Chapter 49
Fernanda settled into her armchair, cradling a glass of amaro. What a day it had been! The unveiling of the plaque had left her feeling quite drained. Gino and Leo had urged her to stay and enjoy the festa but she wanted nothing more than to be left alone with her thoughts.
* * *
The hat was so pretty, the prettiest one seven-year-old Fernanda had ever seen.
The fabric was a pale leaf green, the silk violets two shades of purple.
Each petal was attached with such delicate stitching, Fernanda would have believed the spray of flowers had been sewn by fairies, if she hadn’t seen Violetta wield her needle.
Fernanda knew she wasn’t supposed to touch it.
The only hat she was allowed to play with was an old misshapen one, but still her hand reached for her sister’s latest creation, her tummy tingling with longing.
Fernanda stole another glance at Violetta; her sister’s head was bent over her paperwork. Fernanda’s arm stretched as far as it could. Her fingers made contact with the soft felt. The three-legged stool slipped from under her, crashing to the floor. She fell heavily, too shocked even to cry.
Violetta was by her side in an instant. ‘Ferdi, carina! What happened? How did you fall?’
‘I don’t know.’ Her face heated as though the lie was a flame burning her skin from within.
‘Does it hurt?’ Violetta bent to examine the big graze on Fernanda’s knee.
Fernanda shook her head. It was good to be strong, like one of Mussolini’s brave soldiers.
‘There.’ Violetta planted a kiss by the broken skin, leaving a trace of plum-coloured lipstick. Then she noticed the hat, fallen on the floor. Her eyes flashed. ‘Did you touch this? After all I said?’
‘I know I shouldn’t have.’ Fernanda’s lip began to tremble.
‘Don’t ever touch that again.’ Her sister’s voice was harsh like the men shouting communist slogans outside the butcher’s shop.
Fernanda shrank back. She began to sob.
Violetta turned the hat upside down, prodding and peering at the lining. She exhaled loudly. Carefully, she set the hat back down. ‘It’s okay, Ferdi, don’t cry.’ Her voice was softer now. ‘I’m not going to tell you off again. You’ve hurt your poor knee, that’s enough punishment.’
‘It’s so nice. Who did you make it for?’
‘I’ve made this one for me.’
‘Is that why you put violets on it?’
Violetta didn’t reply; she looked as though her mind had wandered somewhere else. She was probably thinking about the hat or the accounts books she’d been poring over before Fernanda had caused such a commotion. Her sister’s eyes were tired; she worked so hard to look after them both.
Fernanda searched for a way to cheer her up. ‘Shall we sing a song?’
‘That’s a good idea.’ Violetta smiled but her eyes were still sad.
Fernanda launched into ‘Giovinezza’, the fascist anthem she knew so well, raising her arm and belting out the first words as if performing for Il Duce himself.
‘Not that one,’ Violetta interrupted. ‘Let’s sing “Chì bella nova”.’
The old folk song wasn’t as rousing but Fernanda knew all the words and soon her sister was joining in, their two voices filling the workshop.
‘You’re a good little singer.’ Violetta patted her on the head.
‘Now, in a few minutes I want you to run on home and set the table, then you can read your book. I must carry on working here for a little while. Do you remember I’m visiting my friend at the hospital tomorrow?
I can’t be sure when I will be home, what with the strikers and the roadblocks, but you know that if it gets dark and I’m not back, you can go and knock next door. ’
‘I won’t be scared,’ Fernanda lied.
Violetta sat back down behind her workbench. She patted her knee. ‘Come here for a minute.’
Fernanda climbed onto her lap, even though she was a big girl of seven and three quarters and far too old for cuddles. She snuggled against Violetta’s soft sweater.
‘You smell so nice, Letta. You smell like roses.’
Violetta fiddled with the coin that dangled from a thin leather thong around her neck. Fernanda hadn’t seen it before; she wondered where her sister had found it.
‘One day this war will be over and everything will be different,’ Violetta said.
‘Will all the people in the world be friends?’ It was something Fernanda often wondered.
‘I hope so, darling.’ Violetta hugged Fernanda tightly. It made Fernanda’s itchy jumper scratch against her skin but she didn’t want her to stop. She stroked her big sister’s silky locks, giggling as the curls sprang up again. Her fingers caught against something in the back of Violetta’s hair.
‘Look, an olive leaf.’ Fernanda held it up.
‘I wonder how that got there.’ Violetta took the leaf, turning it over in her hand, a soft smile on her face as though her thoughts were far away again.
‘Do you think the trees get really sad when the people come and take all the olives away?’
‘Yes,’ Violetta said. ‘I think they must get sad, when the fruit is gone and the sky is cold and grey. But then they remember that the winter can’t last forever. And that spring will come again.’