by Helen Pryke
I took a pleasant walk down to the village, along the quiet country road lined with trees that were so overgrown, it was like walking through a tunnel. It was early, and there was no noise of traffic, just the occasional dog barking and the flapping of wings when a bird suddenly flew away as I approached. The cool breeze was pleasant on my skin, and I breathed in deeply, relishing the clean mountain air filling my lungs.
Gallicano was as pretty as I remembered it from the day before, passing through in the taxi. It was a typical Italian village, with houses made out of local stone and wooden shutters at the windows. All around the main piazza were small shops and bars with tables and chairs out on the pavement. There were apartments above the shops, and it appeared that not a metre of space was wasted in Italy. Baskets of flowers hung off the balconies, giving it all a very Mediterranean look.
I stopped at the first bar I found, passing by a row of elderly gentlemen sitting on chairs along the wall, who were gesticulating and shouting so loudly that it seemed a fight would break out at any moment. Then they all burst out laughing, slapping each other on the shoulders. Bemused, I went in and ordered myself an espresso, sighing deeply as the caffeine entered my bloodstream.
Next on my list was stocking up on food and cleaning supplies, so I went into the grocery store next door. Ignoring the shelves of wine and liquor, I filled my shopping basket with boxes of pasta, cartons of milk, various pasta sauces and cleaning materials, then approached the counter. Now’s the time to try out my Italian, I thought nervously. I took a deep breath and…
“Excuse me, do you need some help?” said a very English voice in perfect English. I turned around, irritated, ready to snap that I was more than capable of doing it myself. My voice failed as I saw the man standing behind me. Tall, dark and handsome is how they usually describe the hero in a romance novel, and it described him to a T. I added relaxed, casually dressed, with almond-brown eyes and sexy stubble for a slightly more accurate description of him.
“Ah, oh, it’s OK,” I stammered. “I-I’m new here, I arrived yesterday, up at the cottage, I just needed some supplies…”
“Let me help.” He turned and spoke in Italian to the lady behind the counter. She laughed at something he said, and took my basket from me.
“Do you speak Italian?” he asked.
“Oh yes. My mum always spoke to me in Italian when I was little. I was actually looking forward to seeing how much I can remember.”
“Oops,” he said, laughing. “I’ll let you take it from here, then.” He stepped back.
I handed over my euros – admittedly, I had some trouble understanding the numbers but with the lady’s help and a bit of fumbling, I managed to pay eventually and left the shop with a couple of heavy bags of groceries. I stood in the piazza, debating whether to go straight home or to the bar for another coffee.
“My name’s Mark, by the way,” Sexy Stubble Guy said, suddenly appearing next to me.
“Oh, OK. Hi Mark,” I said, feeling like an idiot. “I’m Jennifer.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jennifer.” He held out his hand. As I shook it, I noticed a woman standing nearby who looked up, startled.
“Jennifer?” she called out. “Your mother phoned and said you were coming, but she didn’t say when. I’m your Aunt Liliana. Ah, I am so happy you’ve arrived at long last! But the cottage… it’s a disaster, we wanted to get it ready for you… you must have thought we were terrible, terrible people…”
Her Italian was very fast but somehow I managed to keep up. Finally, my chance to speak the lingo.
“No, no,” I said hastily. “I only arrived last night, the cottage was fine. I’m going to clean it up today. That’s why I’m here, I had to buy some things.”
“I will help you,” she declared firmly, leaving me with no option but to accept her offer. After just a few minutes, I was already feeling overwhelmed by this friendly woman.
“We’ll go get the others. We will all come to help, and you can meet the rest of your family.”
I sighed. So much for some quiet time for reflection. I fixed a smile on my face. “That would be lovely.” I turned to Mark. “I’m sorry,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “I’ve got to go. We’ll chat another time, maybe?”
A shadow passed across his face, and then he smiled at me. “Sure, no problem. You said you’re staying at the cottage, right? That one outside the village? I’ve heard lots about it.” He winked. “Anyway, here’s my number too, in case we miss each other. The next time you’re in the village, call me and we can meet up.”
