Chapter 13 – Luca #2
Graham marches to the seat across from me, not without planting a kiss on his wife’s head. Something in me melts at this tender moment, and once again I’m glad to fall back into my chair.
‘How nice to have all my boys gathered around me,’ Anna says, and I think I hear her voice waver. ‘A rare occurrence.’
‘Yes,’ Dad replies, ‘which makes me wonder—’
But I don’t find out what he wonders, because a flock of kitchen staff streams out on to the patio.
They create an artwork of the dining table, placing an assortment of foods in front of us that can only be described as a feast. Chilli-and-honey-coated halloumi, steaks twice the size of my palms, roasted mini potatoes drowning in herb and garlic butter, salmon crowned with lemons and coconut flakes, and a platter of charred watermelon, pear and fig.
As a final touch, Susie puts the flowers in a delicate blown-glass vase, and as quickly as the staff appeared, they’re gone again.
My eyes almost pop out of my head, but nobody else seems impressed.
‘Eat!’ Anna orders. I’m the only one who follows her invitation. Graham picks at his salmon with little enthusiasm, Anna only slices the tiny potatoes in half, and Dad is too busy scowling.
Having Graham Brandenburg sit across from me is intense.
Not only does he exude confidence, he’s extremely handsome.
It’s a weird thing to note about your grandfather, but the man is basically a stranger, and I’m not trying to be self-congratulatory.
If there’s a Brandenburg gene that gives you flawless skin and the power to squash someone with a single look, it passed me over.
I’m relieved I finally have something to focus on that isn’t my grandparents or their bougie home.
Personally, I don’t understand people who don’t eat food when it’s offered and, most importantly, free.
I dig in, steering clear of the meat and fish, and take a generous helping of everything else.
I have no qualms when it comes to food – why hold back when you can just . . . not?
‘So, Luca, tell me – you go to school still, don’t you?’ Graham asks.
‘Don’t worry, Father, unlike your son, Luca is not a dropout.’
‘Nobody was asking you, Matthew,’ Anna chides him.
‘Yes,’ I reply to stifle whatever comeback Dad was preparing, ‘I do. I’ve got two more years.’
‘And how are your grades?’ Graham wants to know.
‘Ignore him,’ Anna says. ‘Who cares about grades? What subjects do you take?’
I don’t actually mind, especially because it seems like a fairly safe topic for this hot-headed table.
‘I’m doing design and technology, photography, English and business studies.
And my grades are fine. I could be better at business and English, but I’m only taking them so I share classes with Simo. ’
‘Simo is your friend?’ Anna inquires, and the heart on the pet-shop window flashes across my mind.
‘My best friend, since we were kids.’ As I say the words, I’m reminded that, despite everything, this is who we really are, at our core. Best friends, for ten years. Some words on a noticeboard shouldn’t be able to destroy that. And yet –
‘We ought to meet him then, considering he’s so important to you.’
‘That would be nice,’ I agree, and smother the ripple of worry. Simo’s opinion matters more than anyone’s. And I want to know what he makes of them, cos I’m still undecided.
‘And what are your plans after school? Any career goals?’ Graham follows up.
‘Uni or college, I think, and then maybe work in film and TV. I’m not entirely sure yet.’
‘You’re an actor?’
‘Oh no, nobody wants to see me act. When I was six, my class put on a play of The Rainbow Fish, and my starfish was so bad they created a new role specially for me, so I spent several weeks unsuccessfully pretending to be seagrass.’ Anna looks puzzled and Graham mildly amused.
‘Anyway, I want to be behind the scenes. Or try my hand at becoming a pastry chef. I’ve not made up my mind. ’
‘You bake!’ Anna exclaims.
‘It runs in the family,’ Graham says, sounding pleased. I wouldn’t voice the thought, but I struggle to see him in an apron, elbow-deep in dough.
‘I’m no professional. It’s only a hobby, something I enjoy.’
‘He’s being humble. People regularly storm our cafe for his cakes,’ Dad says.
‘The cafe,’ Graham scoffs, and Dad cocks his head.
‘Just say it, Father.’
‘Say what?’
‘Whatever it is that makes you say “cafe” in that tone.’
‘Matthew . . .’ Anna warns.
Graham shrugs. ‘You lack drive and ambition. Always have done.’
‘Graham!’ Anna scolds.
