by G. R. Gemin
Joe gazed into her beautiful dark eyes. He felt his heart bang inside his chest, as if it was telling him he was in love – in love big time.
Next morning Joe was up early. He read the instructions on the back of the tube of hair gel and then looked at himself in the mirror. He smoothed the gel into his hair and began to comb it through. It made him look older, which pleased him.
He tried sweeping his hair back, ignoring his usual side parting.
He peered at himself. “Look like a vampire,” he said. He ruffled his hair to try and make it look casual, but it stayed up in spikes. “Boy band now.” He growled with frustration, so he combed in his usual parting and went downstairs.
“What you done to your hair?” Mam asked, which sent a tremor of embarrassment through Joe.
“It was all… So I put on hair gel.”
“Didn’t know you had hair gel.”
Joe was going to pull the corners of his mouth down, but decided on a shrug instead. The cafe doorbell rang as the door opened. A woman stood in the entrance. “That right, what I’ve heard? You’ll tell us when the bus is due?”
“That’s right,” said Joe. “Come into the warm and we’ll let you know. Cup of tea or coffee?”
“Go on then – tea, please.”
He felt proud, and grinned at Mam as he began to prepare the drink.
“Very good, Joe,” she said.
The bell clanged again and Bonner filled the doorway – his gang were bunched up behind as if they were tethered to him. “Where is she then?”
“Who?” Joe asked, pretending he didn’t know.
“This girl I’ve heard about – Mimi. Where is she?”
“She’s out.”
“No she isn’t,” said Mam. “Mimi!” she called through to the kitchen. “Someone to see you.”
When Mimi came into the cafe Joe saw Bonner’s mouth drop open. “Oh, where you been all my life, love?” he said as he offered her his hulk-like hand. “I’m Bonner – scrum half for Bryn Mawr School rugby and man about town.”
Mimi laughed. Joe was uneasy, as the other boys were nudging each other and staring with popping eyes. Combi walked in, eating a doughnut. “Told you she was stonking,” he said to the boys.
“Are you at school with Joe?” Mimi asked Bonner.
Bonner glanced down as if noticing Joe for the first time. “Oh, aye,” he said. “We could use Joe in the front row at the rugby club – always need boys with a bit of weight on ’em.” He slapped a hand on Joe’s shoulder and Joe winced.
“Rugby,” said Mam. “Now there’s a good idea for you to get trim, Joe.”
“I’ll look after him, Mrs Davis,” said Bonner with a second slap on his shoulder. Joe wasn’t happy at all, especially when Combi pointed at him and said in front of everyone, “What you done to your hair, Joe?”
Joe went to visit Nonno after school and found him alone.
“How is your mam?” Nonno asked quietly. “You know, with Mimi, I mean.”
“Mimi’s getting on her nerves, to be honest, Nonno.”
“Do you like Mimi?” he asked.
Joe shrugged stiffly and stared down at his lap. He didn’t want to give away how he felt about her. “She wants to fix the espresso machine so we can do fresh coffee. She said it was a sin to offer instant.”
“She’s right,” said Nonno. “Shame on us. The old San Marco hasn’t worked in years. Mimi came to see me today and brought me food. Oh, it was lovely, Joe. Much better than the hospital lunch. And she told me about your idea – people waiting for the bus in the cafe.” Nonno smiled with only half of his mouth – a half-smile. “But I don’t want your mam to feel left out, Joe. It’s difficult for her.”
Joe nodded. “I wish you were back at the cafe.”
“Me too.”
“Listening to your opera, I am, Nonno.”
“Good,” he said. “Why don’t you bring me the tape recorder, Joe. I want to continue the story – it will keep me occupied.”
Joe was pleased. “OK, Nonno.”
On the way home Joe bumped into Combi. “Everyone’s talking about Mimi,” he said.
Joe guessed everyone was talking about her, but he didn’t want to know. “I’m busy.”
“Where you off?” Combi asked.
“Bryn Mawr library.”
When Joe entered he realised he wasn’t even a member, and so he asked for a library card.
