Page 72 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

‘Grazie,Zia Lucy.Grazie.’

A warm, fuzzy feeling engulfed Lucy at the word, ‘Zia’. No one had ever called her ‘Aunt’ before.

Within seconds the ribbon and the gift wrap were flung on the floor, revealing a Celtic Football Club hoodie and signed football.

Stefano gasped, bug-eyed.

‘Celtic. This is my brother’s team,’ Lucy said, pulling the garment over his head. ‘Perfect fit.’

Stefano checked himself in the hall mirror, chanting, ‘Celtic! Celtic!’ like a battle cry.

All at once the wind chime rattled, swiftly followed by the whoosh and thud of the front door.

‘Madonna mia!’Dario’s voice sounded unusually high.

‘Celtic! Celtic!’

‘What?’ Dario marched into the kitchen, Stefano in tow.

‘Who is responsible for this?’ he said, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Lucy hesitantly raised her arm.

‘Allora,Signorina Anderson, this is an act of treason against Napoli. Do you understand?’

‘I understand.’

‘I therefore sentence you to one day’s hard labour at the Morettiteashop, where you must serve tea and… how you say?’ – he paused, adopting his best English pronunciation – ‘“mince pies” to five hundred customers single-handedly.Allora,is that clear?’

Lucy studied her feet, shoulders shaking. ‘Ho capito,Signor Bianchi.’

Elena rubbed her fingers across her forehead. ‘Joking apart, I shouldn’t have let you persuade me. It’s too much work on your own…’

‘Stop fussing, Elena. I told you, I’ll…’ Lucy’s voice trailed off as her mobile rang out.

She slid her finger across the screen.

‘Jamie!’

‘Hey, Sis. Just wanted to wish you all, over there in Italy, a happy festive season from us in snowy Scotland.’

His phone panned across the magnificent wilderness of the Cairngorm mountain range.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Stefano eagerly jumped into view.

‘Hi, wee man. You’ll be Stefano, then? I’ve heard a lot about you.’

The boy smiled coyly.

‘And I see you support my football team. Have you ever been to Scotland?’

Stefano shook his head, daring to look up through his impossibly long lashes at this wild man of the mountains, sporting a bushy copper beard and fur trapper hat.

‘Maybe one day your mum will let you visit, and we can go to a Celtic match, eh?’

Stefano nodded, eyes as big as pizza pies.

Lucy pointed the phone at Elena. ‘Why not ask her yourself, Jamie?’