“Yeah, you’re right,” I say. “Would of been cheaper to buy one in Tesco’s.”
“Yeah, this place gets ya. You’ll be back. We’ll be waiting for ya,” she says.
God, how I love Londoners.
I see the manageress whizz past.
“Sorry, must love ya and leave ya,” I say. “Gotta ask the manageress somefink.”
“Excuse me, excuse me,” I shout after her, while trying to catch her up.
“Hiya, can I help ya?” she asks.
“Yes, I’d like to talk to the owner.”
“We don’t trouble him unless we have to. You can tell me, I deal with queries.”
“This is personal.” Imposing yourself is better done in a posh accent. They take you more seriously. “I have to speak to him directly. She looks at me askance: “Alright I’ll see if I can find him. Wait here, please.”
Soon I see her coming towards me followed by the slick owner.
“Hello, madam, how can I help you?”
The manageress disappears and leaves us to it. She no doubt thinks she will hear all about what I say to him later.
“I need to talk to you in private. I can’t do it here.”
“I’m a busy man, madam. I have an appointment in ten minutes.”
“Let’s just make it ten minutes in your office, shall we? Otherwise we’re wasting precious time.”
He turns around and walks back from where he came. Asks me to sit in front of his desk. As they always do, he has the high, smart leather swing-around, and the visitor has the lower, cheaper chair. That’s one way of patronising you. By putting themselves in a position where they can look down on you. I am adamant it won’t work with me.
“Nice place you have here.”
“Madam, I’m very busy these days.”
“Yes, I know you’re busy.”
“Am I supposed to know you?” he asks.
“No, we’ve never met before. I remember this place when it belonged to your father. It was a pub before, wasn’t it? Your father opened it. Later you bought the property next door and turned it into a gambling den.”
I want to establish that I know about his family.
He looks at me, tightening his lips and lifting his eyebrows. “What is it you want?”
“I’m here because of Giusy. She’s expecting your baby and is suffering because she hasn’t got a clue where she stands with you.”
He looked slightly embarrassed: “And, what business is it of yours?”
“Probably none. But I’m making it my business.”
“Who are you?”
“My aunt asked me to come and speak to you.” I don’t need to explain who she is. Just her name will do. “She’s known as Zia,” I say. A cloud passes over his face. He nods slightly to signal he knows who she is.
This worried him. He was smart enough to realise that when someone looks at you with a serious face and tells you they’re part of a notorious Sicilian family, you’ve been targeted by an entity you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with.
“But really, you don’t need to worry,” I say. “We only want to know where she stands. What your intentions are.”
He goes and shuts the door, puts his phone on silent.
“It’s like this,” I say. “I don’t like you deceiving these women. Let’s just say that I’m here because I don’t like women being treated badly.”
“You are not getting mixed up in my private life.”
That’s what he thinks. I look around and say: “Look, you wouldn’t want this place smashed up, would you? Those poor teddies with that threatening claw hanging over them would have their fur ruined by shattered glass. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we? I ask you to be reasonable. It doesn’t look good for the Italian community, does it? You’re having an affair with the manageress, Giusy is pregnant and so is your wife. What a mess.” I shake my head slowly for emphasis. “Do you think you’re behaving like a decent man? No, of course not.”
After all the years of tiptoeing around my mother and trying to be more English than the English, I finally felt the freedom of being direct and exercising power over adults who, quite frankly, got on my nerves. A mafioso, I don’t remember his name, once said that power is more exhilarating than fucking. I’m starting to understand that now.
“What is it you want from me? Money?”
“No. Don’t offend me,” I say indignantly. “It’s nothing to do with money as far as I’m concerned.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Take my advice. Just co-operate.”
So, what is it you want exactly?” he says losing his arrogant tone.
“I want you to end the affair with your manageress. What’s her name...?”
“Nancy.”
“Yes, Nancy. Finish your affair with her. We’ve had our feelers out. We know she’s married, to a man called Jonathan, with two small children. We know their names and ages as well: a boy of three called Oliver and a girl, Amelia, aged six. It will save you, your family, your girlfriends, and Nancy’s family a lot of trouble in the long run.”
I felt like swiping him round his greasy head, but didn’t.
“Are you asking me to fire her?”
“No.”
He looked at me waiting for more.
“You tell Nancy that someone is threatening to tell her husband. You needn’t tell her we’re Sicilian.”
“Is that it?”
“No. We want you to decide between your wife and Giusy. So who’s it going to be?”
“I don’t need to think about that. Olga’s my wife. She’s only interested in my money. Giusy makes me happy.”
“That’s done, then,” I say. “Will you divorce from your wife and move in with Giusy full-time?”
“What about my daughter? And, the new baby?”
“The judge will decide that. You put yourself in this mess. All you’ve got to do now is to man up and put things straight. I’ll keep in contact with Giusy.”
I get up to go. He rushes to open the door for me.
TWENTY
Tuesday 29th August – evening
Humps comes in while I am getting dinner. “Just get yourself sorted, darling. Dinner’ll be ready in a tick.”
