Sweet Pizza
Page 8
Joe flicked the switch on the wall and a small red light came on. “What happens now?” he asked.
“The water heat up. We grind the coffee and fill this.” She held up a small container with a handle. “Then we pull the lever down to push hot water through, and the fresh coffee come out into a cup.”
Mimi poured coffee beans into the grinder and switched it on. It made a loud growling, crunching noise.
“Is it broken?” asked Joe.
Mimi shook her head. “Is fine!” she shouted over the din. Joe could smell the freshly ground coffee; it was deep and strong.
It wasn’t long before he could see steam rising from the top of the machine. Mimi scooped the ground coffee into the filter, then attached it to the espresso machine. She shifted the handle so that it clicked into place. “Is ready.”
She placed a cup under the tap and stepped back. “Pull the handle down, Joe.”
Joe reached up to the handle that stood upright on top of the machine and pulled. It was stiff, but as it came down there was a hiss and a gurgle as the water passed through the filter. Dark-brown coffee dribbled out of the tap and into the cup. The smell of coffee was now ten times more powerful, but Joe was disappointed by the amount that came out. “It’s not much,” he said.
“Because it is espresso, Joe – very, very strong,” said Mimi. “Now we add milk.”
The milk was heated and frothed. There were more noises and lovely smells as Mimi made coffee for Mam and Dad.
“I make one for Joe?” she asked.
“Oh, I dunno,” said Mam.
“Please,” said Joe.
“OK, but lots of milk, otherwise you’ll be up all night.”
Joe was given a little sugar in his, and then they tasted the coffee.
“Oh,” said Dad. “I’ll have one of these in the morning – speed me up.”
“It is lovely,” said Mam. “Not sure the customers will spot the difference.”
“Mam, they must do,” said Joe. “I can.”
“Don’t drink it all,” she said.
Joe wiped the side of the San Marco with a cloth. “Beautiful though, innit, Mam?”
He saw her nod in the machine’s gleaming silver reflection.
Joe remembered that he and Nonno had sat in the same waiting room only a matter of days before, and Nonno had remarked that the cafe had once been as full. The tannoy clicked and Joe heard, “Mr Khan to Dr Foster, room three.”
He remembered the last tape he’d listened to, and what Nonno had had to deal with. So much had changed for him back then, and changed for the worse. He breathed deeply and sighed.
“What’s the matter, Joe?” asked Dad.
“Mr Davis to Dr Dhital, room two.”
Right at the moment Joe heard the announcement an idea came to him. He gazed around the waiting room.
“Joe?” said Dad. “They just called us.”
Dr Dhital shone a torch into Joe’s eyes. “Well, you seem fine after your little accident,” said the doctor.
“I wouldn’t say it was ‘little’,” said Joe.
The doctor stepped back and looked him up and down. “Perhaps a bit overweight.”
Joe thought he had a cheek, especially when the chair creaked as the doctor sat back down. “Any double vision?” he asked.
“No,” said Joe.
“Loss of memory?”
“No.”
“Headaches?”
“Only when I get asked a lot of questions.”
“Don’t be rude now,” said Dad.
Dr Dhital laughed, and Joe thought it was a good moment to ask, “How come people have to wait so long in the waiting room?”
“Joe!” said Dad.
“I just wanna know the reason.”
“Medical attention takes time,” said Dr Dhital. “Some people have complicated problems that need time to examine, and what they don’t realise is that doctors have to write up notes after they see every patient.”
“Bet they moan to you about the wait,” said Joe.
“Yes, all the time, but if we rush a decision or a diagnosis it could have very serious consequences.”
“It’s just that I had this idea, just now,” said Joe.
“Idea?”
“The waiting room fills up and people get impatient, right? They forget that you’re under a lot of pressure.”
The doctor nodded.
“So I thought, what if people could wait in the cafe instead?”
“Now, son…” said Dad.
Joe was on a roll. “They could have refreshments. And when you and the other doctors are ready, you call them through and they make their way over.”