“What you getting?” asked Combi as Joe filled out the form.
“Cookery books.”
“Cookery books?”
“Yeah. Y’know – recipes for meals and how to cook them. Haven’t you ever cooked a meal, Combi?”
“Yeah … sandwich.”
“That’s not cooking.”
“It was toasted, all right!”
Joe went to the cookery section and found lots of Italian cookery books. He selected three and then went on to the language section for an Italian phrase book. He was pleased to find one with a whole section on food and restaurants.
“What’s all this about then?” asked Combi.
“I’m Italian and I wanna cook.”
Joe ignored Combi’s tutting and took the books to be checked out.
“Want a hand carrying them to the cafe?” Combi asked as they left the library.
“No, thanks.”
“Sure now?”
“No, thanks.”
“I’ll pop by the caff later,” said Combi.
“What for?”
Combi shrugged, but Joe knew why, and his irritation was growing.
Joe slipped in the back way and took the books up to his room. Then he went back down and entered the cafe. Mam was standing at the counter. “’Lo, Mam.”
“Hello.”
Joe saw a large group of boys filling two of the booths. It puzzled him, as boys didn’t come into the cafe after school – they usually gathered outside the Chicken Box. Combi was among them and gave Joe a wave.
“What’s all this about?” whispered Joe with a nod towards the boys.
“I wonder?” said Mam.
“Where’s Mimi then?” asked Combi, just as Mam’s mobile phone bleeped.
“Bus to Aber arriving,” she said aloud. Some of the other customers got to their feet and went out. “Can someone take a tea to the driver?”
Vaughan was left behind with the group of boys. “Lively now, this place.”
“Aye – lively bus stop,” said Mam. “Wonderful.”
Joe heard a door slam and someone coming down from upstairs.
Mimi entered the cafe.
“Hello,” said Joe.
The boys stood up, and some of them gasped.
“I go out,” said Mimi. “You come with me, Joe?”
“Sure.” He glanced at the boys. “D’you think you can manage, Mam?”
“Just about,” she replied. “I’ve always got your mobile in an emergency.”
“I’ll get my coat.”
Joe darted into the kitchen, but by the time he came back into the cafe Mimi was surrounded by the boys.
“From Italy, she is,” said Combi. “Joe’s cousin.”
Joe pushed his way into the middle of the group. “Give her some air!”
“Combi,” said Mimi. “Would you like to come to dinner tonight?”
The clamour of the boys came to a halt.
“Why?” asked Joe.
“He’s your friend,” said Mimi. “In Italy we invite friends for dinner.”
“Why not?” said Combi with a grin at Joe. “I’ll have to ask my mam, but she’ll be cool.”
Joe went out with Mimi. He loved the way she confidently walked along the street with her head back, her hair bouncing with each step as if it was happy to be on her head. Unfortunately for Joe the herd of boys closed around them like a rugby maul, and by the time they arrived outside the Chicken Box they were surrounded by children.
“You’re Mimi, aren’t you?” said Cathy Jones.
“Yes.”
“She’s gorgeous,” another girl said, and there were mutterings of agreement. “Lovely hair.” “Fab’lous eyes.” “Got any tattoos?”
Ryan Jenkins offered her his box of chips. “Want one?”
Mimi picked up a chip, examined it and tasted it. Her nose screwed up. “Is greasy and soft.”
“I know,” said Ryan. “Lovely, in’ they?”
“This food is very, very bad for you,” said Mimi.
Joe nodded in agreement. “Jamie Oliver,” he said.
“Say something in Italian,” Cathy said to Mimi.
“Mi chiamo Mimi. Piacere di conoscerti.”
“What’s that mean?”
“My name’s Mimi. I’m happy to meet you,” said Joe.
“Your name’s not Mimi!” said Ryan, and the others laughed.
“She doesn’t look anything like you, Joe,” said Cathy.
They all peered at him, looking for some similarity, and time seemed to stand still.
“Mr Malewski’s,” Mimi said, gazing across the road. “What is this?”