“Not until I’ve given you a good kiss and hug first,” he says.
“Haven’t lost any of your charm with age, have you?”
“Oh, no. If anything it’s escalated,” he playfully boasts.
“You’re all bouncy this evening,” I say to him.
“Yes, things are going very well. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that I managed to get on with my work without being hounded by awkward people. And you, darling? What did you do today?”
“I had a look round some shops. I bought some yellow wool. Zia is making us bed socks. Yours are mint-green with white pompoms. You’re going to look really sexy in those.”
“What? You’re joking, right?”
“Never been so serious in all my life.” We laugh and hug. “And I went to the amusement arcade again.”
I don’t like telling Humps lies. But I don’t mind not telling him the whole truth. There’s so much about my family I’ve kept from him.
“What again!”
“Yes, it’s... well... amusing.”
We both laugh again.
“That’s the point of their existence,” he says.
“I won another teddy. Purple and white this time. That’s two teddies we can give little Benjamin when they come here on Sunday.”
“I don’t remember you telling me they are coming here on Sunday.”
“Maybe I forgot. Anyway Clara’s coming, too. They’ll be here for lunch.”
“I was saving Sunday. I haven’t finished that computer work I started. But I suppose I’ll have to do as I’m told,” he says.
“You know it saves a lot of trouble when you agree with me.”
He gives me one of his lovely cheeky grins.
“By
the way, I saw Sarah when I was coming up the stairs this evening.”
Humps had recently decided he would climb up the stairs rather than take the lift as part of his endeavour to keep himself fit.
“Oh, yes. Did you speak to her?”
“Yes, she said she had some kind of stomach problems on Sunday night after the barbecue.”
“Oh, dear. What a shame.”
“Can’t have been that bad if she’s out and about,” he says. “Seems that Richard and Barbara got it, too. Sarah said Barbara and Richard were quite bad, especially Richard.”
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” I say. “That three of them have been ill. Was it anything to do with the barbecue, do you think? I’ll have to speak to Sarah about it.”
We left it at that. Humps picked up the remote control “Let’s see if there’s any news on.”
So it worked. Thank you, Zia. I feel so good about it that I shake my fists with glee when alone in the kitchen.
TWENTY-ONE
Wednesday 30th August – morning
The next day I am determined to bump into Sarah to find out what happened. I spend the morning doing housework, keeping an eye on the stairwell every now and then, in case Sarah, on the floor below, comes out. I even go to our car-park to see if her car is there. Yes, it is. She is still in. At about eleven o’clock, I hear her talking to the children outside her front door. I quickly put on my outdoor shoes and run downstairs.
“Hi, Sarah. I’m nipping out to get some horseradish sauce for Humphrey’s steak this evening. Always something missing, isn’t there?”
“We’re going to town. The children are starting school on Friday. We need to get some last-minute things. It’s never-ending...”
“Yes, back to school already. Pity their summer break is over. No more barbecues now that the rain’s set in.” That gets me onto the right subject. “Humphrey told me that you weren’t well after the barbecue.”
“Yes, it wasn’t too bad, but I could have done without it.”
“It must have been the meat,” I say.
“You reckon?”
“Yes, of course. What else? You can’t leave meat in the sun like Richard did without there being some dire consequences. Do you remember I pointed it out to him? It was already there in the sun when Humphrey and I came down, and we were early.”
“Richard and Barbara were bad, too. That’s three of us,” Sarah says.
“Richard probably shouldn’t be trusted with the meat again,” I say. “I wish he’d listened.”
“So do I,” Sarah says, “having that upset tum in the evening spoilt my day. After such a lovely afternoon. So how come the others didn’t get it?”
“Probably because you got the meat on top that the sun was beating directly down on? Or simply because the others have stronger stomachs. We’re not all the same.”
“He should have listened,” she says.
“You know what men are like, especially when they’re cooking. They never want a woman’s advice.”
“He got the worst of it. Barbara said he was up all night running to the loo,” Sarah says.
“Probably no worse than yours. Men make such a fuss. Anyway it’s his own fault. Couldn’t have been anything else. When did you hear about ice-cream being off? Never. It simply melts.” I say.
“Yes, of course. It must have been the meat.”
“The Spanish guy upstairs was telling me how good he is at grilling meat. Back home he’s got a huge family, but he’s the one at the grill when they have barbecues. He told me nobody even goes near the grill when he’s around.”
“Maybe we should ask him to do ours next year,” Sarah says.
“Good idea! That would be wise, I think.”
And with that, I go off to the shops. If Richard doesn’t remove that insult soon, I’ll have to step up the punishment. Give him a little more education. Maybe get one of Zia’s picciotti to knock him about a little in a dark alley. He’s been warned.
TWENTY-TWO
Wednesday 30th August – afternoon
After my quick lunch I set off for Zia’s yet again. I need to tell her about the Richard news. I must admit, I felt more than a twinge of satisfaction, though revenge is a base instinct, they say. Turn the other cheek. Forgive and forget. That’s what we are supposed to do as civilised beings. But what I came to feel after the bike episode was different. Being downtrodden, not getting up and fighting back, that’s what makes you feel worthless. While you’re down bullies will inflict more pain on you. Yes, I definitely feel better now.