I took his business card. “OK. I’ll be in touch.”
Aunt Liliana dragged me across the square and led me along a narrow road that quickly became a steep slope, chattering the whole time. She marched sprightly up the street and I tried to keep up with her, but soon had to rest. I put my bags down and leant against the wall of a house, gasping, trying to get my breath back and stop the trembling in my legs. She turned and looked at me, a huge smile on her face.
“Oh, you tourists, it’s always the same! You’ll get used to the climb, although your legs will ache for a few days.” She burst out laughing. “Come on, it’s not far now.”
I grunted and forced myself into motion once more, my calves complaining the whole time. Her house was in one of the back streets, right at the top of the slope. I puffed my way up the road as she opened the front door and waited impatiently.
“Come in, come in, prego, they are all here, I’ll introduce you…”
I was greeted by a chorus of Italian salutations and enveloped in hugs and kisses, my ears filled with loud exclamations and a chaotic jumble of people all talking at once. Bewildered, I tried to join in enthusiastically but ended up just standing there, grinning insanely at everyone, completely lost for words.
Aunt Liliana soon took control of the situation. “That’s enough, everyone. Look at poor Jennifer, she can hardly think for all the confusion you are making. Come, let’s go and sit down.” Everyone stood back as I trailed after her into the kitchen, blushing furiously.
“Now I introduce you properly, one at a time,” she declared, glaring at the others. I put a hand over my mouth to cover a smile, amused by their contrite faces. I’d heard of the Italian matriarch, but it was quite something to see one in action.
The rest of the family turned out to be Uncle Dante, Aunt Liliana’s long-suffering husband who didn’t seem to speak much but just nodded in agreement with his wife, and their grown-up children Lorenzo, Davide and his wife Giulia, whose 8-year-old daughter Beatrice was at school, and Agnese. I noticed that Davide’s wife, Giulia was pregnant, her bump showing under her cotton dress, and I felt a small wave of jealousy wash over me. I pushed it away and tried to concentrate on the introductions.
“This isn’t our whole family, we have more relatives down in the valley but we rarely see them since my mother died.” Aunt Liliana sniffed in disdain, as though it were a disgrace to have such a small group gathered together in one place. I was secretly grateful there were only six of them, I could hardly imagine what it would have been like if everyone had turned up.
“And there’s Mario,” Lorenzo added. “He lives over the other side of the village, but we don’t see much of him either.”
“Mario prefers his own company,” Aunt Liliana explained in a dismissive tone. “I’m sure you’ll meet him eventually.”
“You will stay for lunch.” Uncle Dante’s booming voice startled me, it was the first time he’d spoken.
“Oh no, I couldn’t, it’s too much…” I started, but I was soon drowned out by the rest of them.
“Of course you must, we were going to eat together anyway and one more person won’t hurt. You can tell us all about England, about your mother… we haven’t seen her for such a long time… we speak on the phone but it’s not the same… it’s a shame your great-grandmother Luisa is no longer with us, she would have loved to have seen you…” and on and on it went, like being buried under a ton of ear
th.
Aunt Liliana busied herself with the pots and pans on the stove, and Agnese took an extra set of cutlery and plates through to the dining table. I resigned myself to not getting any work done in the house that day, and started to relax and enjoy myself.
The food was exquisite, spaghetti Bolognese with a home-made sauce, followed by tender roast pork drizzled with the cooking juices, and sautéed courgettes that, I was informed, had been freshly picked that morning. There was never a lull in the conversation, everyone chatted easily together while they ate. I watched as they broke every rule I’d ever been taught in England: talking with their mouths full, using their knives to scrape up sauce and then lick them, breaking a chunk of bread off the loaf and wiping it around their plates, leaning on their elbows, laughing and joking. Aunt Liliana prided herself as a wonderful cook, and told me every detail of the preparation process, while I copied my cousins and broke off a piece of home-made bread to mop up the delicious pasta sauce left on the plate.
