‘Angry?’ piped up Matteo.
‘Good try, Matteo, but no, not angry.’ Lucy snapped the cap back on the marker pen. ‘Okay, I’m now going to tell you a true story about the last time I feltembarrassed.’
A few minutes into her story she caught a knowing glance from Matteo, amidst the sniggers and giggles from the other students.
This reaction flicked on a switch inside her head; all those years of cursing and cringing, apologising for her clumsiness, when all the time she should have accepted that some things were a given. She had been born with big feet and the calamity gene, and instead of being ashamed, she should have embraced it and turned it to her advantage, just as she had now. Her recounting of the mozzarella disaster had finally unleashed the comedian in her, longing to be set free.
Matteo’s arm shot up, a devilish grin stretching across his face. ‘In Italy we say,imbarazzato.’
‘Imbarazzato,’ repeated Lucy. ‘Please come up to the front and write it down for me.’
As Matteo took the pen out of her hand, Lucy’s eyes were onceagain fleetingly drawn to the scars on his arm, but then quickly transferred to the whiteboard, as the letters began to appear in a beautiful, calligraphic style. With a father in prison and a mother who would beat him whenever she gave in to her desire for drink, this young man was defying all the odds, refusing to allow his past to shape his future. Lucy found Matteo’s curiosity and enthusiasm intriguing and inspiring. She looked forward to learning more of his hopes and dreams in the coming months.
Drawing a deep breath, praying her question wouldn’t be met by a wall of silence this time, she said, ‘Now, would anyone like to tell me their embarrassing story? In English, of course.’
A sea of eager arms waved before her, and she smiled a secret smile. As she listened to their various comedy tales in broken English, she dared to hope she’d gained their trust by opening herself up to them; admitting that she too had taken risks, made mistakes and learned from them.
She silently recalled the night she’d cooked dinner for Stewart’s boss and his wife, when she’d dropped the casserole dish on the floor. She’d howled with laughter until she felt Stewart’s cold stare burning into her.
She shuddered at the memory of his office Christmas party when, unaccustomed to wearing high heels, she had taken a tumble down the stairs in front of everyone. She’d tried to make light of it, but Stewart, consumed with shame, had dragged her away, accusing her of being drunk, and she’d cried all the way home in the taxi.
That woman was now a stranger to her; the woman who was desperate to please, who tried to mould herself into being more cool, more witty, more sophisticated, when all the time she should have just been herself.
Italy, these people, their struggles, their passion for life weremaking her look inside herself. She would never go back to the person she was before. She felt like celebrating. She didn’t know what exactly – self-acceptance, self-respect, freedom maybe? Any excuse for another glass of Christ’s tears.
Chapter Nine
A week after bumping into Lucy at the factory, Dario received an unexpected phone call.
He’d had a particularly long day on patrol, and was at home enjoying a cool beer. A pot of spaghetti, to accompany his mother’s signature puttanesca sauce, was bubbling away on the stove. He was about to go and change out of his uniform, when a number he didn’t recognise flashed up on the screen.
‘Pronto.’
‘Hi, Dario. It’s me, Lucy.’ He didn’t respond immediately. ‘The crazy foreigner?’
Dario almost choked on his Peroni.
‘I hope you don’t mind my calling you. Matteo gave me your number…’
‘Sì… I… I mean no.’ Dario wondered why his voice had suddenly gone up an octave. He cleared his throat. ‘Is a beautiful surprise.’
‘Do you happen to be free next Friday evening, Dario?’
‘Un momento, one moment please.’ He held his hand over the phone and counted to ten. He knew very well he was scheduled an early morning shift that day, but needed to gather his thoughts and calm his mind.‘Sì.Friday, in the evening, I am free.’
‘Great!’ Lucy punched the air. ‘Next question – do you like opera?’
There was a brief pause. ‘Sì,’he replied, cringing at this blatant lie.
‘Brilliant! Because I’ve reserved two tickets forLa Traviataat the Teatro di San Carlo.What do you say?’
‘Fantastico! Is my favourite opera.’ He winced.
‘And how about supper beforehand? I’m planning a traditional, British menu for us.’
Dario began to wonder if he was dreaming. He had been hoping to catch some time alone with Lucy, to get to know her better, before inviting her on a date, but hadn’t wanted to rush things. This was just too good to be true.
‘But please, this is a secret between you, me, Matteo and Stefano, understood?’ Lucy added, fizzing with excitement.
