She poured herself another coffee and sat sideways on the bench, feet up, knees bent. Her mind was rewinding to that awful day when the family got the call that Jamie, while on a tour of duty in Afghanistan, had been caught up in a roadside ambush. The expression on her mum’s face as she told the family that Jamie had survived, but his leg had to be amputated, still sent shivers down her spine to this day.
The trauma of losing his job, coupled with his disability and a feeling of failure, threw him into a very dark place. Were it notfor the armed forces charity throwing him a lifeline, she dreaded to think where he would be today.
Fast forward ten years, and Jamie was now head of music at his old secondary school and gigging at weekends with Clanadonia,a bagpipe rock band. When he’d signed up to take part in theMoving Ondocumentary about life after war, little did he know that this would lead to the production company’s director inviting him to join his band as their seventh member. It had marked a turning point for Jamie: he’d finally come to terms with losing his military identity and had taken back control of his life.
But the thought of nearly losing her brother still haunted Lucy some nights.
She checked her watch and washed and dried her coffee cup. As she put on her plastic shoes, she noticed a police car parked up on the grass verge. What were the police doing there, she wondered?
She hurriedly piled her auburn locks back into the hairnet and flung open the door.
‘Lucy?’
Standing before her, in dashing, navy blue uniform, highly polished boots, slicked-back hair, cap under his arm, was Dario.
‘Dario! Hi, yes, it is me,’ she mumbled, casting her eyes downwards, face flushing crimson. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Well, hello again! I am here on police business. What areyoudoing here?’
Could she detect a glimmer of amusement in his voice?
Daring to meet his gaze and trying to sound confident and cool, she replied, ‘I’m learning how to make mozzarella.’
Dario nodded attentively. ‘Fantastico! How is it?’
‘Great.’ Lucy swallowed hard, the image of the giant splodge of mozzarella lying on the factory floor popping into her head. ‘Really great.’
Dario nodded again, his eyes holding hers. ‘I am impressed.’
There was an awkward pause. Lucy cleared her throat. ‘Well, I’d better get back to work.’
‘Of course.’
As Dario moved aside, a faint whiff of his musky cologne drifted under her nostrils. His uniform gave him a certain gravity and sexiness which she wished she didn’t appreciate.
She straightened her back, hair-netted head held high, and swept down the tiled corridor as swiftly as she could. She let out a whoosh of held breath. From the moment she’d set foot on Italian soil, she had taken her klutzish ways to a whole new level:
1.Throwing a tampon at a policeman.
2.Throwing herself at the feet of a priest.
3.Throwing artisan mozzarella onto the floor before an audience of master cheesemakers.
4.Throwing aside her last morsel of dignity, by conducting a conversation with same suave and sophisticated police officer while wearing a hairnet.
That afternoon, Lucy stood before her English class, dressed in a crisp, white shirt, tailored trousers and hair in a neat bun. She looked into the students’ eager faces, savouring the fact that they were engaged with the lesson and not pulling one another’s hair or throwing things when her back was turned, as her primary school pupils had so often done.
‘Our word for today is…’ Lucy began, holding her red marker pen aloft. ‘EMBARRASSED.’ The pen squeaked as she spelled it out in large, neat letters on the whiteboard. ‘Can anyone tell me what this means?’
The students looked at her nonplussed. Eventually Martina, theIberia Airways check-in agent at Naples airport, gingerly raised her hand.
‘Pregnant?’
Lucy looked puzzled for a moment or two. ‘Aha!’ she said, suddenly recalling her patchy, schoolgirl Spanish. ‘I believe you’re thinking of the Spanish word,embarazada.’
‘Imbécil!’ Martina tutted, slapping her forehead.
‘Don’t beembarrassed,Martina. Any other ideas?’ Lucy paused. ‘Anyone?’ She looked around the group of blank faces, some huddling together and whispering, like contestants onUniversity Challenge. Turning to the whiteboard again, she drew a face with red cheeks.
