having a son. And a cute one of marriageable age. Do you think he’s the one who’s bought the manor house?’
‘You watch too many period films. And no, Miss M mentioned that he’s living with Joni for the time being.’
‘No such thing as too many period films,’ I say. Watching Maggie Smith roasting people is peak entertainment no matter what century she finds herself in.
‘He brought his dog too,’ Dad adds.
‘Why does everyone get a dog except me?’ I’ve been campaigning for a puppy since I was four, but Dad says they make him sneeze, which is the laziest excuse ever. ‘We should start selling puppuccinos.’
‘We are not selling puppuccinos,’ Dad says firmly, and I don’t argue. I can fill out an order form and fake his signature without him knowing. ‘I then asked how long he was staying and he said he might stick around for a while.’
‘And . . .?’
‘And what?’
‘Well, what did you say?’
‘I handed him his decaf latte and said the first one was on the house. So he got a little cocky and said thanks, if the coffee is decent he’ll come back.
And I said that even if the coffee sucks, he doesn’t have a choice because this is the only coffee shop in town.
He laughed and left without another word. ’
‘Smooth, Dad. But you need to work on your investigative skills.’
‘I regret telling you anything.’ He turns back to the lists and his Sugababes song.
Out of a job and a sparring partner, I decide to make myself a chai latte.
To my great disappointment, we’re low on cinnamon, which means a trip to the storage cupboard.
Weirdly, it’s less scary since yesterday’s incident.
I’d still prefer cutting onions or cleaning the dishwasher drain over entering that room, but now I have at least one memory linked to it that doesn’t make me want to call both an exterminator and a priest. Sure, I can add another near-death experience to my tally, but it also resulted in a heroic act from Simo. The boy saved my life.
Of course, my mind had to turn that into a whole thing.
Maybe the pots that fell off the shelf truly did hit me, because that would explain what happened next.
In the gloom of that cramped room, with Simo’s arms around my chest and his lips an inch away from mine, I nearly let myself believe that he would .
. . kiss me. That was stupid of me, because now that the thought has formed, it’s impossible to erase it from my mind.
I broke my own rules and let myself believe something that couldn’t be further from reality.
I return with a fresh bag of cinnamon and, naturally, a splinter in my thumb, so I make a stop by the first aid box in the hall.
It takes a minute, but with a hiss I pull the splinter from the flesh.
As I look at the nasty little thing, I resolve that this is where it stops.
No more thoughts about kissing in the cupboard.
Simo is upstairs in my room, innocently reading a book, while I’ve turned him into a dirty fantasy.
Not only am I hurting myself, I’m also risking my friendship.
And nothing is worth that, least of all a fantasy with zero chance of ever coming to pass.
In the cafe, the bell above the door announces a new customer. Dad’s humming stops, replaced by silence.
‘Matthew,’ a woman’s voice says, which is strange. No one ever calls him Matthew. He’s Maz, or Mr Dean if he dislikes you, but never Matthew. A mug crashes to the floor. The sound splits my eardrums, and I jump on the spot. I rush towards the noise, but Dad’s next words stop me in my tracks.
‘Mother,’ he says, and I barely recognise his voice. ‘What are you doing here?’
Dad doesn’t have a mother. Not any more.
He told me his parents passed away soon after he left home with me and Mum.
I always assumed they died of old age, which, now that I think about it, makes no sense.
They’d only be in their fifties. Still, Dad wouldn’t lie to me.
Especially not about having dead grandparents.
My feet carry me into the cafe of their own accord.
In the afternoon light streaming through the large shop windows stands the most elegant woman I have ever seen.
I’m blinded by her appearance, all in whites and creams, with a sharp blazer casually thrown over her shoulders.
An immaculate blonde fringe falls into a pair of deep-set, strikingly blue eyes.
She looks effortless and expensive. And Dad – Dad is the picture of shock.
The front of his shirt is soaked, and coffee is dripping into a puddle on the floor where the mug lies shattered.
‘And you must be Luca.’
The woman tilts her head by a fraction, and I get the sense that I’m being scrutinised.
If she’s surprised to see me, she knows how to hide it.
The look she gives me is, at best, one of mild curiosity, like we’re nothing but strangers standing in the same cafe, which, I guess, we are.
She turns back to Dad, but he only stares at her.
‘Fine, I’ll introduce myself. Luca, I’m Anna, your grandmother.
It’s a pleasure to meet you after all this time. ’
I’m unable to form a coherent response, but Dad snaps out of his daze. ‘What,’ he forces through gritted teeth, ‘are you doing here?’
The lift of her eyebrow is as good as imperceptible, but the effect is one of refrained disdain at Dad’s rudeness.
‘Your father and I have moved here.’
‘You moved to Lombard?’
‘We’ve bought a house in the area.’
‘What kind of house?’ Dad asks with narrowed eyes.
‘Excuse me?’
‘I know you didn’t buy a house. You’ve never lived in a house! You’ve lived in villas and mansions and – Jesus, don’t tell me you bought the manor!’
‘Hidden House?’ I blurt out, because I can’t help myself.
‘I believe that’s what it’s called,’ she says with a hint of disapproval. ‘We might change the name.’
‘You cannot change the name. You can’t rock up here and go around changing things,’ Dad insists. It sounds pretty pointed.
‘I didn’t come here to argue,’ she responds, brushing away the sideswipe with ease. ‘I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime. I am here to extend an invitation. Or an olive branch, if you wish.’
‘I’ll tell you what I wish. I wish for you to—’
But she doesn’t let him finish. ‘Your father and I are having a barbecue, in two weeks on Sunday. That ought to be enough time to recover from the surprise. We’d like you to come.’
‘No, thank you,’ Dad replies without missing a beat.
‘Another time, then?’ she suggests with a shrug.
‘We won’t be free at another time, sadly. In the near or distant future.’
I have never seen Dad throw a tantrum before. His temper, usually mild, is boiling over. In her shoes, I would have fled the room, but she faces him with aloofness.
‘We’re not going anywhere, Matthew. This is our home now, and it would be silly to avoid one’s own family when we live in the same town.
But –’ she lifts her hands in a gesture of acceptance, and I spot a vintage designer bag dangling from her wrist – the kind that you’d need a mortgage for – ‘it’s up to you.
There will be enough food for four, and we’ll eat whether or not you decide to grace us with your presence. ’
Then, for the second time, she turns to me. ‘Luca?’
It’s odd to hear her say my name, so odd that I’m still scrambling for an answer. A yes feels far too plain for her. I want to add a formal title, but she’s my grandmother, not the Queen, though there is a resemblance. In spirit, more than in actual appearance. I settle for a nod instead.
‘I believe it was your birthday a few days ago. I’m sorry to have missed it.’
For the first time since she stepped into the shop, her poise buckles. Her shoulders seem to wobble as she watches me.
‘You’ve literally missed every single one of them,’ Maz points out.
‘And whose fault is that?’ Anna claps back, straightening her shoulders. Every trace of vulnerability has disappeared, and she’s once again the proud woman who dominates the room.
‘I’ll see you both in two weeks.’
She steps out of the shop. The bell above the door jingles, like she is nothing but a customer with a takeaway coffee rather than my believed-to-be-dead grandmother.