by Lucy Diamond
‘No way!’ Anna said. ‘Or rather, if you are, I’ll be with you. I haven’t got a clue. Pizza. Spaghetti. That’s about my limit.’
‘Prosecco,’ Catherine ventured.
‘Yeah, that too.’ Anna grinned. ‘Just listen to us, we’re practically fluent already.’
The classroom, when they found it, was already full of people. A slight blonde woman perched on a desk at the front – the teacher, Anna presumed. Sitting facing her were two young Asian women who just had to be sisters, one with pink streaks in her hair, the other with a rather sullen mouth. There was also an older lady with extremely glam scarlet cat-eye glasses, knitting something in sparkly pink wool, an older man next to her (husband and wife?), as well as two men – one young and mixed-race, who was playing some kind of game on his phone and not making eye contact with anyone, and another who was slightly older (thirty-something) with a scruffy mop of sandy-brown hair and an open, friendly face.
‘Is this the Italian class?’ Anna asked.
‘Si,’ said the lady at the front. Nervous energy crackled from her as she stood up. There was something elfin about her, with her pointy little chin, green eyes and blonde bob. ‘Buonasera, mi chiamo Sophie – my name is Sophie.’
Oh. She was English. Anna had assumed that the teacher would be Italian, but she actually sounded as if she was from Sheffield, rather than anywhere more exotic.
‘I’m Anna, and this is Catherine,’ Anna said hastily, hoping the disappointment didn’t show on her face.
‘Wonderful,’ Sophie said. ‘Have a seat. I think everyone’s here now. Let’s get cracking!’
The lesson began with a round of introductions, first from Sophie. ‘I might not seem very Italian to you,’ she said apologetically with a glance at Anna – damn, her dismay must have been obvious after all – ‘but let me assure you that I have been travelling and working in Italy for the last few years and love the language and culture almost as much as a real native. Perhaps we could start by going around the class with everyone saying their name and a little bit about why they’re here tonight.’
The elderly couple went first. ‘I’m Geraldine and this is Roy, my husband,’ the lady began, putting her knitting down and smiling at everyone. ‘We’re due to celebrate our ruby wedding anniversary this summer and have booked a package tour around Italy.’
‘We’ve always wanted to see the frescoes in Florence,’ Roy put in.
‘Pisa, Rome, Pompei, Naples … we’re doing the lot,’ Geraldine said. ‘It’s going to be our trip of a lifetime, isn’t it, Roy?’
His eyes shone adoringly at her through his thick spectacles. ‘It certainly is, love.’
‘Wonderful,’ Sophie said. ‘Well, welcome to the class, both of you! I’ll make sure you’re equipped with all the vocabulary you need before you go.’
‘As long as I know how to ask for a glass of port, I’ll be all set,’ Geraldine said, twinkling like a naughty schoolgirl.
Sophie grinned. ‘I think I should teach you how to order champagne if it’s your ruby wedding anniversary,’ she replied. ‘Who’s next?’
‘I’m George,’ said the guy with sandy hair. ‘And I’m here because of my New Year’s resolution – to use my brain a bit more. I don’t have any plans to go to Italy just now, but it would be great to order dinner in an Italian restaurant and understand what I was actually asking for.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Sophie told him. ‘Nice to have you here, George. How about you?’
She turned to Catherine who blushed scarlet. She had the sort of fair complexion in which colour rose very quickly. ‘I … I’ve got a bit more time on my hands now that … um … at the moment,’ she stammered. ‘And like George, I haven’t used my brain much recently.’
Everyone laughed, assuming she was joking, but Catherine clapped a hand to her mouth and looked mortified. ‘Oh gosh, I didn’t mean …’ she cried, as George pretended to look indignant. ‘I only meant … Oh, sorry.’ She gave a nervous giggle. ‘I’m sure you’re incredibly brainy, George. I’m the dunce around here. I can’t even speak English, let alone Italian, who am I trying to kid?’
‘Hey, I’ve been called worse,’ George replied easily. ‘You’ll have to try harder than that if you want to offend me.’
Catherine put her hands up to her red face. ‘You can tell I don’t get out much, can’t you? Hopeless!’
‘Not at all,’ Sophie told her kindly. ‘And it’s good to challenge yourself – brava! Who’s next … Ahh. Anna, is it? I recognize you from somewhere.’
