Chapter 7 #2
She smiles. ‘I’ve never gardened before.’ She gestures towards the little garden with sunflowers. ‘I’ve always sewed, but gardening, planting seeds, that is something new.’ I can’t imagine what she has endured, her life turning into fear for herself and her children.
We fall into silence.
Then Giovanni points to the pile of lasagne dishes on the scrubbed table in front of me. ‘I see you had more visitors.’
I wonder: ‘Was this something to do with you, La Tavola, the community kitchen?’
He holds up his hands. ‘Nothing to do with me, I promise. But I’m guessing you won’t need a meal this evening!
’ He laughs and I can’t help but join in.
‘It’s Friday and we always deliver a meal to those who need it on Fridays.
It’s just a simple dish but the routine is good for people.
’ He tips his head back to the kitchen where rows of little tinfoil containers are lined up on the table ready to be filled.
‘What’s on the menu tonight, Chef?’ I’m falling back into my old life, then wishing I hadn’t. I don’t want to be thinking about menus, costings, unpaid bills. I don’t want to think about food at all.
‘Not lasagne,’ he says, making me laugh again. It feels good. Caterina has picked up the tablecloth and is sewing a patch into place.
I study the room from where I’m sitting: the cool whitewashed walls, the intimate but spacious dining room, the fireplace with blackened edges, suggesting it is used in winter.
What an amazing restaurant it would make, filled with candles in winter, olive branches and greenery in summer.
I shut down the idea straight away. I must stop thinking like that.
I don’t want anything to do with restaurants again.
I am never heading back into that world.
‘Are you sure you didn’t initiate all these gifts to us? I know we were hungry when we got here but we really are fine now,’ I say. ‘We’ve been to the shop and I have plenty in.’
‘Lots of lasagne now, too!’ laughs Caterina, examining her sewing, being in the moment and finding fun in it.
It feels good to laugh, to talk to people other than the children, and Marco, of course, which, now I think about it, might seem strange to people if I were to tell them.
‘Although,’ says Giovanni, ‘food is so much more than just cooking something to eat, isn’t it? It’s about the experience, company, conversation, laughter, debate. It’s about inclusion. It’s about feeling part of something.’
I sip my coffee and gaze out of the open door to the sun-drenched patio. Once again, I experience a pang, wishing Marco was beside me. That I wasn’t doing this on my own. I look between Giovanni and Caterina when a boy appears at the door, about the same age as Luca.
‘This is my son, Pietro,’ says Caterina.
‘Hi,’ I say. He points to a van pulling up outside.
‘Pietro doesn’t speak,’ says Caterina, almost matter-of-factly. ‘Not since we left our home and his father.’
My heart twists.
‘My daughter.’ She nods to a girl who has followed her brother. ‘This is Isabella, she’s eight.’
She wishes me ‘ Buongiorno .’
‘She is hoping to make biscuits for the meal tonight. To take to the community.’
Giovanni and Caterina get to their feet, she putting aside her tablecloth.
‘The food is delivered here from the shop in the village. We’ll see what they’ve got and plan a pasta sauce,’ says Giovanni. ‘You will have met Tommaso at the shop.’
‘I did. He was very kind.’ I remember him giving the children lollipops.
‘He’s a good man. Lives with his wife who is bed-bound. He cares for her, runs the business, and brings us any food that is unsold to make into our meals for the community. Anything going to waste, he brings here.’
‘That’s brilliant,’ I say, with a rush of excitement I haven’t felt since Marco and I would sit and plan menus … Again, I shut down the memory. ‘I have to go,’ I say. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
‘No problem. You know where we are now. There’s always a cup of coffee if nothing else.
’ He smiles widely again. I can’t help but wonder if he has a partner in his life.
Maybe he and Caterina have found each other, which makes me feel …
hopeful: perhaps there is a life for the two of them after what she has been through.
‘I just need to return these dishes and thank the ladies who made them. And tell them we’re fine, that there’s no need to bring us any more,’ I laugh again.
‘Good luck with that!’ says Giovanni.
‘Do you know where they live, or how I can get the dishes back to them?’
Giovanni chews his bottom lip. ‘Sure. Tell you what, why don’t you swing by later when we’re delivering food?
You can take the dishes back and deliver a meal to them at the same time.
’ His green eyes are dancing with a bit of devilment.
‘It’s not cooking, or prepping,’ he says.
‘I promise. You’re just returning the dishes. ’
‘Yes, of course, sorry. That would be great. I’ll pop in with the meals and return the dishes. Thank you.’ I turn to leave.
‘Oh!’ Giovanni calls after me as I reach the door. ‘Did I mention that we sit with the people we hand out meals to? While they eat. Many won’t have seen anyone all week.’
I stare at him. ‘Sit with them?’
‘It’s company, while they eat. Because …’
‘It’s about the experience,’ I repeat his words to me.
‘Exactly,’ He heads towards the door and the waiting van outside.
I really want to pull out, but I can’t. He’s right. It’s just giving a little bit of time to help. I can do that. As long as I don’t have to divulge too much about myself.