‘Don’t start, Anna, I know you agree,’ Graham retorts. ‘The boy serves tea in a dilapidated diner when he could’ve run a global enterprise.’
I barely hide a flinch, but Dad only grins, halfway between amusement and annoyance.
‘I own that dilapidated diner, thank you very much.’
‘Yes, and you’ll be paying it off for the rest of your life.’
‘I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve been digging through my private affairs.’
‘And what a delight it was to discover that you even erased our family name from your life,’ Graham says, striking with the precision of a scorpion.
‘You did what?’ Anna hisses.
For once, Dad has the decency to look guilty. ‘Brandenburg would have pulled too much attention, so when Luca was born, Poppy and I decided it was best to take her name.’
That’s when the meaning sinks in. I never questioned my surname, why would I? It’s only normal that I share my parents’ name. But Mum and Dad aren’t married, never have been. If things had panned out differently, I wouldn’t be Luca Dean, I’d be Luca Brandenburg. I have no idea what to make of that.
Graham looks at Dad with disdain. ‘You hate us so much that you struck us from your family tree.’
‘I did what I thought was best for Poppy and Luca. And I don’t regret it.’
The last part he directs at me. It’s all I need to hear. This surreal situation is enough to take in as it is. I will need time to mull it over, but I have seventeen years of evidence that he’s a good dad – recent hiccups aside – regardless of surname.
‘And I don’t hate you,’ Dad adds in a voice just above a whisper. Neither Anna nor Graham reacts. Their faces stay blank and rigid.
‘Would you like to come see it?’ I throw in, not even trying to be subtle about changing the topic. Someone needs to defuse the situation, and no one else seems willing.
‘The cafe?’ Anna asks, confounded.
‘It’s our life. It’s where I grew up. And Dad’s an amazing cook. Maybe you’d like to visit it – properly, I mean. We could have lunch there sometime.’
Dad laughs but it’s more of a bark. ‘Luca, that’s very nice, but you’ve heard what my parents make of diners. The grease, the sugar.’ He pauses. ‘The commoners.’
So much for defusing.
‘I agree with Luca, it’s a nice idea,’ Anna replies with a voice like honey. ‘We’d love to take you up on your offer.’
For a second, it seems as if that’s taken the wind out of Dad’s sails, but he swiftly tries a different strategy. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asks.
‘Straight for the jugular, I see,’ Graham retorts.
‘As is the Brandenburg way.’
‘We want to know our grandson. And reunite with you. Is that so wrong?’ Anna replies.
‘Why now?’ Dad presses.
‘Well, after your disappearing act, it took a while to find you.’
‘I’m sure it didn’t take you seventeen years, Mother.’
‘Don’t call me that, I’m no crone.’
‘You’re right, Matthew. We’ve known of your whereabouts for a while,’ Graham admits. ‘But you made it decidedly clear that you wished no contact.’
‘And yet, you’re decidedly here.’
Silence stretches as Dad waits for their answer.
Unsure what to say or do – and curious what the answer is going to be – I take a sip of the wine and barely manage not to spit it back out.
That’s bathwater in a bottle. It takes all my willpower to swallow.
I pluck a fig from the platter to get rid of the awful taste.
‘We’ve decided to take a step back from the business,’ Anna offers eventually. ‘Find somewhere to settle, enjoy the peace and quiet.’
‘To put it plainly, we’re retiring,’ Graham adds.
Dad is not convinced. ‘You’re lying.’
‘I’m growing tired of fighting you, Matthew. There is no hidden motive or grand scheme. After three decades of running the company, it’s only natural to desire a change of pace,’ Graham says.
‘And that’s entirely unrelated to you picking at your salmon while you ignore the slab of steak that cost more than my monthly energy bill? And what about the wine? Neither of you has touched your glass.’
They exchange a quick glance, and Anna juts her chin out.
‘Your father had a health scare, not too long ago. It has required us to rethink our lifestyle.’
‘What kind of health scare?’ I ask tentatively.
Graham watches me and his gaze softens. ‘Nothing to worry about. A minor stroke.’
Dad hasn’t dropped his attitude, but he is biting his tongue for once.
‘Your grandfather has recovered well,’ Anna explains, addressing me, ‘but there’s no guarantee that it won’t happen again. It puts things into perspective. We’ll be taking things slower from now on. Less work, less travel.’
‘Less alcohol and red meat,’ Graham scoffs, and it’s clear what he thinks of that.