“But how?” Dr Dhital asked. “How would they be called through?”
Joe turned to Dad. “You could wire up the tannoy system here to the cafe, couldn’t you?” he asked.
“Now, hang on—”
“The cafe is a couple of minutes away from the surgery, if that,” said Joe. “And they won’t have to wait in the cafe. We’ll just be giving ’em the choice.”
The doctor glanced from Joe to Dad. “I don’t know what to say,” he said as he picked up the phone.
Dad forced a laugh. “Daft, isn’t it? I got to say, Doctor, since Joe’s little accident we’ve noticed that he—”
“Mrs Moore,” the doctor said into the phone. “Could you come in here.”
A few moments later Mrs Moore, the receptionist, came in and the doctor asked Joe to explain his idea to her. She seemed puzzled when he’d finished.
“You’d have fewer people hassling you,” said the doctor.
“True,” said Mrs Moore.
“And you could get on with your admin,” said Dr Dhital. “You always say it’s falling behind.”
“Very true.”
“The patients could come straight to the cafe,” said Joe. “And we could let you know they’re waiting. They’ll be less grumpy and, as I said, they’d have the choice to wait in the cafe or here.”
She looked at the doctor, and the doctor looked at Joe.
“You’re having a laugh!” said Mam.
“Dr Dhital reckoned it was worth a try,” Joe said.
“It’s a loopy idea.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Dad. “But Dhital said for less grumpy patients he’d give anything a go.”
“Is fantastic!” said Mimi, clapping her hands.
“People can wait in the cafe,” said Joe. “They can have refreshments, and when the doctors are ready they’ll call them through. It’s only one minute, thirty-seven seconds up the road – I timed myself. We just need a speaker our end. Right, Dad?”
“Easily done,” Dad replied with a nervous glance at Mam.
“Hang on now,” she said. “I don’t want a cafe full of ill people coughing and spluttering everywhere. I’ll have people waiting for buses and people waiting for the doctors; it’ll be—”
“It’ll be a full cafe?” said Joe.
“Don’t be cheeky,” said Mam. “It’ll be a transient crowd – a constant flow of people and they won’t all spend money.”
“Mam, first you complained that the cafe was dead – one or two customers stretching out the afternoon with one cuppa – now you’re complaining there’ll be too many.”
“Now, Joe,” said Dad.
“Lennie, didn’t you mention to Dhital that Joe had had a funny turn since the rugby incident?”
“Yes, I agree,” said Joe, shaking his hands in the air. “I have had a turn!”
“And that he’s gone all Italian,” said Mam.
Dad nodded.
“I am Italian!” said Joe, making the hand gesture.
“There he goes again with the hands!”
Mimi laughed.
“Look, even if we’re gonna sell, it won’t do no harm, will it?” said Joe.
“Well, I don’t see the point, frankly,” said Mam. “It’s silly.”
Her lips were drawn tight and Joe remembered what Nonn
o had said about handing her a bad inheritance. “Please, Mam. I’ve listened to Nonno’s tapes, and I just felt… I felt it’s worth a try.”
She sighed. “When were you thinking of giving it a go?”
“As soon as Dad can run the tannoy cable from the surgery to the cafe,” said Joe.
“I might be able to do it tomorrow morning,” said Dad.
“And by the afternoon,” said Mam, “I’ll probably have the bubonic plague.”
Joe forced a laugh, but Mam frowned.
Joe hid behind a wall, breathing hard. He felt bad following Mimi to Bonner’s house, but he thought it was his responsibility to watch out for her. He’d left an opera CD playing in his room as a decoy.
When Mimi arrived at the front door Joe positioned himself across the street, behind a van. He shuddered when the door opened and Bonner stood there in a shirt and tie. “Mimi!” he bellowed, as if she was across the street next to Joe. Once she entered and the door was closed Joe didn’t know what to do – he hadn’t thought that far.
