Chapter 21 Sophie
S OPHIE
Sophie strategically makes herself useful in the kitchen throughout the breakfast service to avoid going out into the restaurant and coming face to face with Christian. Hopefully he’s checking out today. It’s only when Rocco announces that all the breakfast diners have left that she braves the restaurant to help with the clearing up.
Then it’s onto cleaning the sardines. She cleans one fish to every five of the others, copying the way Loretta does it with short, fast strokes. Once the sardines are ready to cook, she helps shell peas for Loretta’s risi e bisi.
Loretta’s in full control in her enormous white kitchen; she’s methodical and orderly and the others follow her lead. She barks orders at Rocco and Salvatore, but this just seems to be her way with them, rather than any actual aggression. She doesn’t break a sweat when surrounded by steam or smoke and she’s constantly in motion.
While they work, Loretta questions Sophie, prying with the skill of a senior detective. ‘Sophie, are you married?’
‘Nope, single as a Pringle!’
‘But is there a nice man in Melbourne who has your heart?’
‘No one at the moment.’
‘And you have been married before?’
Sophie throws a quick glance Rocco’s way. He’s stirring an industrial-sized pot of rice, facing away from her, but from the tilt of his head, it’s obvious he’s listening.
‘Nope, never married,’ she replies. ‘That’s why I’m so happy, ha!’
Loretta doesn’t laugh. ‘What about a boyfriend?’
‘I ended things with my last boyfriend around a year ago. More closet space for my impulse buys now, ha ha!’
‘Hmm.’ Loretta frowns. ‘So you lived with this boyfriend?’
Shit. Rocco warned her how Catholic Loretta is. ‘Yeah, yep, we lived together.’
‘Why did you let this man live with you before he made you his wife?’
It feels like a sharp slap.
‘Mamma!’ Rocco yells. ‘Sophie, I apologise for my mother.’
Sophie lifts her chin up. ‘I’m quite relieved I didn’t marry him, actually. I wasn’t happy with him.’
‘Ah.’ Loretta nods. ‘Then perhaps it is better this way.’
Sophie’s proud of herself. She stood up to Loretta and made her back down.
Australia – One
Italy – Nil.
‘How old are you, Sophie?’ Loretta asks five seconds later.
‘I just turned thirty.’
‘Okay, bene. So you still have one or two years left. Do not take too long to find a good husband, eh, or your womb will get too dry for babies.’
Italy equalises.
‘Why do you pressure Sophie to have children when you say the last time you were happy was before you had any?’ Rocco calls out.
‘Be quiet, nobody is speaking to you!’ Loretta doesn’t take her eyes off the garlic she’s deftly peeling. ‘Sophie, are you living at your parents’ house since the man left you?’
‘Um, I asked him to leave. And no, I’m still in my little flat in town. Mum lives about half an hour away.’
‘And your father? He does not live with your mother?’
She gulps. ‘My dad ... he ... ah ... he passed away.’
Loretta puts down the knife. ‘My condolences, Sophie. May God rest his soul.’
‘Thank you.’ The heaviness sits on her chest.
‘Was it a long time ago?’
‘Twenty years ago, yes.’
‘Cancer?’
‘No, it was ... an unexpected thing. I’m sorry, Loretta, I don’t like to speak of it much.’
Salvatore, who’s at the sink operating the noisy dishwashing hose, looks up. ‘Chi è morto?’
‘In English!’ Loretta snaps.
‘Sophie’s father passed away,’ Rocco tells him.
‘May God rest his soul,’ Salvatore says sincerely.
‘You do not have time for all this talking!’ Loretta shouts at him. ‘Look at how slow you are. The people will arrive for dinner and the breakfast dishes will still be dirty.’
‘Relax, Zia.’ Salvatore laughs and turns the hose back on.
Loretta picks up the knife again. ‘Tell me, do you have brothers and sisters?’
Nothing can stop this woman!
