Page 5

T alk about a rude awakening. The first thing I see after groping for my phone in the pitch dark is a dozen Giulios grinning down at me from the collage on the wall, illuminated by the glow of my screen – like he’s been mocking me even in my sleep.

I yelp at the time, cursing myself for setting the shutters to wartime blackout mode to block out Giulio’s existence. Problem is, these are heavy-duty Italian shutters – they don’t let in any heat, any light...or any inkling that I’ve massively overslept and it’s practically midday.

I throw on the first outfit I find and thunder downstairs, almost taking Giulio out as I fly through the door connecting the apartment to the bar.

He grabs my upper arms to steady me and my skin prickles at the unexpected touch of his skin against mine.

He’s like a stinging nettle, I think darkly, taking a step back to put some distance between us.

His eyes flick to the wall clock, then to my unbrushed hair and wrinkled T-shirt. ‘Nice of you to join us, Scotland.’

Scotland? Uffa! Can’t he say anything without reminding me I’m an outsider?

It’s the first English word I’ve heard him say, but his Italian accent wraps around it, making it sound warm and tropical. Nina said he’s not interested in learning the language. Maybe I can use that. In Scotland, Italian can be a handy secret language. Here, English could be the same...

‘You missed the breakfast rush,’ he adds, nodding towards the dirty cups and plates cluttering the sink area.

I fake an apologetic smile. ‘You’re right. I should have been here. Why don’t you take a break now and come back in, say...’ I look at the clock, too. ‘September?’

I mentally pat myself on the back for saying this in Italian, even if I’m not sure it was entirely correct.

‘Livia!’ Ma, who has been wiping tables outside, points the nozzle of the spray cleaner at me as she comes back in. ‘Behave! Giulio has been a lifesaver this morning. He’s even taken Nina her lunch already.’

Great – now Nina will think I’m lazy, as well as a pale misfit who desperately needs Italian lessons.

Giulio moves to the glasswasher but, determined to show him I belong here as much as he does, I snatch an apron from a hook on the back wall and, tying it firmly around my waist, nudge him aside. ‘Leave that. I’ve got it covered.’

Giulio’s lips quirk upwards in what I can only describe as a wicked smile as he ever-so-slowly looks me up and down. ‘Sure about that? Because, from where I’m standing, it’s pretty obvious you don’t have anything covered at all.’

I frown in confusion. Then my face flames to the very tips of my ears. Ommioddio. I’m wearing one of those novelty aprons I’ve seen outside tourist shops; the ones that make you look like a naked statue wearing nothing but fig leaves. This one happens to be of a woman.

‘A couple of backpackers left it here last week,’ Giulio says. ‘They’re probably long gone, so feel free to keep it...it’ll save you buying your own.’

I fold my arms across my chest, covering myself up and expressing my annoyance in one go.

Uff! I hate this boy. He sounds SO reasonable on the surface, so kind.

Thoughtful, even, with his whole Here, Livia, have a spoon for your pasta.

Hey, Livia, why don’t you keep that tacky tourist apron?

You know, Livia, I’m more than happy to hold the fort and feed your grandmother while you lie in bed.

Ugh! Well, Ma and Nina might have fallen for his charm, but I can read between the lines. And it goes something like this: You’re just a lazy turista and you’ll never be one of us, Livia. And, by the way, you stink of cheese.

I resist the urge to do something murderous with the apron strings, and channel my Inner Isla instead.

I give Giulio the same slow head-to-toe once-over he just gave me, making sure to look unimpressed – which means ignoring Inner Isla’s inconvenient observations about how the apron he’s wearing is tied tight enough to show off his swimmer’s body, and how he looks like he’s stepped right out of a billboard ad for Armani Exchange or some other Italian brand.

‘You should get the apron that has Michelangelo’s David on it. It would be...you know...a big improvement.’ I let the dig hang in the air between us. That particular statue is the symbol of youthful male beauty. But far from being put out, Giulio’s cow eyes gleam with mischief.

‘Or I could just wear a fig leaf and achieve the same effect.’

‘Ha! You wish!’

I spin to face the huge La Cimbali coffee machine on the ledge behind me, and pretend to inspect the dials and switches while my cheeks cool down. The oversized hunk of metal vibrates with a low hum that does nothing to mask Giulio’s soft chuckle as he moves away.

‘It’s so nice to see you two getting along,’ Ma murmurs.

My spine stiffens. While Italian is my default with Ma – something she’s insisted on since I was tiny – I switch to English so I can insult Giulio freely. ‘What? Me get on with that smug, arrogant, rude—’

‘OK, OK! Scusami .’ Ma laughs.

She’s not sorry at all. Her lips are pressed together as if she’s suppressing a smile, and I just know she’s going to tell Pa I couldn’t even go a full day in Rome without flirting with some Italian boy – which is NOT what was happening at all.

I’m about to snap back when an elderly signora walks into the bar. Ma drops to the floor as if someone’s just taken aim at her.

‘Wha—?’

Ma holds up a finger and mouths, ‘You didn’t see me!’ Then she crawls commando-style to the door at the end of the counter and disappears upstairs.