I mostly listened as they talked about their lives, jobs, and living in the mountains, secretly envious of their simple lifestyle and lack of concern about material things. It was like going fifty years back in the past, to an easier way of life. I wondered if that was the magic Mum had spoken about.
“So, how are you finding the cottage?” Giulia asked. “We wanted to give it a clean before you arrived, but we got confused with the dates. We didn’t think you were arriving for another two weeks.”
“I only got here late yesterday evening,” I said, hastily swallowing a mouthful of courgettes. “I haven’t had a chance to do anything yet. I had a look around this morning, and everything seems OK. There’s no gas or electricity, though.”
“Oh, we’ll sort that out for you. Davide will phone straight after lunch and get it switched on, won’t you?”
“Of course, it should take a couple of days at the most. You have water, yes? I think Dante turned it on last week.”
“Oh yes, that’s working fine. There’s a wood-burning stove, but I have no idea how to use it.” I looked hopefully at them. If part of my new lifestyle meant cooking on that stove, then I’d have to learn how to operate it.
“I will show you how,” Aunt Liliana said. “It’s easy when you get the hang of it.”
“Great, at least I can have a coffee in the morning, then.”
“Ah, a true Italian.” Lorenzo nudged his brother. “You see, Davide, I told you she would be more Italian than English. Look how she ate her pasta, and now she says she loves coffee!”
They all started talking at once again, this time about the pros and cons of being either English or Italian. I let their insults about English food and coffee go unchallenged, sensing that it would be pointless to get into an argument about it. Especially when most of what they said was true. Agnese glanced over at me and shrugged apologetically. I smiled back at her, trying to let her know I wasn’t offended. I liked Agnese; she seemed very shy and hardly spoke, but I’d have bet anything she wouldn’t let anyone take advantage of her gentle personality.
“So, tell me about my grandmother,” I said, when I managed to get a word in. We had finished eating and sat companionably around the table waiting for the coffee percolator to boil, as if we’d been doing it all our lives.
“Do you mean Luisa, your great-grandmother?” Giulia asked.
“Oh, Mum’s told me all about her. I mean, of course I’d like to hear more, but I’m curious about my grandmother too.”
“Bruna?” Agnese asked. The room suddenly fell silent.
“Yes. Mum said she left here when she was twenty-one, that she went to live in England. I don’t remember her much, she died when I was little. She’s never really talked a lot about her.”
Aunt Liliana ran her hand through her grey hair. “Well, let’s see…”
“Hush, woman, we don’t need to talk about that,” Uncle Dante said abruptly.
“But…”
He slammed his fist down on the table. “I said no,” he roared. “Go get the coffee, and no more talk of these things.”
I stared at him, shocked. Everyone else pretended to ignore him, although the cheerful chatter of a few moments earlier was gone.
Aunt Liliana nudged me. “Take no notice,” she said quietly. “Did you enjoy your lunch?” she asked as she went into the kitchen.
“Yes, it was delicious,” I exclaimed, my voice sounding unnaturally loud. I had no idea what was going on, but I didn’t dare ask any more questions about the family. The tension broken, normal conversation resumed.
Aunt Liliana returned with a tray of steaming coffee cups and passed them around the table. Uncle Dante brought out a bottle of grappa, and added a generous dash to his coffee cup. He glanced at me and raised his eyebrows, offering the bottle.
I managed to find an inner strength, even though my whole body was crying out for the bottle. “N-no thanks, I prefer my coffee as it is.”
He grunted in reply and handed the bottle to Davide and Lorenzo. I turned my head and started talking to Giulia, trying not to breathe in the alcoholic fumes as they wafted over the table. With lunch finally over, the women got up and cleared the table while the men sat on the sofa and talked politics.
When we’d finished tidying up, Aunt Liliana gathered together a huge bag of cleaning materials. “Tomorrow, the girls and I will come up to the cottage and help you sort it out,” she declared.
