Chapter 82 Sophie
S OPHIE
Sophie’s eyes snap open at the sound of wild banging on her door. She flies out of bed and slips into her robe while Rocco, still half asleep, stumbles towards the door in his briefs.
It’s Marina who’s there when he opens it.
‘Cos’é, Marina?’
‘Papà! He had another heart attack!’
Fuck.
Rocco’s face falls. He speaks in hurried Italian.
‘He is alive,’ Marina reassures him. ‘He had surgery.’
Rocco reaches for Marina and they cling to each other.
‘Let’s go,’ Marina says to him.
‘You go,’ he replies. ‘I have to stay here.’
‘You should both go.’ Sophie steps forward. ‘I can go to the market and get breakfast ready. I know how it all works.’
Rocco grips her arm. ‘You are sure, Sophie? It is a lot for you.’
‘I’ll be absolutely fine,’ she insists. ‘Your cousins will be here to help soon. Go to your dad.’
‘You are amazing.’ Rocco kisses her cheek.
She smiles at him. ‘Go.’
He throws on his clothes and he and Marina are out the door seconds later.
Sophie gets herself dressed and is on her way to the market soon after the others leave. The rain has stopped and the flood waters have receded a little, but she still has to use the boardwalks to roll the cart along.
Rocco calls her when she’s almost at the Rialto with the news that Alberto’s awake and recovering well. ‘Can you believe we did not hear anything last night? Mamma was angry with me. She said she was calling for me,’ he says. ‘I think maybe the ambulance came when we were in the shower.’
Sophie’s belly tightens at the memory of Rocco on his knees in front of her under the water last night. ‘Please tell me you didn’t tell Loretta that.’
‘I told her. What else could I say?’
‘Oh, God. What did she say?’
‘She said some things I cannot repeat.’ He lets out a chuckle.
‘Well, I guess that means I’ll never be able to make eye contact with your mother again.’
‘She loves you, and I love you, and all of Venice loves you!’ he declares before hanging up.
At the Rialto, market vendors converge on her like seagulls on chips, demanding to know where Rocco is, and then pushing her for every last detail about Alberto. She tells them what little she knows and in no time, she finds her shopping cart full to the brim with fresh food. Not a single seller agrees to take money from her.
On the walk back to the hotel, two nuns approach from the other direction on the Rialto bridge, their habits flying behind them in the wind.
‘Dio vi benedica,’ they say in unison when they pass her.
The cafe store owners have set up tables and chairs in the flooded lanes. They greet her by name and make her stop to explain why Rocco isn’t with her. Everyone’s concerned about Alberto.
Her neighbours of the last six years in Melbourne don’t even know her name. This is my community , she thinks. These are my people. It’s the first time in her life that she’s felt such a deep sense of belonging.
She thinks of how close she came to leaving Venice yesterday and it scares her. Her knee-jerk reaction of booking the first flight home when her mother arrived actually had very little to do with Rocco and everything to do with her own unpredictable upbringing, she realises.
‘I’ll be careful with your heart,’ Rocco promised her yesterday. ‘I won’t hurt you. You can trust me.’
She wholeheartedly does.
Back at the hotel, she begins putting together breakfast in the restaurant. She’s soon joined by Chiara and Salvatore. They’re busy but not overrun, thanks to Loretta’s supreme organisational skills, which mean everything is ready to serve except for a few last-minute jobs, like boiling the eggs.
Sophie remembers the veal cutlets that were stashed in the freezer the other day and pulls them out to defrost. At the Rialto, she was given a whole rainbow of root vegetables by Bianca, the always-smiling greengrocer, which she’ll roast in olive oil and balsamic vinegar to go with the veal. She has scallops from dear old Pasquale, which she’ll grill for primi and serve with a tomato salad and the crusty baguettes that Ezio, her baker friend, gave her. She has enough eggs from Sebastiano’s charming hens to make a custard dessert. It might not be traditional Venetian fare, but it will all be delicious and fresh.
