Meet Lina

by Sally Rippin

  Like Mrs Doveton, Mr Doveton was very handsome and very stylish. Everything about Mary’s parents seemed sparkling, fresh and new.

  Lina thought of her own parents. They had been beautiful once. And perhaps even stylish – Lina had seen photographs of them when they were still young, in Italy. In one, Lina’s father had his arms around her mother’s waist and she had her head thrown back in laughter. It was Lina’s favourite. She rarely saw her mother laugh these days.

  ‘Well, I thought I should warn you that it’s getting close to dinner time,’ Mr Doveton said. ‘Why don’t you stay, Lina? Mary’s mum is cooking Tuna Mornay.’

  Oh dear, Lina thought. It must be late! ‘I’d love to, Mr Doveton, but . . .’

  ‘I’m serving frozen peas, too!’ Mrs Doveton called out from the kitchen. ‘And tinned corn, Mary’s favourites. And we have a Sara Lee cheesecake for dessert, Lina.’

  ‘Thank you, but I’d better go,’ Lina said, even though she couldn’t think of anything nicer than staying a little longer in Mary’s beautiful home. ‘I promised Nonna, I mean my grandmother, that I would help her with dinner. Could you possibly show me where the nearest bus stop is, Mr Doveton? My mum will be home from work soon and she’ll be cross if I’m not there before she is.’

  ‘Don’t be a duffer,’ said Mr Doveton, smiling. ‘I’ll drive you home. Where do you live?’

  ‘Carlton,’ said Lina.

  ‘Oh,’ said Mr Doveton. ‘I thought you’d live around here. Gosh, that’s a bit of a trek for you to get to school each morning, isn’t it?’

  Lina shrugged, feeling a little uneasy. That’s the second person today who’s commented on where I live, she thought.

  ‘Not to worry,’ said Mr Doveton. ‘Put my dinner in the oven, darling,’ he told Mrs Doveton. ‘I’ll be back soon.’

  Lina felt bad that she was making Mary’s dad miss his dinner but she was glad for the lift home. She gathered up her schoolbooks and shoved them into her satchel, buckling the straps tight. Then she made her way towards the front door. ‘Thank you for having me, Mrs Doveton,’ she called.

  ‘Any time, sweetheart!’ Mary’s mother, said dashing out of the kitchen in her flouncy apron to wave goodbye. As Lina was about to walk outside, Mrs Doveton slipped something into her hand. ‘Just don’t eat it in the car,’ she whispered in Lina’s ear. ‘You wouldn’t want to make a mess on Mr Doveton’s new vinyl seats.’

  Lina unwrapped the little package. Inside a pretty pink serviette was one of the dainty cupcakes they had eaten for afternoon tea. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll keep it for my little brother.’

  ‘You’re a dear,’ Mrs Doveton said, patting Lina’s cheek. ‘Come again soon, won’t you?’

  ‘I will,’ Lina promised.

  ‘See you tomorrow, Leenee-Beenie,’ Mary called out.

  ‘Bye, Mary-Canary,’ Lina replied.

  Mr Doveton opened the door of his shiny blue Ford. The only car Lina had travelled in before was an old ute that belonged to Gino, her father’s friend who occasionally dropped off whole crates of overripe tomatoes for them to make sauce. Gino’s seats were stained and cracked and you had to wipe them down before you sat on them in case you got tomato juice on your bottom. Nothing like Mr Doveton’s gleaming white seats. I wish Bruno could see this, Lina thought. Bruno loved cars.

  Mr Doveton drove Lina home along the dark streets, out of Ivanhoe and towards the city. She gazed through the car window, the cupcake in her lap, watching the houses become tightly packed together and the streets become busier and grubbier as they drew closer to her home. On Rathdowne Street, Mr Doveton asked for directions and Lina found herself looking for the biggest, nicest house on the street. Suddenly she felt too ashamed to have Mr Doveton’s fancy car light up their dark little alleyway.

  ‘It’s that one,’ Lina said, spotting a large double-storey terrace house with a pretty front garden.

  Mr Doveton pulled up in front of the house and jumped out to open Lina’s door.

  Lina slid along the vinyl seat, careful not to drop the little pink serviette with its precious cargo inside.