I’m still gawping after her when the source of Ma’s vanishing trick approaches the counter.

Her small head, barrel-shaped body and short skinny legs remind me of a robin, an overgrown one wearing a flowery blouse and knee-length black skirt.

Milky blue eyes peer out at me from deep wrinkles.

‘Ah, now who is this bella ragazza , Giulio?’

I squirm at being called pretty, especially when I rolled out of bed five minutes ago. And why can no one over the age of seventy speak to me directly here?

‘Salve , Signora Pedretti,’ Giulio shouts in her ear. ‘This is—’

‘Aspetta! Don’t tell me...’ She flattens her hand against Giulio’s chest, making me squirm a little, then narrows her eyes until they almost disappear. ‘I know this girl, don’t I? She looks...familiar.’

‘I don’t think we’ve met before,’ I say.

Signora Pedretti claps her hands together. ‘Ah, but you are not from here!’

Ouch. Signora Pedretti isn’t just my first customer; she’s the first person I’ve spoken Italian to outside of my family and Giulio. And it only took a handful of words for her to clock my accent. My body crumples as I exhale. Maybe I do need those Italian classes after all.

She continues to scrutinize me, then her gaze darts to my nose, and her mouth drops open in recognition. ‘Ah! Dio mio! You’re Caterina’s daughter! Where is your mamma? I need to have a word with her.’

‘She’s upstairs,’ Giulio answers.

‘She just stepped out,’ I blurt, my words overlapping his.

Signora Pedretti arches a brow and I laugh nervously.

‘So . . . what can I get you, Signora?’

She studies me for a while longer. ‘ Eh, vabbè. Un caffè, per favore.’

I don’t ask what kind of coffee she wants. Un caffè means one thing, and one thing only – an espresso.

I turn back to the hulk of chrome, a flutter of anxiety in my chest.

‘First, make sure the portafilter’s clean.’ The unexpected sound of Giulio’s voice in my ear sends a rash of goosebumps skittering up the back of my neck. I have a definite allergy to this boy, I think, as he passes me a device with a long black handle.

‘Then tap it out, wipe it down and fill it with coffee – you’ll need to grind some, it’s been busy.

’ He gestures towards one of the many switches, and I follow his instructions, focusing on all the new Italian words I’m learning and trying to ignore his closeness as I tamp down the freshly ground coffee and lock the portafilter into place.

‘Now, start the machine.’ Giulio points to another switch and pushes his long body away from the counter. ‘OK from here? I need to sort out the tables and...well...you should take full credit for your first caffè .’

A rich dark liquid starts flowing into the doll-sized cup and I breathe in the intense, full-bodied aroma. Ahh. Perfect! So why do I get the feeling there’s something ominous behind Giulio’s words – something lurking between the lines, as usual?

I watch him from under my lashes as I set a tiny saucer and teaspoon on the counter.

He’s so at home here, trading jokes with the shop owner next door as he restocks the sugar sticks and sweeteners outside.

But he keeps glancing over at me and I can’t help thinking he’s like a tomcat guarding his territory.

I place the espresso in front of Signora Pedretti. OK. It was hardly rocket science, and I didn’t get to try any coffee art, but it’s a start. A good one.

Signora Pedretti takes a cautious sip, her lips puckering immediately. ‘Have you changed coffee supplier?’

‘Umm...is there a problem?’ A twist of anxiety knots my stomach when I spot Giulio’s blank expression – I’ve known him less than a day, but I know that face means he’s up to something.

Signora Pedretti puffs out her chest, feathers clearly ruffled. ‘It tastes like dirty water!’

Giulio steps forward, all apologetic charm. ‘Please, forgive Livia. She must have made the coffee grind too coarse. As you said, she’s not from here and still has a lot to learn. Let me make you a proper one.’

I clench my jaw, fighting to keep my cool as he expertly makes another caffè – just like he planned all along.

This time, Signora Pedretti takes a sip and smacks her lips. ‘ Bravo , Giulio. It is perfetto .’

She leans in, mistaking my fury for disappointment. ‘You’ll get the hang of it, cara . Giulio has made countless cups...he’s never away from the place. Perhaps he’ll take some time off now you’re here, see his friends.’

‘Sadly, my friends are all at the coast or abroad, Signora, enjoying the holiday before school.’ He nods in my direction. ‘And I think I’m needed here more than anywhere else.’

If Signora Pedretti hears me grinding my teeth down to little stumps, she shows no sign of it as she drains her cup, hops off her stool and calls over her shoulder on her way out.

‘My god-daughter Flaminia was saying the same thing, Giulio. She’s stuck in the city, too. You two should get together.’

‘What do you think, Scotland?’ Giulio asks when Signora Pedretti disappears from view.‘Would Flaminia like me...or would she find me smug, arrogant and rude?’

I freeze. He heard what I said to Ma. Worse. He understood me.

‘We can speak in your language if that’s easier for you,’ Giulio says in perfect accented English. ‘At least until you’ve been to a few Italian classes.’

I could froth milk with the steam coming out of my ears.

That. Is. It. No more English. Not a word. Not with Giulio. Not with anyone. Except Isla, I quickly amend. There’s no way I’m surviving this summer without her.