Gino came into the office, arms wide, greeting Nicky and Dario in his usual way, with hugs and kisses on each cheek. As always, he was dressed impeccably, in black trousers and a formal shirt, with a silver cravat around his neck that matched the hanky in the pocket of his dark grey blazer. He still had an exceptional head of hair that was white now, but always perfectly combed back from a face that belied his years. If Dario didn’t know him, he would guess that he was a man ten years younger, but when he looked closer, he could see the shade under his father’s dark eyes. Dario didn’t think his dad had slept properly since his mum passed. He’d definitely never regained the sparkle in his eyes, or his zest for life, but at his heart, he was an incredible host, and coming to work every day meant that it was time to put on a show and lift the lives of everyone around him. He’d been doing that for decades and Dario was well aware that he didn’t know how to act any other way.
The only time he’d ever seen the mask fall was after Mum died and for two solid weeks Gino had refused to leave the house, ignored their visits, locked himself away, almost as if hecouldn’t stand to be around anyone when he couldn’t be the enthusiastic, gregarious man he’d always been.
On the fifteenth day, he’d called Dario over to the house. His parents had bought the semi-detached bungalow when the restaurant began to make a profit, allowing the two of them and their three sons to move out of the one-bedroom flat above Gino’s, which they’d converted into a private dining space for small functions. When Dario got to Gino’s house that day, his dad was already sitting at the old mahogany table in the kitchen, so he’d poured a coffee from the cafetière that was always beside the stove, and joined him.
As Gino slid a sheet of paper towards him, Dario’s heart had ached for the broken, brutal grief that was etched on every line of his father’s face.
‘What’s this, Dad?’ Dario had asked, thinking it was maybe a list of things the old man needed.
A quick glance had told him otherwise.
A contract. Or some kind of deed. With a line for a signature at the bottom.
‘I’ve had my lawyer draw this up, son. It’s the restaurant. It’s time for me to step back and make it yours.’
Dario’s jaw had dropped, horrified. ‘Dad, no. No way. I’ll run it for you for as long as you want, but it will always be yours. I don’t need a piece of paper that says otherwise.’
‘Dario, listen to me.’ His voice was deathly calm, a wild contrast to the joyful, convivial man he’d been before Mum took her last breath. ‘This is not a request. It’s already done. I need to be free to take a step back, because right now I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to spend a moment inside the restaurant again, when I know my love will not be there. To me, she was in the walls, in the flowers, in every dish that was placed on a table. Maybe one day that will be a comfort, but now it is just anotherway to break my heart. So take it… please. It’s what she would have wanted and what I want now too.’
‘But my brothers…’
Gino was one step ahead of him as always. ‘They’ll be compensated in other ways. We’ve never had much savings, but Bruno and Carlo will get this house and the proceeds from my life insurance policy. It’s all there in the document too.’
On a purely practical level, Dario could see it made sense. Bruno had been happy to break free from Gino’s when he’d moved abroad, and Carlo was already searching for premises to house the café that he’d always dreamt of opening. Matty was out of catering college and was more than capable of taking over from Dario in the kitchen on a permanent basis, allowing him to take his dad’s place managing the other aspects of the business. But still, it had made him ache inside.
‘Dad, I can’t…’ He didn’t see why things couldn’t just stay as they were, without the need for legalities. He could make the transition, take the burden off his dad, but leave the option open for Gino to change his mind.
However, the most stubborn man in Glasgow was taking no arguments. ‘And yet I’m asking you to do this for me, so you will.’
There was no budging him. For the next few weeks, Dario had worked until he was exhausted, making the necessary changes, covering every responsibility and overseeing the new structure, getting Matty up to speed and learning the things that had always been in his dad’s domain. And he’d got there. So when his dad had walked through the door a month later, his pressed suit back on, his debonaire appearance no different than it had been before, Dario had been happy to have him there. His reappearance was never discussed, because Dario understood.
‘To me, she was in the walls, in the flowers, in every dish that was placed on a table. Maybe one day that will be a comfort, but now it is just another way to break my heart.’
His dad had reached the stage where being in the restaurant brought him comfort, where the joy in the memories outweighed the pain and the distraction of the place he loved soothed his soul. Gino had changed his role, becoming only the host, doing what he did best, entertaining and serving his guests with joy and love, and then, only when he went home, did he lock the door and mourn his Alicia.
It had been that way from that day until now, and here he was, a seventy-nine-year-old man, who still came here every afternoon with a smile on his face. A smile that only dropped a little when he registered the mood in the office.
‘Why the long faces? It’s New Year’s Eve, we should be starting the celebrations.’
Dario felt his chest tighten, and wondered if this was how it felt when a heart attack was coming on.
Before he could reply, Matty stormed in behind his grandfather, still in his chef’s whites, his long black hair tied back from his face.
‘Have they told you yet?’
‘Matty, wait… Let your dad do this,’ Nicky intervened.
‘Fine. But let’s do it now,’ he said, leaning against the back wall, arms folded, but one finger tapping against his other forearm, showing his impatience.
Dario inhaled. Exhaled. ‘Dad, I need you to sit down. We need to talk.’
Gino waved him away. ‘Today is not for talking. Today is for dancing and eating and showing everyone a good time.’
Dario almost fell for the naivety, but there was a look in his dad’s eyes, a pucker in the lines on his forehead, that told Dario he knew exactly what was going on here and he had no intention of facing it. This was the same reaction his father had pulled out every single time Dario had broached the issues and challengesthat they were facing. Trouble was, now there was no getting away from it. This was crunch time.
‘Dad, you need to listen to me. Give me five minutes of your time. Five minutes. I’m asking you because I have no other choice.’
Gino’s face tightened and Dario recognised the look that had occasionally come the way of the brothers when they were younger and up to no good. Mum had always been the strict one. The disciplinarian. But if Dad made that face, then they knew that they’d crossed a line. Now Dario was a fifty-four year-old man and about to reveal just how far across the line they were.