‘More time spent with family,’ Anna adds, sounding hopeful, ‘which means you. If you’ll have us.’
I feel three pairs of eyes on me. It’s a lot, not going to lie.
I’m still digesting that I have grandparents.
Though we share DNA, I don’t know these people.
It’s obvious that there’s history between them and my dad, and not the good kind.
With so much ego around this table, such big personalities vying for space, I’m having a hard time staying upright in my seat.
But what I’m sure of, despite the fact that I’ve known him for less than an hour, is that I don’t want to lose my grandfather. I’ve only just found him.
‘I’d like that,’ I say. Anna rewards me with a smile so bright it requires its own warning sign, and Graham seems to grow in his chair, tension ebbing from his body.
Could it be that they’re . . . relieved?
Maybe I’m not the only one who’s intimidated by this out-of-body experience of a family lunch.
I catch Dad’s gaze. I almost expect him to be mad at my decision, but he only tilts his head in acceptance.
‘Marvellous,’ Anna exclaims, still beaming. ‘Shall we set a date for lunch at the cafe, then? And we haven’t even mentioned the Christmas Gala!’
‘Not so fast,’ Dad says, making her smile flicker.
‘Lombard is our home, not yours.’ Graham makes to speak but Dad holds up a hand to cut him off.
‘I’m not saying this to spite you, but because it’s true.
You hate peace and quiet. You’ll get bored.
You always do.’ His eyes harden, from hurt or disappointment, I can’t tell.
‘Luca is your grandson, and I’m done taking that away from you.
But he’s my son first. If you want to get to know him, then only by my rules.
You will have to commit. No excuses, no games, no lies, no bribery, no tricks or schemes or last-minute cancellations and absolutely no make-up gifts to try to distract from any of your mistakes.
For once, you’ll have to be responsible and show up. ’
Have to admit it, my dad’s a sassy one.
‘Why, we feel flattered,’ Graham deadpans.
‘Yes, I’m a regular Lady Macbeth,’ Anna adds.
I see where he gets it from.
‘You have your chance and I’d hate to see you blow it,’ Dad says, which prompts a snort from Graham. ‘I mean it. You mess up, and it’s Luca who gets hurt. So don’t.’
‘Does Luca get a say in this?’ Graham asks.
‘Of course he does. I can’t and won’t stop him. He’s a good judge of character, as you’ll soon find out.’
As much as I appreciate the endorsement, I’m growing tired of being talked about like I’m not listening to every word they say.
To my relief and joy, the kitchen staff are back, and this time they have cake.
Not a cake, as in one, but cakes, as in Black Forest gateau, almond tarts, apple pie and a meringue masterpiece that resembles a peacock taking flight.
Modesty clearly isn’t a word that Brandenburgs use lightly, or ever.
Even Dad is too busy eating to complain, which makes the rest of lunch a civil affair – not counting the moment that Graham criticises Dad for the coffee stains on his shirt, prompting Dad to drop his fork and eat with his fingers.
The man is a werewolf, and his parents are the full moon, depriving him of both sanity and manners.
It’s only when we’re on the road back home that he becomes his old self again.
He’s quiet, but he keeps giving me the side-eye.
I have this odd feeling, like I’ve been sucked into a parallel universe only to be spat back out again an hour later.
Returning to familiar ground feels off, because Lombard is still its usual self, but I’m not sure I can say the same about me.
Still, once I spot the lighthouse that watches over the squat rooftops of my hometown, it’s a little easier to breathe again.
‘What?’ I ask, unnerved by Dad’s looks.
‘Would you have liked to be born a Brandenburg?’ he asks. It throws me off, because of course I have been asking myself this, but I didn’t realise he’d clocked me.
‘I don’t know, Dad,’ I admit. Would I have liked my life as a Brandenburg as much as I like my life as a Dean? It’s possible, but then, Dad hated carrying the name.
‘Would you ever change it? You could, you know? I did.’ He says this quickly, stumbling over the words, and I realise he’s scared of my answer.
‘I never had a reason to dislike my surname, Dad. Still don’t. And I like sharing a name with Mum. It connects us, even when she’s away, if that makes sense.’
‘It does,’ he says.
‘I’m not going to change my name, whatever happens,’ I tell him.
He takes my hand, interweaving his fingers with mine. We sit like this until we reach the sign welcoming us into Lombard, and then a little longer still.