Chapter 50
Stella fastened the catch on her bra; she pulled a T-shirt over her head.
It was strange to realise she was sixty today.
With all that had occurred over the last few days, her so-called landmark birthday seemed quite irrelevant.
Still, it was nice to wake up to messages on her phone from Lauren and Carol and to know she would be celebrating over dinner with Gino that night.
Her younger sister stood by the mirror, drying off her hair.
Marta showed no signs of remembering what day it was and that didn’t matter a jot.
It had been decades since Stella had celebrated any birthday with one of her siblings.
But now she and Marta and Giovanni were reunited.
That was worth any number of birthday wishes and fancy gifts.
‘Did you sleep all right?’ Stella said.
‘Remarkably well. This is way more comfortable than it looks.’ Marta indicated the narrow pull-out bed.
‘Much better than the couch.’ Stella smiled.
‘And less noisy than sleeping under Domenico’s room! I don’t know who’s the worse snorer, him or our brother. They could form their own band!’
‘I don’t know how the two of them didn’t wake up when one of us was showering, the way the pipes clank.’ Stella gave her hair a quick comb, feeling rather than seeing what she was doing, as Marta was still hogging the mirror.
Marta drew a pencil line around her lips. She twisted her tube of lipstick, painting on a berry red.
‘Very glam! We’re only getting our breakfast at the village bar; this isn’t Sanremo, you know. I can’t believe Joe and I were staying in a hotel just a few roads away from where you’re living.’
‘I still can’t believe you’re here.’
‘I wouldn’t have come back if Joe hadn’t booked that trip. I thought everyone despised me, blaming me for causing Papà’s death. I thought you and Giovanni and Mamma hated me.’
‘Mamma was shocked and upset but she never hated you, I promise you that. And neither did Giovanni and I. We thought you never wanted to see us again because we didn’t stand up for you when our parents tried to keep you and Gino apart.’
‘All those years…’
Marta frowned. ‘Last night Domenico told me he and Papà had argued the morning Papà died.’
‘Do you know what about?’ Stella trod carefully. Domenico and Fernanda had vowed not to unmask her nonno, not wanting to reopen old wounds. But perhaps a few drinks at the festa had loosened her uncle’s tongue.
‘He didn’t say. Only that it was about something Nonno did when they were kids.’
‘It was a long time ago.’ Stella kept her eyes down, checking for her purse and sunglasses before fastening her handbag.
‘I told Domenico there was no point looking back. Whatever Nonno did or didn’t do in the past, none of us will ever know what was going on inside his head. It’s too easy to sit here making judgements about the past but none of us will really know what made people act the way they did.’
‘I guess you’re right. Look at the things people said about Violetta. Now, are we going to the bar for coffee or is your beauty regime going to take all day?’
‘You always were impatient.’ Marta stashed the lipstick away.
Stella put her finger to her lips. ‘We’d better be quiet. We don’t want to wake our pair of sleeping beauties.’
Marta picked up her sandals. They crept barefooted down the stairs.
The tables outside the bar were all taken. Amy gave Stella a little wave.
‘Hey! Come and sit with me.’
‘Thanks! You two met last night, didn’t you?’ Stella ushered her sister towards one of the spare seats. ‘Oh, there’s only three chairs, we’ll need a fourth.’
‘Leo’s not coming. He’s making an early start on his next project. He’s so fired up after the success of the plaque.’
‘Is everything okay with Leo?’ Stella said. ‘Tell me to shut up if I’m out of order but you seemed so happy last night.’
‘That’s the problem.’ Amy sighed.
Marta stood up. ‘I’ll go inside and order at the bar.’
Amy passed her phone across the table. ‘Last night I got this message from my brother Jack.’
Jack
Hope you had fun at the village party. Now where to next? My mates say Prague and Berlin both rock!
‘Hmm. Why does he think you want to go there?’
‘I told him I was staying here until after the unveiling. Now he assumes I’ll go off travelling. He’s amazed I’ve stayed so long in one village. Jack’s been travelling all over: Mexico, Thailand, Japan… He’s been rafting, bungee jumping, you name it. He’s always been fearless…’
‘He’s visited all these places, done the backpacker trails but you’ve done something he hasn’t. You’ve been living here. And you don’t look to me like you want to leave.’
‘I don’t, but I don’t know how to stay.’
‘You and me both,’ Stella said.
‘Sorry it took so long. The coffee and pastries will be here in a minute. The poor woman is run off her feet,’ Marta said. She sat back down.
‘Amy’s been telling me about her brother Jack’s travels.’
Amy chewed the skin around her thumbnail. ‘He must think I’m pretty dull, staying here.’