Anna smiled. ‘I’m a journalist,’ she replied. ‘In my dreams I’m a Newsnight-standard political investigator, but in the real world I write the cookery column for the Herald.’
‘Of course! I knew there was something familiar about you. My mum loves your column,’ Sophie said. ‘And you’re here because …?’
‘Because I recently discovered I have some Italian ancestry,’ Anna said. ‘And I want to explore that; to look into the culture, learn the language. I’ve been trying my hand at Italian cookery too,’ she went on, feeling unusually shy as everyone gazed at her. ‘Working my way round to Prada and Versace,’ she joked. ‘Maybe via a Ferrari … I’ve got to embrace my inner Italian, right?’
Everyone laughed. ‘Too right,’ said the girl with pink hair, grinning.
‘Thanks, Anna,’ Sophie said. ‘Have you any plans to go out and meet your Italian family?’
Anna didn’t really want to get into the nitty-gritty of not exactly knowing her father yet, let alone any wider family. ‘Not at the moment,’ she said cagily.
‘Well, keep us posted,’ Sophie said, seeing her hesitation. ‘Who’s next? Freddie, is it?’
Freddie was the young dude, Mr Cool, sitting on his own at the back of the class. Very handsome in his black shirt, with the collars ironed into proper points, Anna noticed. Either he was still living with his mum or he was one of those rare guys who had high standards in personal grooming. Pete could do with a few hints there, she thought to herself. ‘I’m Freddie,’ he said in a husky drawl. ‘And I’m here because …’ He paused, suddenly looking shifty. ‘Um … Do I have to say? It’s kind of lame.’
Anna’s ears pricked up. Oy, oy. Mystery man, eh?
‘Of course you don’t,’ Sophie replied. ‘If you’d rather not tell us, that’s fine.’
Geraldine leaned over inquisitively. ‘Is it a girl?’ she asked.
Freddie’s coolness vanished in an instant and he shook his head, staring down at the desk. Anna exchanged a knowing smile with Catherine and Geraldine. It so was a girl, judging by the way Freddie pointedly refused to answer.
Sophie was frowning. ‘Freddie …’ she muttered thoughtfully. ‘Do I know you from somewhere? You’re not a famous journalist too, are you?’
He shook his head. ‘Nah. Still a student,’ he said.
‘Do you live near Ranmoor?’ Sophie tried. ‘I’ve definitely seen you around …’ Her face cleared. ‘Ahh – could it have been in the Gladstone Arms?’
He grinned sheepishly. ‘Probably,’ he said. ‘My parents live near there so I’ve been known to pop in.’
‘That must be it,’ Sophie said. ‘And snap – mine live round there too. Small world.’ She turned to the sisters. ‘And finally,’ she said. ‘Ladies?’
‘I’m Nita,’ said the rather sulky-faced girl, ‘and this is Phoebe, my sister. We’re here because …’ They exchanged a glance. ‘We think Italian is a beautiful language,’ Nita said unconvincingly.
Phoebe gave a snort. ‘Speak for yourself,’ she said. ‘I’m only here because she talked me into it. And she’s only here because she wants to meet sexy Italian men!’
It made everyone laugh, even Freddie, and any remaining ice was immediately broken. Sophie’s lips twitched. ‘Your secret’s safe with me,’ she promised Nita, who was now giving her sister total evil-eyes. ‘Don’t worry – what happens in Italian class stays in Italian class.’ She clapped her hands together. ‘Right – I
’d better teach you how to say hello to your sexy Italian men, then, hadn’t I? Let’s not waste any more time. Good evening and welcome!’
Anna arrived home that night tired but exhilarated. She’d really enjoyed the class. Sophie had seemed nervous at first, but quickly got into her stride once she started teaching them some vocabulary. Soon everyone was practising short, halting conversations in small groups. They’d learned basic greetings and introductions, numbers, days of the week and months, before finishing off with the words for different members of the family.
Anna had relished telling the class, ‘Mio padre si chiama Gino.’ It felt liberating saying the words out loud when she’d had to be so cloak and dagger around her mum and aunt recently. ‘Mia madre si chiama Tracey.’
‘Brava,’ Sophie smiled. ‘Your father is called Gino, your mother is called Tracey. Geraldine? How about you?’
All the way home, Anna let the new, unfamiliar words singsong through her head. Buongiorno. Come stai? Sto bene. Mi chiamo Anna. Come ti chiami?