  ‘Shall I come in?’ Mr Doveton offered. ‘To meet your parents?’

  ‘No,’ said Lina quickly. ‘Um . . . Dad will probably still be resting. He works at night. Besides, your dinner will be getting cold!’

  ‘Well, I am a little hungry, I must admit,’ said Mr Doveton. ‘Next time, hey?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Lina. ‘Next time.’

  Mr Doveton waited until Lina had walked all the way up the steps of the big house. Lina pretended to knock on the door then turned to wave Mr Doveton goodbye. As soon as he drove off, she jogged back down the steps, around the corner and ran along her street to her own little house.

  Lina saw the curtain at her parents’ bedroom window twitch, and her stomach sank. Her mother was home. She tried to slip through the front door and down the hallway to the safety of her room, but her mother appeared and grabbed her shoulder with an iron grip. Her face was cold and hard. ‘Where have you been?’ she demanded.

  ‘I went to a friend’s house,’ Lina said, eyes to the ground.

  ‘You are supposed to come home straight from school,’ her mother growled, ‘to help Nonna look after Enzo!’

  ‘Bruno and Pierino go to their friends’ houses all the time,’ Lina muttered angrily. ‘Why can’t they look after Enzo?’

  Lina’s mother puffed up her chest and her eyes flared. ‘I work a twelve-hour day, young lady, and the least I expect from my only daughter when I am gone is that she helps around the house!’

  ‘We were working on a school project, okay?’ Lina yelled. ‘How can I get my schoolwork done if I have to do chores all the time?’

  Lina’s mother gasped. ‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that!’ She swung her hand back and hit Lina’s cheek with a loud slap.

  Lina’s mouth dropped open and she tore herself from her mother’s grip. The serviette with the cake inside toppled to the floor and was crushed under Lina’s heavy school shoes as she stumbled down the corridor. An aching ball of tears pushed up through her chest and stung her eyes as she burst into the kitchen. Dumping her school bag in the doorway, Lina ran past the blurry outlines of her family, all sitting around the table, halfway through their dinner. She ran straight out the rickety back door, past the old black stove and up the garden path until she reached the shed behind the bean patch. There, Lina crouched into a tiny hard knot and let salty tears stream down her face. I’ll bet Mary never has to do chores! she thought, angrily. And I’ll bet her mother never hits her, either!

  Lina cried long and loudly. When she was all cried out, she wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve, then she sat quietly for a while, listening to the night.

  There came the familiar sounds of the chickens scratching and clucking, the rustle of the olive leaves in the wind and the worried bleating of their old goat, disturbed by all the noise. As Lina sat longer, she began to hear another sound, too. At first she thought it was just ringing in her ears, but then she tilted her head back and realised the sound was coming from the stars. They were singing. So soft and low that if she hadn’t been listening carefully she could have missed them. And at that moment Lina realised that whether you lived in a big shiny house with a sprawling great garden, or a run-down old terrace house squeezed into a crowded street, the stars were there for everybody, and you only just needed to listen carefully to hear their song. Consoled, Lina brushed off her knees and headed back inside.

  WHEN Lina entered the kitchen, only her father remained at the table. He looked up from his coffee as Lina walked in.

  ‘Carmelina,’ he said sternly.

  ‘I know,’ Lina sighed. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken to Mama like that.’

  Lina’s father’s brow softened and he beckoned her over and patted his knee. Lina climbed onto her father’s lap and lay her head against his wide, warm chest. He wrapped his big bear arms around her and she felt his warmth seep through her clothes, her sk
in, her chattering bones. Lina listened to his heartbeat and wondered what dreams he’d had as a boy, and whether, like her, his heart had ached for things he would never have.

  As if he could read her thoughts, her father stroked her hair and said in a low voice, ‘Be good, cara mia. Study hard. Don’t bother your mother; she is tired and works too much. Listen to your nonna and do your chores and be kind to your little brother – he is only a baby. Do all these things, my sweet, and the world will be yours when you are grown. You just need to be patient.’

  ‘I know, Papa,’ Lina said and sighed heavily once again.

  ‘Will you read me the paper before I go to work?’ Lina’s father said.