Would Uncle Tony have killed my tortoise and cut my ball in half if I had been twice his size and vicious? I don’t think so. Though Uncle Tony had died his traits seemed to have lived on in his son, Stefano. In sharp contrast to his brother Silvio, Stefano was a scumbag. He took pleasure in hurting others. And he always avenged any wrongdoings. Stefano was born nasty, he’d been like that since he was small. He’d cheat at cards, steal my marbles and even took some money out of my mother’s purse, which I got blamed for. I’d never stolen anything. Auntie Marge would have been horrified. He used to twist my arm round to my back and turn it till I pleaded with him to stop. He’d take one of my cheeks between his index and middle fingers, like a vice, and twist it round till he could no more. Then the other cheek making my face red. According to him that was an affectionate gesture. When we grew up we’d get married, he said. I said we wouldn’t. He repeated, “Yes, we will, you’ll see.”
When I was older, about sixteen, Stefano came to our house, with a cousin of his from the other side of his family, called Adriano. Bella and Rosa’s brother. Uncle Tony’s nephew. My mother was in the back garden hanging out the washing. They stood in the porch and asked if my mother was in. I said yes. Stefano said: “When your mother’s not in, we’re going to come back and rape you.” I was gob-smacked, closed the door on them, and from then on was terrified to open the door to anyone. I didn’t tell a soul about the episode, didn’t do anything about it. I don’t know what was wrong with me, why I never reacted. But I went into avoidance mode. I avoided anyone in our community when I could because it was clear that they were going to keep hurting me.
That threat terrified me, though Stefano and Adriano didn’t come back to rape me. Stefano did come back on his own every now and then. When my mother wasn’t in, I wouldn’t open the door. He sensed I was there, and used to whistle through the letter box, after having banged on the door, and he’d keep repeating: “I’m going to marry you,” in a singsong voice. I’d lock myself in my bedroom upstairs, drag furniture and stack it up against my door, just in case he managed to break into the house.
Susi came to see me a few weeks later. She was visibly shaken. She said: “I’ve got something to tell you, but you mustn’t tell anyone. Cross your heart and hope to die.” I crossed my heart and hoped to die, though secrecy was what I was best at. Adriano had offered to take her for a drive. He headed for the countryside and raped her in a field. She was fourteen. “It was a nightmare,” she said. “First he kissed me on the mouth and said we were just messing about. The more I tried to get away the tighter he pulled me towards him telling me not to pretend I didn’t like it. He called me a slut. I felt so much pain.” He’d hit her again and again to make her succumb. My poor Susi. And it happened again after another two girls were in the car and had then been dropped off. For girls, maybe rape, or the threat of it, was part of growing up. That’s what I thought at the time. And that’s how a girl’s childhood is taken away from her.
We never told anyone.
It was difficult for us to protect ourselves from our cousins. Much easier with other boys. Of course, I understood from an early age that our family was mafiosa. It had its advantages. A couple of burly men once made a nuisance of themselves on the top deck of a London bus. I was sitting near the front, they were a few seats behind me. We were the only ones upstairs on the bus. Before I knew what was happening one of them came to sit next to me and the other one behind m
e. I was trapped. I kept my cool. The bus was travelling out of town and nobody came upstairs. The driver could help me out, if need be, so I decided to stay on the bus, past my stop. If I got off, they’d follow me. The guy sitting behind me asked if I was game for some sex. I told him no. “We’ll just sit here till you change your mind,” the other said.
I told them that my family would be very distressed if anything happened to me. “I’m Sicilian. My family has contacts, clever people who’d soon find you. No hiding place. They will make you pay for anything bad you were to do.” That did it. They scrammed. Got off at the next stop. And I used this technique a few more times. Because of my Mediterranean looks they have no hesitation in believing I am Sicilian.
TWENTY-THREE
Wednesday 30th August – afternoon
I ring Zia’s bell. It seems to take a long time for her to answer. I ring again. She eventually appears.
“Oh, Zia, how are you?”
“Me have pain in back today. I clean my big tomato pignata in the garden this morning.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Zia. Have you taken anything for your back?”
“No, I take no thing. I no trust doctor.”
“No wonder you have backache, Zia. Did you carry that heavy cauldron out to the garden yourself?”
“Yes, I roll pignata out to garden.”
Zia had always been wary of doctors seeing them as a notch higher than the police for wanting to interfere in people’s lives.
“Do you need help with your tomato jars?”
“Yes, I happy you here now.”
Zia makes tomato sauce every year for winter. She boils tomatoes, in her huge cauldron, then strains them, places the sauce in jars, and screws the lids on. When that’s all done, she puts the jars back in the cauldron, on a camp fire, and sterilises them by giving them a good boiling.
“You know, Napoli woman Gennara, next door, she copy me. She make tomato sauce in garden. She buy bigger pignata than my pignata.”
The Sicilian Woman's Daughter Page 10