She writes the menu on the chalk board, asking Chiara to proofread the Italian for her. Underneath, she writes, Menu prepared by Sophie Black from Foodie Magazine , making it sound like a guest cook is a treat, not a last-minute stand-in after a family emergency.
The breakfast crowd starts arriving. Elena and Christian walk in together and she remembers that this morning is when Elena is running away.
Christian looks around the restaurant. ‘Is Rocco here?’
‘He’s at the hospital with Alberto,’ Sophie replies. It’s hard for her to even look at him.
‘Ah, right.’ He lowers his voice. ‘We have a pretty important meeting later this morning. Do you know if it’s still on?’
A look of terror crosses Elena’s face.
‘It’s definitely on,’ Sophie says. ‘I’m not sure if Rocco will be back in time for it, but Salvatore’s going. You know Salvatore, don’t you?’
Upon hearing his name, Salvatore joins her at the restaurant entrance. ‘Ciao, signore. If you meet me at ten-thirty in the lobby, we will go to the meeting together. I know the way.’
Elena and Sophie exchange the briefest of glances. It’s enough for her to get the message across to Elena that they all have her back.
‘Will you be okay if I am gone for two hours, Sophie? Maybe longer?’ Salvatore asks her in the kitchen.
‘It’s all under control, don’t worry,’ she says with confidence, knowing she has a tool in her arsenal that will make all the difference to her meal preparations today. She’s enlisting the help of the best home cook she’s ever known, even better than Loretta: Penelope.
Sophie’s love of cooking came from her mother. When things were peaceful in their home, Sophie spent Sundays watching her mother lovingly prepare roast lamb with all the trimmings, and waiting to be allowed to lick the beaters when Penelope baked the world’s best chocolate cake. Penelope was a passionate cook right up until the day she killed Martin.
After that, she lost all interest in the kitchen. She swapped homemade pies for shop-bought ones, roast potatoes for frozen chips. By then, ten-year-old Sophie had learned enough from her mother to be a competent cook herself and she soon took over preparing the family meals.
In her teens, Sophie dreamed of becoming a chef and running her own restaurant one day. But she was academically strong, with a particular gift for writing, so she was encouraged – pressured – by her careers advisor and teachers to go to university instead. She ended up becoming a journalist who wrote about food instead of a chef who created it.
Although it is under the terrible circumstance of Alberto’s heart attack, today is the day that Sophie’s longest held dream comes true. She’s running her own restaurant.
But half an hour later, Penelope hasn’t come downstairs yet, even though she agreed to help when Sophie knocked on her door after the market this morning. The breakfast diners have almost cleared out and Sophie’s just beginning to fret when Penelope breezes into the restaurant, looking a million dollars in a hot-pink floaty kaftan, her white hair held back under a yellow bandana.
‘Hello, darling,’ Penelope sing-songs. ‘What fun, us girls reunited in the kitchen again!’
Sophie’s relieved to see that her mother’s as sober as a judge.
After the breakfast dishes are cleared away, Sophie sets up the kitchen just how she wants it. She puts Chiara to work chopping vegetables, Salvatore expertly slices the scallops in half and Sophie and Penelope prepare the cutlets.
Mother and daughter work seamlessly together, Sophie patting the cutlets with seasoned flour and dipping them in egg, then passing them to Penelope to coat in breadcrumbs and parmesan. She manages to quieten her brain down enough to let herself enjoy this rare moment of harmony with her mother.
Just before ten-thirty, Salvatore excuses himself to meet Christian in the lobby. Sophie hugs him fiercely.
Penelope’s face darkens when Sophie tells her about Elena and Christian. ‘I wish I’d had the courage to leave,’ Penelope whispers.
It’s the first time her mother has ever acknowledged her abusive marriage.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough, Fee,’ she continues. ‘I’m so terribly sorry.’
Sophie tries to answer but the words are caught in her throat. She keeps her eyes down, staring at the dishes she’s washing.
‘It’s the reason I drink, you know,’ Penelope says. ‘It helps me forget.’
Sophie meets Penelope’s eye. ‘Please go to rehab, Mum. Please get some help.’
‘I told you I’ll think about it, darling.’