Sophie takes a breath. ‘Just the one brother, David. He’s a year younger than me.’ She figures she may as well answer the questions that are coming next and save Loretta the time. ‘He’s married to a woman called Courtney – she’s really lovely. They don’t have any children. They live about an hour out of Melbourne in a city called Geelong. They have the most enormous house, you should see it. They could lose each other for days in that place.’ In her best effort to move the conversation away from her family dynamics, Sophie launches into a description of her brother’s McMansion so detailed that if an architect was taking notes, the plans for the house could be drafted to council standards. If she talks for long enough, maybe Loretta will get so bored she stops with the intrusive questions.
‘Are you close with your family?’ Loretta locks eyes with her, not even a tiny bit distracted by all the waffle.
Sophie sighs. ‘Not really, no.’
‘That is very sad. I pray for Saint Joseph to bless your family.’
Why Saint Joseph in particular?
‘Is this why you came to Venice alone at Christmas?’ Loretta asks. ‘Because you are on bad terms with your family?’
‘No, that was just how the timing worked out.’ Sophie’s really desperate for a change of topic now. The smell of sardines on the charcoal grill fills the air. ‘The sardines smell amazing, Loretta. Do you serve them cold?’
‘No, of course we serve the sardines hot,’ Loretta replies.
‘So why are they being cooked now?’
‘This is for us. We eat at noon what we serve for dinner. I taste and see if I need to change anything.’
It’s nearly noon now and Sophie’s stomach growls, forgetting it’s already been fed a solid week’s worth of food from the incredible breakfast buffet.
‘You are staying until January ten, yes?’ Loretta asks her.
‘That’s right.’
‘Then you will be here for La Regata della Befana, the Venetian festival for the Epiphany. Rocco and Salvatore are racing a gondola in the regatta.’ Loretta smiles proudly. ‘You will join us for this celebration.’
‘I’d love to, thank you.’
Rocco and Salvatore exchange a look that Sophie can’t read.
‘And, before that, on the first night of the new year,’ Loretta continues, ‘we have the Holy Feast for the Mother of our Lord at a church not far from here, San Zaccaria. The priest celebrating the Mass is a friend of our family who is returned from the Vatican. A very holy man. You will join us for this Mass.’
Sophie freezes. ‘Thank you, but I’ll pass on Mass. The gondola race sounds great though.’
The smile on Loretta’s face vanishes. ‘What do you mean, I’ll pass ? You do not want to attend Mass for the Mother of our Lord?’
‘Per l’amor del cielo, Mamma!’ Rocco throws his hands in the air. ‘Leave her alone! Forgive my mother, Sophie, please. I’m very sorry.’
‘You, keep your mouth shut and stir the rice!’ Loretta shouts over her shoulder to Rocco, before turning back to her. ‘Sophie, why do you hate Jesus?’
‘What? I don’t hate Jesus!’
‘Bene, then you will attend this holy Mass with us on the first day of the year so the Blessed Virgin will look after you and no harm will come to you for the whole year.’
‘A whole year of no harm? That’s impressive for one church attendance,’ Sophie deadpans.
Rocco and Salvatore reward her with a laugh but Loretta gives her a stern look.
Uh oh.
‘Yes, a whole year of protection. Dress warmly that night when you come. Bring your gloves.’ Loretta gives her a look that says, don’t fuck with me, young lady. Then she pulls another knife from the block and starts to julienne carrots with a speed and precision that Sophie’s never witnessed.
Sophie immediately stops slicing the pane di casa she’s been assigned to and grabs her camera to get a record of this julienning magic. She can’t let herself get sidetracked from the reason she’s here, which is to capture these moments.
Rocco approaches her when Loretta disappears into the storeroom. ‘Of course you don’t have to come to Mass.’
‘I don’t mind, honestly.’
Sophie hasn’t been inside a church since she moved out of home over ten years ago. But how bad could it be if the Mass is in Italian? She could zone out and nobody would know any different. It’s important to keep Loretta on side. Plus, Loretta said the family’s going, which means Rocco will be there, and that’s a nice sweetener.