“Shop for people from Poland,” said Combi. “And places like that.”
Mimi crossed the road, and the children went with her.
“Dinner then,” Combi said to Joe as they followed.
“If your mam lets you.”
“She been asking about me then?”
“Who?”
“Mimi.”
Joe stopped. “Asking about you? No, she hasn’t.”
“You sure?”
Joe was suddenly pulled round and found himself face to face with Bonner. “Davis! I want Mimi’s mobile number. I’m inviting her to the rugby on Saturday.”
“I don’t think she’s got one,” he said as he saw Mimi walk into Mr Malewski’s.
“Don’t give me that,” said Bonner. “My mam’s cat’s got a mobile. What’s her number?”
“I don’t know.”
“Trying to keep her to yourself, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“He is, Bon,” said Combi. “Mimi just invited me to dinner and he’s jealous.”
Bonner glared at him. “She invited you to dinner?”
“Yeah.”
“How come?”
Combi shrugged. “Maybe she fancies me.”
Bonner roared with laughter. “Good one.” He clapped a hand on Combi’s shoulder. “I tell you, when Mimi sees me in the rugby match, brushing players off like crumbs, she’ll faint – mark my words.”
Joe was worried as he watched him go.
“She wouldn’t give Bonner the time of day,” said Combi. “Would she?”
“No,” said Joe as he rushed to catch up with Mimi, but he wasn’t sure.
The children had stayed outside the shop as Joe entered Malewski’s Emporium. He saw Mimi in front of a fridge with a small girl. “What you looking for?” he asked.
“I’m interested in different food, Joe,” said Mimi. “And different ingredients.”
“Never been in here before,” said Joe looking around.
“Why?” the girl asked.
Joe shrugged. “It’s for Polish people, innit?”
“Food is food, Joe,” said Mimi. “This is Marta. She work here.”
“Works here?”
“After school I help out,” said Marta. “Mr Malewski is my dad, and he told me when I am eighteen,” she held up seven fingers, “in seven years’ time, I can be deputy manager.” She winked at Joe.
“What is this?” asked Mimi, holding up a jar.
“Pickled cabbage,” said Marta.
“Lovely,” said Mimi.
“You want to buy or look?”
Joe turned and saw a man holding several boxes. He muttered something in Polish to Marta, who threw her hands in the air and said something back. The young man glared at Mimi. “You Polish?”
“No. Italian.”
“No Italian food here.”
“This is my brother, Dariusz,” said Marta. “He’ll work for me when I take over.”
Dariusz laughed, revealing a gold tooth. Joe thought he was rude, but he couldn’t help noticing his penetrating blue eyes, and that his shirt sleeves were rolled up high, revealing muscular, tattooed arms.
“Do you have just Polish food?” Mimi asked.
“No,” said Marta. “We have food from Russia, Bulgaria, Lithuania, Romania…”
“Why not Italian food?”
“Italian food is everywhere – any supermarket,” Dariusz said. He moved closer to Mimi – too close for Joe’s liking.
Marta stepped between them. “People come here because they miss things from their country, you understand?” she said. “They pay money, they go away happy and they come back when they feel sad and miss their country again. Good business, yes?” She grinned.
“Very good,” said Mimi.
Joe tried to pull the corners of his mouth down but only managed to raise his eyebrows again. He needed practice.
“Hello, Joe,” said Mr Malewski, coming through from the back of the shop. “I heard about Mr Merelli. How is he?”
“Getting better,” said Joe.
“Good. Good.”
Marta began speaking in Polish again. Mr Malewski nodded. Marta took a vacuum-packed sausage out of the fridge and handed it to Mimi. “Kabanos – very good Polish sausage.”
“How much?” Mimi asked.
“Free sample,” said Mr Malewski. “For Mr Merelli and you, pretty lady.”
“Thank you,” said Mimi.
“Come back soon and try something else,” said Marta. “One day this shop will be mine.” Mr Malewski laughed, as Marta and Dariusz began arguing.