  ‘Of course!’ Lina replied. It was their evening ritual. Every night before her father left for work and Lina got ready for bed, she would skim through the day’s paper, pick out articles she thought her father might be interested in and translate them into Italian for him. His favourites were the sporting pages and the local stories, but Lina always made sure she translated any important news, too, and they always read Stella Davis’s column: The Stories Behind the Stories. This was Lina’s favourite.

  Lina hopped off her father’s lap and collected the paper from the kitchen bench. Then she pulled up a chair and skimmed the front page. As usual, there were lots of stories about getting ready for the Olympics, which were being held in Melbourne that year. It was such an exciting time.

  Finally, she turned to the second-last page to read what Stella Davis had written. Today it was a piece on Monaco’s Prince Rainier and his beautiful wife, the American actress Grace Kelly. They had only been married a few months but Stella had visited Monaco to interview the famous couple and written a fascinating story about what life was like for Grace now that she was a true princess.

  Lina gazed at the small black-and-white photograph of Stella at the bottom of the article. Imagine interviewing princesses! Lina thought. Or famous athletes. She must have an amazing life.

  Lina remembered the thrill she had felt that morning, reading out her story in assembly and how everyone had admired her. Maybe one day could I be like Stella Davis? she wondered. I’d travel far and wide and people the world over would want to read my stories. Lina smiled as she pictured herself talking to Grace Kelly, then Dawn Fraser, maybe even Elvis Presley!

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ Lina’s father said, catching Lina smiling to herself.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Lina. Her daydreams were hers and hers alone.

  She had once told Pierino that she wanted to write stories for a living and he had simply huffed and told her that she was ridiculous. ‘Ha! You think Ma and Pa have worked all their lives just for you to become a writer?’ he’d snorted. Lina had been so hurt that she decided from then on she’d tell no one about her secret dreams. That way they could never be trampled on.

  ‘All right,’ Lina’s father said when they had finished skimming through the paper and he had emptied his second cup of black coffee. ‘To work for me, to bed for you. But first, I think you have an apology to make.’

  ‘I know, Papa,’ Lina said. She followed her father down the dark corridor to the front door. When he opened it, a shaft of light from the street lamp outside streamed into the hallway, lighting up the little paper serviette squashed on the floor.

  ‘Hmm, what’s that?’ Lina’s father said, pointing to the rumpled pink ball.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Lina sadly, bending down to scrape the flattened cupcake off the worn linoleum. ‘Just rubbish. I’ll put it in the bin.’

  ‘That’s a good girl. Goodnight, carina, I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Lina closed the door behind her father. She stood in front of her parents’ bedroom for a moment, getting up her courage.

  ‘Ma?’ she said timidly, poking her head into the room. Lina was surprised to see her mother sitting up in bed in the flickering lamp light peering at a textbook splayed open across her lap. ‘What are you doing with my old schoolbooks?’ Lina asked, suddenly distracted.

  Her mother snapped the book shut. ‘Is that what you came in here for?’ she scowled, pushing the book to one side. Lina glimpsed the cover: Elementary English. Despite everything, the thought of her mother studying her old English books almost broke Lina’s heart.

  ‘No,’ she stammered. ‘Sorry. I mean, I came to apologise. For my behaviour tonight. I was very rude . . .’

  ‘And disrespectful,’ her mother added.

  ‘And disrespectful,’ Lina said humbly.

  Lina’s mother nodded and then gestured to the door. ‘You have school tomorrow,’ she said gruffly. ‘You should go to bed.’

  Lina pulled the door closed again. She looked down at the crumpled pink serviette in her hand, sticky with icing and cake, and suddenly felt angry with her mother all over again. It’s always me that she gets mad at, she thought. Never my brothers. They can never do anything wrong! She stomped down the corridor into the kitchen to wash the mess off her hands.

  Nonna was already snoring heavily by the time Lina crept into their room. Just as Lina was about to slide into her cold bed, a little body appeared in the doorway. Enzo’s voice squeaked out of the dark. ‘You didn’t come and say goodnight!’ he whimpered.

  ‘Oh, come here, you!’ Lina patted the bedsheets beside her. Enzo didn’t need to be asked twice. He scrambled up into Lina’s bed then snuggled down into the blankets. Lina wrapped herself around him. He was much warmer than a hot water bottle and much, much softer.