‘You didn’t look like you were having a dull time last night.’ Marta’s eyes flashed mischievously. She moved her bag so that the waitress could put down her tray. ‘You don’t really want to leave, do you?’
‘Sometimes the biggest adventure is staying somewhere and not going anywhere,’ Stella said.
‘But even if you stand still, things change,’ Marta said. ‘Remember how Mamma used to send us to pick up the goat’s cheese and flour from Signora Togliatti? I can hardly believe her old alimentari has closed down.’
‘Uh!’ Stella spluttered. She began to cough.
Marta slapped her on the back. ‘Are you okay? Here, have some water.’
Stella chugged back half a glass in one go.
‘I forgot all about it!’ she exclaimed once she’d recovered. ‘What a fool! I walked past it on my first day here but I haven’t been back that way… Of course, why didn’t I think? The For Sale sign – is it still in the window?’
‘It was yesterday.’
‘We’ve got to go there!’ Stella pushed back her chair.
‘What’s the rush? The place has been closed up for years. There’s still a poster in the window advertising some festa from 2019.’ Marta tore a piece off her focaccia dolce, popping the sweetened bread into her mouth.
‘But don’t you see?’ Stella was almost shaking with excitement. ‘It’s perfect!’
‘Stella! What are you wittering on about?’ Marta said.
‘I know!’ Amy said. ‘It’s where you could sell the olive oil you and Gino will produce, and the herbs and whatever else. It’s not too big and it could be a bargain if it’s been sitting on the market for years.’
Stella’s excitement ebbed away as quickly as it had come. ‘It’s no use. I’ve only got a few months’ redundancy money and it will need doing up. I won’t have nearly enough.’
‘You could rent out your house back home or even sell it,’ Marta said. ‘Come on. We’ll go and take a proper look at it.’
‘There’s no harm in looking, is there?’ Amy said.
‘Okay, you’ve convinced me.’ Did she really have a chance?
* * *
The smeared windows, broken step and old newspapers strewn across the floor of Signora Togliatti’s old shop didn’t matter.
Stella could visualise a fresh white interior, a shiny counter, a clutch of olives painted on a sign over the door.
She stood in the street, heart racing, feeling that she could hardly breathe.
‘Dream, Stella. Tell me what you see,’ Marta said.
‘Rows of bottles of home-grown olive oil. Not just litres and half litres for local customers but small quantities that passing tourists could pop in their bags and take home.’
‘What else would they buy?’ Marta stretched out her arms, seemingly measuring the width of the window with her hands.
‘Olive tapenade to smear on crostini, dried herbs in little bags…’
Marta took out her phone. She started to punch in some numbers. ‘I’m ringing them. Let’s find out what they want for it.’
Stella opened her mouth to protest.
‘You might as well know. What harm can it do?’
Stella’s stomach twisted. This was when her dream died. But she said: ‘Sure, I may as well know.’
Amy’s face was tense. ‘I’ve got my fingers crossed so tightly for you.’
They both lapsed into silence, watching Marta march up and down, the phone clamped to her ear. Finally, she wandered back towards them, still talking. She handed the phone to Stella.
Stella took the phone. ‘Sorry. Could you say that again?’
The woman at the end of the line repeated the asking price. A price that made Stella want to squeal and shout and jump and fling her arms up in the air.
‘So, are you interested?’
She tried to keep her voice steady. ‘Yes. Yes, I am. Very interested.’
The call finished. Stella held the phone, knowing she was staring at it as if she’d never seen one before.
‘Brava! Brava!’ Marta kissed her.
‘Oh, Stella, I’m so happy for you.’ Amy’s voice caught.
‘Sorry. I’m feeling a bit emotional. The last few days have been so wonderful.
Fernanda’s so happy and Leo’s got more enquiries about commissions than he could ever deal with.
And now you and Gino – well, you’re going to make your dreams come true.
Ignore me, I’m just feeling sorry for myself. ’
‘We all feel like that sometimes when a holiday comes to an end,’ Stella said.
Amy looked at her as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d said.
‘Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. My mind was on packaging.’
‘For the olive oil? Wouldn’t you just put it in glass bottles?’
‘Yes, for the litre bottles but for the little souvenirs I was thinking of something quite different. Something special.’
‘Like what?’ Marta said.
‘Decorative pottery jugs for the olive oil; tapenade and pastes in little lidded pots. Nothing factory produced. I’d want all handmade. Of course, I could import but then there’s the risk of breakages…’
Stella smiled as the expression on Amy’s face changed.
‘Handmade pottery?’ Amy sounded cautious.
‘Of course, but I don’t know how you feel about getting involved.’