“Oh no,” I protested. “That’s not necessary.”
“Nonsense, Agnese, Giulia and I will give you a hand.”
I looked at the others helplessly. “But Giulia’s pregnant.”
“I’ll only do light work,” she promised me.
I gave in gracefully, it was the only way.
Chapter Three
The family turned up bright and early the next morning, full of energy and loaded with bags of bleach, polish, rags and detergents. I’d already made a start in the kitchen and scrubbed down the table and work surfaces so I had somewhere clean to eat.
My first priority was learning to use the wood-burning stove as my caffeine deficiency was causing me considerable problems. Aunt Liliana bravely took on the task of teaching me.
“Come on, Jennifer, I’ve already shown you three times how to turn it on, it’s not that difficult.” She stood back with folded arms, watching as I attempted to copy her actions. But try as I might, I couldn’t do it. I managed to get the scrunched-up balls of newspaper lit, but every time I shut the door the flames slowly died out. Agnese and Giulia tried to keep a straight face, while Aunt Liliana became more and more agitated. They took turns showing me how to open the grate to control the air flow, but it was beyond me.
“I’ll just use the cooker when the gas is back on, it’ll be easier in the long run,” I muttered, wanting to give the stove a kick. I decided I’d google it later on and see if I could work it out on my own.
“I’ve brought a thermos of coffee, I’ll make one up every morning until you’ve got gas and electricity again,” Agnese said, producing a huge flask from her handbag.
“Oh, Agnese, you’re a saviour,” I cried. “Coffee before we start, then?”
The day passed in a blur as we dusted, tidied up, washed windows, furniture and everything that could be washed and threw away anything that couldn’t, stopping only for a quick sandwich at lunchtime. We started in the kitchen and living room, working our way around. Aunt Liliana was a fantastic organiser and kept us in line, giving us each a task and not letting us rest until we’d finished it, only to assign us the next one. But it worked, and by the end of the day the downstairs was looking a lot better.
“Tomorrow we’ll do the corridor and the pantry, then we will start upstairs,” she declared.
“Oh yes, the pantry. I’ve seen inside, what was it used for?” I asked, curious to find out. “And why isn’t there a window?”
“That’s the herb room, where Luisa stored all her… what would you call them…? Herbal remedies,” Agnese replied.
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“What?” I was even more confused.
“She was a healer, the last one of the family,” Aunt Liliana said.
“A healer?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, it was just an old woman’s hobby,” she said hastily.
It took us a week to clean the cottage. Every morning the three women arrived and we worked until late afternoon. I had gas, electricity and a basic internet connection after only a couple of days, helped by the fact that Giulia’s sister worked for the local council and knew the right people to contact. She was a lifesaver, as I couldn’t get the hang of the wood-burning stove at all. Giulia, on light cleaning duties as she was pregnant, took over cooking for us at lunchtime, and every day we sat down to an enormous plate of pasta with delicious, home-made sauces. I hoped all the cleaning would counterbalance the calories I was consuming every day.
One afternoon I stood outside the back door with Agnese, breathing in the fresh mountain air and enjoying a few moments of quiet. Our chores done for the day, we were waiting for Giulia and Aunt Liliana to finish tidying up.
“How come the cottage has two entrances?” I asked Agnese. “Isn’t it a little unusual, having such a grand drive leading up to the back of the house?”
“That’s because it was originally part of a large manor,” Agnese replied. “This whole area was ruled over by the Innocenti family, who were very powerful up until about a hundred years ago. The cottage was linked to the main house by the drive, but the house was torn down, I don’t know when. Only the cottage remained… it’s been a part of our family ever since the dawn of time, as far as I know.”
“Haven’t you ever looked into your family’s history? It sounds interesting,” I remarked.
Agnese did that typical Italian shrug I was starting to recognise. “It’s never really crossed my mind. Why don’t you do it? It might give you something to do while you’re here.”