“Joe!”
He turned and saw Combi. “What you doing here?” Joe asked.
Combi tilted his head. “Taking a passeggiata … same as you.”
Joe dropped the pretence – he was too concerned about Mimi. “OK. What are we going to do?”
Combi checked around. “C’mon!” he said as he crossed the road.
His confidence made Joe experience a warm tingle of affection. When they reached Bonner’s house Combi checked around again, as if his normal occupation was private detective. “Keep guard,” he said. “Whistle if someone comes. I’m gonna take a peek.”
“Peek at what?” Joe asked.
Combi pointed to the bay window. “There’s a gap in the curtain.”
Joe watched as Combi crept up the path, crossed on to the lawn and ducked under the window. His head popped up level with the gap.
Joe edged nearer. “What can you see?”
“Bonner’s pouring Mimi a drink,” Combi whispered.
“Does Mimi look interested or bored?” Joe asked.
Combi held a hand up.
“What is it?”
“Not good,” said Combi.
“What?”
“Mimi just laughed.”
Joe could feel his anxiety rise, like bile.
“Geez… That wallpaper … it’s giving me a headache,” said Combi.
“What now?”
“Bonner’s mam just came in with the food. Oh, my God!”
“What?”
Combi turned to Joe. “She’s tiny! How could someone the size of Yoda be Bonner’s mam?”
Joe pointed to the window. “What’s happening now?”
“I tell you what’s happening…” a deep voice replied.
Joe turned to see a policeman.
“…You two can explain what you’re up to.”
When Mam answered the door to the policemen she didn’t look pleased.
“Sorry, Officer,” she said. “I thought he was in his room.”
“Caught him loitering,” said the policeman.
“Loitering? He’s never loitered before.”
“It was Combi’s idea,” said Joe.
“My apologies, Officer,” said Mam. “He’s not been his usual self since he had an accident during rugby training.”
“Ah,” said the policeman, as if that made it all make sense.
“It won’t happen again,” Mam said with a glare at Joe. “We’ll lock him in the attic from now on.”
Joe glanced up at the policeman. “You think she’s joking.”
Joe paced his room, listening to opera and checking his watch. It was nine thirty and still Mimi had not returned. He looked down from his bedroom window on to the High Street, but saw no sign of her. He crossed to the opposite window to look down into the alley. He saw Mimi enter the backyard. She was alone. Joe breathed out with relief and went on to the landing. He timed it so that he came out of the bathroom just as Mimi came up the stairs. “Hello,” he said casually. “D’you have a nice time?”
“Yes,” said Mimi.
“How was the meal?”
“Quite nice. It was a Welsh stew – bit heavy.”
Joe was determined to dig deeper. “Bonner’s … interesting, isn’t he?” he said.
Mimi’s expression didn’t change, which Joe thought was a good sign.
“He’s a very big man,” said Mimi.
“Yes. He is a big … boy,” said Joe.
Mimi opened her bedroom door.
“Apparently,” said Joe, “lots of girls quite fancy him. Bonner, I mean.”
“Really?” said Mimi. “You know what?”
“What?” said Joe.
“He let his mamma do all the cooking, and the washing up.” Mimi pulled the corners of her mouth down and shook her head.
“Never,” said Joe. “Well, I’m shocked.”
“Buona notte,” Mimi said, and kissed him on both cheeks.
“Buona notte,” said Joe.
He went back to his room tingling with relief.
Joe was enjoying the opera playing on his iPod as he walked to school.
Combi came alongside him and pulled an earplug out. “What happened last night then?” he asked.
“Mam sent me to my room,” said Joe. “By the way, for future reference, I blamed you for us being out. I said you wanted Bonner to return a game he’d borrowed off you, and you needed backup as you wouldn’t go on your own.”
“That’s OK. I told my mam I was on a date with Mimi. And anyway, if you’d done your job properly as lookout…”
“Don’t start.”
“Did Mimi get in late?”