‘Lunch!’ Loretta announces, walking back in. ‘Salvatore, tell Chiara and Marina. Rocco, go upstairs and bring your papà.’ She loads a stack of plates onto her forearm, and Sophie follows her out into the restaurant, holding a tower of glasses in one hand and a jug of iced water in the other.
She helps Loretta bring out the rest of the food, just as Rocco comes in with his arm around Alberto, who he towers over.
‘Ah, signorina, ciao, ciao!’ Alberto’s voice booms across the restaurant as he approaches Sophie with open arms. He pulls her into a hug and kisses both of her cheeks with force, scratching her with his stubble. He holds her by the arms and inspects her. ‘You are a very beautiful woman.’
Sophie immediately loves him.
‘Fat, yes, but very beautiful!’ he announces happily.
She immediately loves him less.
Rocco yells at Alberto in a string of Italian words she imagines aren’t congratulating him on his behaviour. His hands are going nineteen to the dozen.
Alberto shrugs, not looking the least bit bothered by Rocco’s tirade.
When he’s done yelling, Rocco pulls out a chair for Sophie to sit next to him at the table.
Sophie’s cleaned dozens of sardines, sliced ten loaves of bread and shelled kilos of peas. It feels good to be off her feet.
‘I don’t know who I am more embarrassed by, my papà or my mamma. I am so sorry.’ Rocco speaks in a low voice so only she can hear him.
‘It’s all good, don’t worry,’ she reassures him.
‘Do you feel as if you have been in the boxing ring after your first morning with Mamma? I should have warned you this is what she is like.’
‘It’s fine, truly. She’s an incredible cook. I’m in awe of her.’
‘You also have a natural talent in the kitchen,’ he says. ‘You would not consider becoming a chef?’
‘That’s so sweet of you to say. No, I’m nothing special.’
‘You are very wrong.’ He smiles at her.
She leans her head a little closer to his. ‘What’s your story, Signore Bianchi? Why are you so nice to me? You’re too good to be true.’
‘And I want to know your story, Sophie Black.’ He holds her stare. ‘I want to know about the parts you have kept hidden from Mamma. And I want to beat up the man from Melbourne who did not make you happy.’
‘Beat up?’ She laughs. ‘You’ve gone all cave-mannish now, have you? You didn’t answer me though. What’s your story?’
‘I am worried that if you hear my story, maybe you will not smile at me any more in that sexy way.’ The way he looks at her over the top of his glasses gives her a delicious longing low in her stomach.
‘You’ve got me intrigued now,’ she says softly.
‘Mangia, Sophie , mangia!’ Loretta puts an end to their conversation.
It doesn’t stop the electricity buzzing between them.
Chiara and Salvatore join them at the table. ‘Dov’é Marina?’ Salvatore asks.
Loretta smacks his hand. ‘In English.’
‘She came upstairs to get her coat maybe half an hour ago,’ Alberto replies. ‘She has errands.’
Rocco frowns. ‘What errands?’
Alberto shrugs.
Loretta pours herself a glass of water. Sophie’s surprised there’s no wine with lunch. Isn’t day drinking what Italians are famous for?
Loretta turns to her. ‘Tell us about the people at your work. Is there a man in your office who might make you a good husband?’
‘God help you, Sophie.’ Rocco laughs. ‘Round two!’
And so the next Loretta interrogation begins. It’s hard for Sophie to appreciate just how perfectly seasoned and charcoaled the sardines are and how fresh and crusty the bread is when she’s besieged by question after question shot at her like tennis balls from a pitching machine. There’s nowhere to duck.
Thankfully, a quarter of an hour later, Loretta boots Alberto, in no uncertain terms, back upstairs to rest and she heads into the kitchen again.
Sophie stands up too, but Chiara tugs on her hand. ‘Zia always gets up before us. Stay and have a break from her questions.’
‘Zia has been asking her a million questions all morning,’ Salvatore tells her.
‘Of course she has.’ Marina appears from behind them. ‘Please do not be too shy to tell my mother to stop intruding, Sophie. She has no boundaries, none.’