As she let herself into the communal downstairs area of the building, she saw a small package addressed to her in the pile of post on the shelf. Her heart gave a jolt as she recognized her aunty Marie’s handwriting. Was it the photos from Rimini? She charged up the steps to her flat and let herself in before ripping through the carefully sellotaped packet.
It was the photos. Oh my goodness. Actual evidence of that Italian summer. She lowered herself onto the arm of the sofa and rifled through them shakily. One photo made her gasp out loud.
There was her mum in a bright red dress, posing with her arm around a man in a beachside restaurant. It was evening, her mum had lipstick and heels on, and looked young, pretty and extremely happy nestled against the man. He, meanwhile, was dark-haired, olive-skinned and smoulderingly handsome, with one hand resting possessively on Tracey’s waist.
Anna practically stopped breathing as she stared at him. He looked so like her she couldn’t drag her eyes away. It had to be her father. It just had to be.
‘Buonasera, Gino,’ she whispered, drinking in every detail of his face. She was almost afraid to blink in case the picture vanished while she wasn’t looking. ‘Buonasera, Papa.’
Chapter Fourteen
Che lavoro fai? – What do you do for a living?
Catherine had really enjoyed her first Italian lesson. Well, apart from insulting poor George by saying he hadn’t used his brain recently, of course. Thankfully she managed not to put her foot in it for the remaining time, and her classmates were all still speaking to her by the end. Over the next few days, she practised her new vocabulary around the house, in the car, and while she was mulching the garden. She even surprised the postman with a bright ‘Buongiorno!’ when he knocked with a parcel.
By the time a week had gone by and she was on her way back to the college for lesson number two, she felt quite excited about learning more.
‘Buonasera!’ cried Sophie as Catherine walked into the classroom. ‘Come estai, Catherine?’
‘Sto bene, grazie,’ Catherine replied shyly. I’m well, thanks. ‘How are you? I mean, Come estai?’
‘Sto bene,’ Sophie replied. ‘Have a seat while we wait for the others.’
Sophie looked very fragile, Catherine thought in concern. She’d noticed last week as well. There were dark rings under her eyes and her wrists were too thin, poking out of her jumper sleeves like knobbly twigs. She was just about to ask if everything really was bene when the rest of the class began arriving.
‘Evening, ladies,’ said Geraldine, coming in on a waft of Chanel. Geraldine had style, with her lovely cobalt-blue coat and heels, and a huge glossy black handbag, the sort that would knock out any would-be muggers with a single wallop. ‘Goodness, it’s chilly out there, isn’t it? Meant to snow tonight, according to the radio. I think we’ll have to get the extra duvet out later, Roy.’
‘I think you’re right, dear,’ he said, following in her wake. He winked at Catherine and Sophie. ‘I agree with everything she says, you know,’ he whispered loudly. ‘That’s how come we’re going to be celebrating our forty years this summer.’
‘That’s the secret, is it?’ Sophie laughed. ‘I’ll bear that in mind if I ever find myself a husband. As long as he knows he has to agree with everything I say, we’ll be laughing. Hello, Anna! Hi, George, come on in.’
Once everyone had arrived, exclaiming over the cold and taking off their coats and scarves, the second lesson began.
‘Tonight we’re going to learn a few more Italian words and sentences so that you can start having longer conversations,’ Sophie said. ‘And we’ll all find out a bit more about each other in the process.’ She turned to the board and chalked up some words. ‘Che lavoro fai?’ she said. ‘This means, what job do you do?’
Catherine’s stomach gave a lurch. What job? She didn’t have a job! What was she supposed to say?
‘So, Phoebe, let’s start with you. Che lavoro fai? What job do you do?’
Phoebe twiddled a long strand of hair around her finger. The pink streaks had gone, Catherine noticed, replaced by a striking dip-dye look, with red now colouring the lower six inches of her hair. “I’m a hairdresser,” she replied.
‘Ahh, una parrucchiera,’ Sophie told her, writing up the words. ‘I should have guessed. So you would reply “Sono parrucchiera” – that means “I am a hairdresser”. Who’s next?’