  ‘Don’t you love me anymore?’ he whispered into the dark.

  ‘Of course I do!’ Lina said. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Enzo pulled at his bottom lip. ‘I heard you say to Ma you don’t want to look after me.’

  ‘Oh, Enzo, it’s not that.’ Lina squeezed her brother tight. ‘It’s just that sometimes I want to be with my friends, you know? That doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, you silly munchy munchkin!’ She pulled up his pyjama top and blew a noisy raspberry on her little brother’s soft white belly. Enzo squealed and Nonna rumbled in her sleep.

  ‘Shhh!’ Lina giggled and snuggled down next to her brother again.

  ‘Tell me a story,’ Enzo begged.

  ‘Oh, Enz, it’s late. I’m tired.’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘All right,’ sighed Lina. So she told him his favourite story: about a little boy called Enzo who found a magical hat that could take him to faraway lands. Long before she had finished her story, her brother had fallen asleep, his head on her forearm.

  Lina gazed up at the ceiling. With her grandmother snoring nearby and her baby brother curled up in the crook of her arm, things didn’t seem so bad after all. Tomorrow, I will be everything my father asks of me, Lina promised into the dark.

  THE next morning, Lina climbed out of bed carefully so as not to wake her brother. Her grandmother was already up, her bed neatly made. Teeth chattering, Lina tiptoed down the corridor towards the kitchen.

  A gentle murmuring came from behind the kitchen door. Lina opened it slowly. Both her parents were sitting at the table sipping coffee. Nonna had her back to them, preparing something at the sink. As Lina watched, her mother leaned in towards her father and he kissed her tenderly on her forehead. No one had seen Lina at the door, and suddenly she felt like she had entered a scene that was too private, too grown-up for her to handle, and she made to slip back the way she had come. But at that moment, her father turned slightly and smiled when he saw Lina in the doorway. Her mother, sensing something had changed, drew back and took a quick sip of her coffee before turning to look at Lina herself.

  In the morning light, Lina thought her mother looked younger somehow, softer. Even the deep crease between her eyes seemed to have faded.

  ‘Aren’t you going to be late for work?’ Lina ventured, noticing her mother wasn’t even dressed. As Lina stared at them both, she saw her father’s hand slip off his lap and take her mother’s hand in his.

  Nonna dusted off her apron and muttere
d something about going for basil in the garden.

  ‘Your mother is going to have a day off today,’ he said gently. ‘She needs some rest.’

  ‘Oh. Are you sick?’ Lina asked, alarmed. Things were definitely not how they should be and it made Lina’s skin prickle.

  Lina’s mother shook her head. ‘I thought I might walk you to the bus stop this morning,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Oh,’ said Lina, feeling concerned at the thought of another lecture from her mother. ‘You don’t have to do that. I mean, if you’re not feeling well?’

  ‘I’d like to,’ Lina’s mother insisted. ‘I . . . I feel I haven’t seen much of you lately.’

  ‘Um, well, okay. That would be great,’ Lina said, trying to sound enthusiastic. But deep inside her ribs, her heart fluttered like a bird’s.

  After breakfast, Lina quickly got dressed for school. When she came out of her room, her mother was already waiting by the front door. The two of them pulled on their coats, hats and gloves and walked out into the frosty grey morning. For a while, they walked side by side without talking, the only sound between them the clip-clopping of her mother’s shoes on the cobble stones.

  When they were halfway down Rathdowne Street, Lina’s mother stopped and put her hand on Lina’s shoulder. Lina braced herself for another scolding, but her mother’s voice stayed calm.

  ‘See down that street?’ said Ma.

  Lina looked in the direction her mother was pointing, but she wasn’t sure what she should be focussing on. The fruit and vegetable store? The hairdresser? The cafe on the corner? Lina’s mother obviously hadn’t been expecting an answer because she soon provided her own.

  ‘If you keep walking down that street, Lina, you will see some old buildings surrounded by beautiful gardens and very high gates. That is the University of Melbourne. That is where all the smart people learn to do important things and make a difference in the world. That is where your father should be, Lina. Not working in a car factory. Your father is the most intelligent man I have ever known. He will never have the chance to go to university, Lina, which is why he wants this so much for you.