Marina takes Loretta’s spot at the table. She looks flustered as she shrugs off Rocco’s questions about where she’s been.
‘Be careful, Marina,’ he says quietly.
Marina shifts in her seat. ‘It is not what you think. I was watching the performance artist in the piazza.’
He blows out through his nostrils. ‘You went out in weather like this to see the woman in the tank? Since when do you care so much about art?’
‘Since our city is disappearing under the sea.’
They stare at each other like it’s a competition to see who can go the longest without blinking.
Marina finally breaks the silence. ‘Relax, okay?’
‘I am not relaxed, not even one per cent,’ Rocco replies. ‘Zero per cent relaxed with the two of you.’
The two of who? Sophie’s dying to know. Sadly, no more is said.
Rocco flattens two sardines with a fork on a thick slice of bread and passes it to Marina. ‘Mangia.’ He smiles and the tension between them evaporates like magic.
Sophie aches at the closeness of this family, at the easy way they argue and quickly make up, how they’re so enmeshed in one another’s lives.
Chiara distracts her from her envious thoughts by inviting her to visit them in Padua, where she shares a home with her parents, Salvatore and one younger brother who’s still in high school, along with her husband and two small children.
‘It’s lovely how you all live with your parents,’ Sophie says.
‘Living with our parents is not a choice,’ Rocco replies, not unkindly. ‘We cannot afford our own apartments.’
‘At least you live in Venice.’ Chiara points at him.
‘Why don’t you live here?’ Sophie asks her.
‘We used to when I was a girl,’ Chiara replies. ‘Now, like most Venetians, we cannot afford to.’
‘We even have to pay entry tax so we can work here.’ Salvatore tears a piece of bread. ‘And the train fare is double for peak hours. Instead of encouraging Venetians to come and work, they punish us.’
It’s the first time Sophie’s seen Salvatore speak in a way that’s not lighthearted.
‘Is it hard to find a job in Padua? Is that why you travel here for work?’ she asks him.
‘No, there is plenty of work in Padua. But we come to work with our family.’
‘Venice is our home,’ Chiara adds. ‘If we stop working here, then we have lost all connection to being Venetian.’ She looks at her watch. ‘And now it is time for us to leave our home again.’
They all clear up together, then Salvatore and Chiara leave. Marina starts her shift on reception and Rocco and Sophie head back into the kitchen. The next hour and a half is taken up helping Loretta bake cakes for tomorrow’s breakfast and make mousse for the evening’s dessert. Cake every day for breakfast is something Sophie can totally get on board with.
Just after two o’clock, Alberto appears in the kitchen. ‘Loretta, andiamo a riposare.’
Loretta checks the clock on the wall. ‘Sophie, now I go and have a lie-down, okay?’ She wipes her hands on her apron before taking it off.
When Loretta leaves, Rocco rests his hand on Sophie’s lower back. The unexpected touch sends tingles racing up between her shoulder blades. It’s been a long time since she last felt this kind of attraction. She’d forgotten how thrilling it is.
‘Can I bring you a coffee?’ he asks.
‘Ooh, yes, please. Do you have a lie-down now too?’
‘No. Now I go to the gym and lift very heavy man weights. It is obvious, yes?’ He holds up his skinny arm and pumps his non-existent biceps.
She laughs.
‘And you?’ he says. ‘How will you pass the time now?’
‘Well, I was planning to go out and explore the city, but now I’m considering a little siesta too. Your mum works us hard!’
‘She does. It is a good idea to have a rest. If you like, tomorrow afternoon I can show you around Venice?’
‘I’d love that.’
‘Very good, then we have a date.’ His words sound self-assured, but the nervous way he adjusts his glasses says otherwise.
A date! It’s all she can do not to break into a celebratory dance.
‘Do you want me to knock on your door when it is time to come back to the restaurant and we can walk down together?’ he asks.
‘That would be wonderful.’
‘Okay, when you hear a knock at around five o’clock, you will know it’s me, Rocco.’ He taps his chest.
Her heart leaps. ‘I’ll know it’s you.’