Joe and Mimi returned to the cafe with the crowd of children still surrounding them, like a flock of sheep. Joe thought how cool and grown up Mimi seemed, and he wondered if many women married men younger than themselves.
“How old are you, Mimi?” Combi asked as if he’d read Joe’s mind.
“Twenty,” said Mimi. “Why?”
“I thought you were older,” said Combi.
Joe stopped him as Mimi walked on. “That was rude.”
“No,” said Combi. “It’s rude when you say that to old women, like our mams, but it’s a compliment to young women – fact.”
“Crappissimo!” said Joe.
“What?”
“You add issimo to the end of a word in Italian to make it bigger.”
He saw that Mimi was about to go back into the cafe and ran ahead.
When he entered he quickly shut the cafe door. “We’re closed,” he shouted at the children outside.
“Joe! There’s another half-hour yet,” said Mam.
“They’re just time-wasters,” said Joe as he locked the door. “We’ll have an early night.”
“See you for dinner,” Combi said through the window.
Joe pulled the blind down.
“What was Mimi doing over in Malewski’s?” asked Mam.
“She’s interested in food.”
“What, even Polish food?”
“Yeah, Mam. What’s wrong with that?”
Joe went upstairs to start reading his books.
Joe’s mouth watered as he skimmed through the recipes in the cookery books. He could even smell lovely herbs and spices, but then realised Mimi must be cooking. He decided now was the time to ask.
Downstairs he found her working intensively in the kitchen as usual. She seemed to be in the zone, so Joe began to set the table for dinner. “Mimi…”
She replied with a noise.
“I used to watch Nonno cook…”
“Is he good?”
“Yes, very.”
Mimi furiously cut up an onion and Joe had to shout to be heard. “Will you teach me to cook?”
Mimi stopped and turned. “Sure, Joe,” she said with a smile. “A pasta sauce is easy,” she said. “You fry chopped onion, garlic and add a tin of tomatoes. Then you put in whatever you want �
�� meat, fish … or peas, courgettes, mushrooms, and always salt, pepper and herbs.”
She talked as she cooked.
Joe noticed how much she used her hands to make gestures as she spoke. One, in particular, he noticed she used a lot – she held the ends of her fingers and thumb together and moved her hand back and forth, as if shaking something. “Why d’you make this gesture with your hand?” he asked, demonstrating what he’d seen.
“All Italians use hands when they speak. This one,” she said, repeating the gesture with her fingers held together, “can mean, ‘Can you believe it?’ or ‘What you talking about?’”
Joe laughed, because as she spoke the gesture seemed to fit, like she was emphasising what she was saying. The back doorbell rang.
Joe opened the door to see Combi holding a bunch of flowers – he seemed different in some way. “What you done to your hair?”
“Nothing,” said Combi as he walked past Joe and handed Mimi the flowers. “For you.”
“Oh, thank you.” Mimi kissed him on both cheeks.
Joe had never seen Combi blush so much since the time his trousers had ripped when he’d bent over to pick up a Bounty bar.
“Let me take your coat,” Joe said.
“Take my coat where?”
Joe noticed Combi was staring at Mimi with a grin on his face, as if he was looking at a box of puppies. “So … how’s it going?” Joe asked.
“Fine,” Combi replied without even looking at him.
“Wanna game on the console?” Joe said to distract him.
“No. You’re all right,” said Combi. “I’ll stay here.”
Joe was hit by a wave of irritation, as strong as the smell of frying onions. He had a rival for Mimi, and his rival was his best mate.
Everyone sat down for dinner, and Mimi began to serve out portions. The plates were passed around the table. “Drink, Combi?” Dad asked.
“Coke, please.”
“Actually,” said Joe, “water or wine complements food better.”
“Got that from a book, did you?” said Combi as a plate of food was put before him. “What’s this?”
“Chicken escalope in breadcrumbs,” said Mimi.
Combi prodded the vegetable on the side. “But what’s this – onion?”
“Fennel,” said Mimi.