“No. She’s not interested in Bonner anyway,” said Joe.
“No. She can’t be,” said Combi. “Impossible.”
They continued up the High Street.
“What you listening to?” asked Combi, who was now eating a slice of pizza that he seemed to have produced from thin air.
Joe offered him an earplug. As soon as Combi heard the music his lip curled up. “It’s just someone screaming.”
Joe shook his head. “It’s opera – Verdi’s Il Trovatore. See, it all starts with this gypsy woman who throws the wrong baby into the fire…”
“What? You’re joking?”
“No. She wants to get back at the Count for killing her mam, see. So she steals one of his two babies and throws it in a fire. Problem is, she throws her own baby in, by mistake, not the Count’s.”
“No way.”
“No lie. Then when the two brothers grow up they both fancy the same girl, but don’t know they’re brothers, see…”
Combi’s eyes narrowed. “When did this happen then?”
“It didn’t, Combi,” said Joe. “It’s opera. Fantastic though, innit?”
“No,” said Combi. He bit into the pizza slice. “Want some?”
“No thanks,” said Joe.
“Left over from last night,” said Combi. “I love cold pizza – sweet.”
Joe licked his lips and an idea tingled in his head. “Sweet pizza.”
“Huh?”
“I just thought – pizza but with sweet stuff on top, instead of savoury.”
“Never heard of it,” said Combi.
“Be nice though – sliced apple and banana, sprinkled with coconut or cinnamon.”
Combi’s eyes glazed over and his mouth dropped open, showing Joe the mashed up pepperoni and cheese. “Where can you get it?” he asked.
“You can’t,” said Joe. “You’d have to make it.”
“Oh don’t do that!”
“What?”
“Describe something nice and then say it doesn’t exist.”
“It does,” said Joe. “You just need to make it.” He walked on and stopped in front of the betting shop where Dad was passing a cable over the top. “How’s it going, Dad?”
“OK. It should be live for this afternoon’s surgery.”
“I’ve done
some signs to put up in the doctor’s waiting room,” said Joe. “Mrs Moore said it was OK. You couldn’t put ’em up for me, could you?”
“All right,” he said. “I hope this is all going to be worth it, Joe.”
“So do I, Dad.”
“I don’t get it,” said Combi.
“What?”
“People wait in the cafe to see the doctor, right?”
“That’s right.”
“But they’ll still be waiting the same time.”
“Don’t diss my idea, Combi,” said Joe. “They’ll be in a nicer place and have refreshments to hand. It’ll be good for them and good for the cafe. It’s a win–win.”
Combi shook his head. “They won’t get it.”
“What are you talking about?” Joe said as he made the hand gesture.
“What’s with this?” Combi asked, mimicking the gesture.
“You wouldn’t understand,” said Joe. “It’s Italian.”
Combi threw his head back and groaned. Joe walked on ahead.
“Has Mimi asked after me?” said Combi as he caught up.
“No,” said Joe.
“Would you tell me if she did?”
Joe sped up, pretending he didn’t hear.
At lunchtime Joe went straight to the cafe and was disappointed to find it was fairly empty. “Where is everyone?” he asked Mam.
“What d’you mean by everyone?”
“The patients from the surgery.”
“They probably prefer to stay there, Joe.”
“Well, is the tannoy working?” he asked, just as he heard, “Mr Jones to Dr Dhital, room two.”
“It’s been driving me nuts,” said Mam.
Joe went behind the counter and picked up the phone. He dialled the doctor’s number.
“Bryn Mawr surgery.”
“Mrs Moore – it’s Joe, at the cafe.”
“Oh, hello, Joe.”
“Did my dad put up the signs?”
“He did.”
“But they’re not here, Mrs Moore – the patients, I mean.”
“No. They’re here as usual, Joe – I don’t think they quite believe it.”
Joe was determined his idea would work, but as he approached the surgery he began to feel nervous. He spotted Combi eating outside the Chicken Box.