They went around the class with everyone telling Sophie their occupations. Of course, the other students had far more interesting lives than Catherine. Anna, as she already knew, was a giornalista. Nice George who she’d insulted was a gardener – a giardiniere. Nita and Freddie were students, Roy was a retired teacher, and Geraldine had been a nurse. ‘I’m doing a bit of am-dram now though, to keep myself busy,’ she told the class, eyes twinkling. ‘So tell me, Sophie, how do I say, “I am an actress”?’
As everyone spoke, Catherine felt herself grow hotter and hotter and was hardly able to concentrate on what they were saying. Help! What on earth was she going to reply? Oh, me? I’m a divorced housewife. Too stupid to get a job. Who’d employ me?
‘And finally, Catherine,’ Sophie said with a smile. ‘Tell us what you do for a living. Che lavoro fai?’
Catherine opened her mouth, wishing she could come out with something impressive. ‘I’m …’ A string of lies popped temptingly into her head. I’m a trapeze artist. I’m a surgeon. I’m an astronaut. But no. Her poker face was terrible. They’d all think she was mad if she started lying so blatantly. ‘I’m just a mum,’ she said in the end, with a little laugh. ‘I don’t really … I haven’t actually …’
Geraldine leaned forward, trying to catch her eye. ‘Hardest job in the world,’ she put in staunchly, rescuing her. ‘No “just a mum” about it.’
‘Too right,’ Sophie said. ‘My mum says the same. Especially having had a daughter like … Anyway.’ She stopped herself. ‘So you can say “Sono madre” – I am a mother. How many children do you have, Catherine?’
‘Two,’ Catherine mumbled, feeling a complete loser. Any minute now Sophie would ask how old they were and she’d have to say eighteen, nearly nineteen, they’ve left home actually, and everyone would know she wasn’t some nice stay-at-home mummy doing the school run and baking biscuits with her tots.
‘Sono madre,’ Sophie wrote on the board. ‘Io ho due bambini. Okay? I am a mother. I have two children.’
Catherine’s face flamed as she repeated the Italian words. She wished now she’d mentioned her voluntary work, instead of being so apologetic about her life. It was all about the manner, she reminded herself. Penny didn’t have a job – she looked after the house and kids and dogs, in between tennis, shopping trips and lunches. Would Penny have spoken like that, so self-effacing, so weak? No way. Penny would have made everyone laugh with her answer. Penny would probably have asked Sophie to translate ‘party animal’, or called herself a ‘domestic slave’ with a comical, long-suffering look. She wouldn’t have m
ade excuses for her life.
After conversing about their jobs in small groups, Sophie moved the lesson on to something even more excruciating.
‘So, we’ve found out that Catherine has two children,’ she said, flashing her a smile. ‘What other questions can we ask each other?’
‘Are you married?’ Roy suggested, putting up his hand.
‘Where are you from?’ said Anna.
‘Are you single?’ said Nita.
‘All good questions that might come up in conversation,’ Sophie said. ‘Let’s start with marital status. Sei sposata?’ She wrote the words up on the board. ‘That means “Are you married?” To say “Yes, I’m married” is …’
Oh help. This was a nightmare! Was she really going to have to answer this? No, I’m not married. My husband walked out on me. Never loved me, apparently. Yes, I might have a wedding ring on my finger but it turns out the whole thing was a sham!
Catherine stood up abruptly. She didn’t mean to but her legs suddenly pushed the chair back and she was on her feet. ‘I’m just nipping to the loo,’ she lied, rushing towards the door.
‘Oh,’ Sophie said in surprise. ‘Well, we’ve got a coffee break coming up in ten minutes, so …’
Catherine didn’t stop. ‘I’ll be right back,’ she called over her shoulder, making her escape.
Out in the corridor she leaned against the cool wall and put her head in her hands. What would Penny do now? she wondered desperately. Her friend would probably brazen out the whole ‘Are you married?’ question in typical Penny style, she thought. ‘What’s the Italian for useless bastard?’ she’d quip, making everyone laugh with her withering eyes-to-heaven look. She might even flash her blingy new engagement ring around. ‘What’s the Italian for third time lucky?’ she’d say, wiggling her fourth finger.
Catherine couldn’t do that, though. Penny was Penny, and Catherine was Catherine, both cut from different cloth. She should just go back in there and face the music. She didn’t even have to tell the truth about this stupid ‘Are you married?’ question anyway. What did Sophie and the rest of them care? She could jolly well say, ‘Yes, I’m married,’ without having to go into the grisly details.
