The Sicilian Woman's Daughter

by Linda Lo Scuro

  “I don’t want that house and land, either,” she says. “Who’s going to buy them?”

  “Well, your mum’s very attached to the house. It’s her childhood home. She’s the only sister left, so it rightfully belongs to her now. Italian hereditary law passes property down to me, even though my mother’s dead she still has a right to her share. Not like in England, is it?”

  “I don’t know,” she says.

  “I’m not sure either, come to that. I’ll have to ask Humps. He knows everything.”

  “Maybe my brothers’ll do something with the house.”

  “Silvio and Stefano haven’t been there for years, have they?” I say.

  “Silvio has. Franca has family in The Village. She grew up there don’t forget. She has old friends, like Patrizia – they went to school together.”

  Of course. Silvio was in the transport and distribute trade as well. How stupid of me not to make the Patrizia-Franca connection. What could be easier than handing out little plastic bags of powder from an ice-cream van? Silvio went from your ordinary, kill-me-if-I-hear-that-jingle-again, ice-cream man, to a man at the head of a popular ice-cream brand. Who financed that? Whippy flakes? I don’t think so.

  “Susi, in confidence, have you ever taken drugs?”

  “Course not. I’d tell you if I did. I’ve never even seen drugs, never mind take them. You know what my drugs are, don’t you?”

  “Men.”

  Susi knew nothing of Zia’s doings like I didn’t know about my mother’s.

  “How’s your brother Stefano getting on up north?” I ask.

  “Oh, they’re fine.”

  “They’re in the restaurant business, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah, they’re doing really well. They’ve got three restaurants now. His wife, Romina, is the boss there. I’ve never seen a man so scared of his wife. That’s how I’d be if I ever got married again. I’d keep the reins on him,” she says.

  We giggle.

  “Not surprised she’s keeping him under her thumb. What, after nearly abandoning her at the altar.”

  “No worries, Mary. She got her own back.”

  “Both your brothers have done well, haven’t they?”

  “Yeah, well they always were determined. Me? I’m just having fun. We’re all different, eh?”

  “Very much so. There’s a lot to be said for your way of life.”

  What I meant was keeping out of the ‘family business.’

  “Oh, yeah, I’ve had a smashing time. Still am,” she says.

  The waiter turns up to take our order. You’d think that the menu is stuffed down Susi’s décolleté. He is studying it quite hard now. “That’s off the menu tonight,” he says when I ask for their Uccelli scappati.

  “Won’t you look at the arse on that,” Susi says, watching the waiter’s pert bum walking back to the kitchen. We giggle again.

  “Hey, the application for the grant to set up a women’s helpline has been approved. Seba phoned me last night. We’re meeting up next week to discuss the project.”

  “Wow.” I say. “That’s some achievement, especially as the government are pulling the purse strings tight in this period.”

  “He put the claim in years ago,” she says, “and it’s only come through now.”

  “Come at a convenient time, if you ask me?” I say. “Susi I would have loved to have worked with you on that project. To help women in need would have been so rewarding. But I’m not sure now. I need some time to think.”

  “Oh, come on, Mary,” she says, “it’ll keep you busy. I tell you what, why don’t you manage the telephonists. That shouldn’t be too much work. Appoint the right ones and so on. I don’t know how many we’ll need at this stage. We’ll work it out as we go along.”

  “I need to think about it, Susi. I’ve got some sorting out to do. I’ll let you know OK?”

  She leans over the table a little, and says: “Hey, Mary, let me tell you about my recent lovers.”

  “Go on, then,” I say.

  Andy first – a teacher, poet, abstract artist, trombone player – not her sort, too arty farty. His great involvement in the arts, according to Susi, was down to the fact that he didn’t have a dick. “Mary, I shit you not, it was a spread-out blancmangey mess, with a little pinnacle on top.”

  Agog. I try to imagine it.

  “I pitied him, Mary. Fancy being so unlucky. I mean, what’s the point of being a man if you haven’t got a proper dick. Poor man nearly cried when I stared at it.”

  It’s no good arguing with her by saying that life wasn’t all about sex. I’ve tried that, many a time, and got nowhere. This man has lots of other interests. But, you just have to let her talk about her new lovers, until she’s got it out of her system.

  “Then what happened?” I ask.

  “He went to the bathroom and took a tablet, must’ve been a Viagra. I wouldn’t know, no-one’s had to use one with me before.” She laughs. “And, you know what?”

  “What?”

  “When he came back, it was like a normal one. He has a wife and two kids, but imagine being married to that!”

  “Poor bloke,” I say, shaking my head as if to say ‘life can be so unfair, can’t it?’”

  “Did I tell you about Jim, the black banker?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “You should have seen it, Mary. It was ginormous. Must have been about half-a-yard long.” She tries to figure out what length half-a-yard is by holding up her index fingers and moving them along an imaginary line.

  We giggle like a couple of schoolgirls. “That’s impossible, Susi.”

  A man at a nearby table, early-sixties, looks over. “See, you’re attracting attention,” I say laughingly. When his head turns back in the opposite direction, she whispers loudly, “I always did like a man in a nice suit!”

  “Stop it,” I say. She was way over the top. Or, some might say, it is me who’s too prudish. The truth is that although I think I’m above such talk, I listen with interest.

  “Haven’t told you about the Detective Chief Inspector yet. Mary, you should have seen it. Short and wide it was. About the diameter of the rim of this coffee cup...”

  We are interrupted by the waiter bringing us two flutes of Prosecco.

  “Oh,” I say, “very nice but we didn’t order them.”

  “Offered by the gentleman over there,” the waiter says, pointing to the man in the suit.

  “I couldn’t possibly,” I say.

  “Come on, Mary, don’t be such a misery guts, I’m having mine even if you’re not drinking yours.”

  “OK. Well, if that’s the case, I’ll keep you company. Let’s seize the glass,” I say, as I reach over for mine. I figure out that he’ll most probably get his value for money from Susi.

  In no time at all, the suit is sitting at our table. And guess what? He is all over me. I glance at my watch. “Oh, it’s nearly ten o’clock,” I say, “my husband’s picking me up soon. He might actually be waiting in the car. I’ll pop out and have a look.” Once outside, I phone Humps. “Darling, can you come and fetch me, please?”

  “So sorry,” I say to the suit, my husband’s out there. I have to go. Nice meeting you. Susi, I’ll give you a buzz whenever.”

  Out I go, leaving them there laughing, flirting and drinking more Prosecco. They have a bottle of it on the table now. No doubt I’ll hear about his reproductive parts in due course.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Thursday 12th October

  Adele is pleased to see me. I give her a hearty welcome. Her mother, Patrizia, has sent me a beautiful jewellery box, engraved with magna-Greek gods. “It’s silver,” Adele says. I can’t refuse it. That would be seen as a total lack of respect towards her, and her family. The gesture would be taken to mean I don’t want to have anything to do with them; that I refuse them and what they stand for. These are dangerous people. I have to conjure up every shred of diplomacy I have in me. “I can’t believe how beautiful it is,” I say. “
You must thank your mother very much.”

  “You can call her yourself, if you want. She’d love to hear from you. Here’s her number,” Adele says, passing me a business card saying she’s an art dealer.

  “I make ricotta cannoli cakes again this morning,” Zia says. Celebrate Adele arrive in England. Later I give you two to take to you husband. Cuppa tea?”

  This has gone beyond a pastime. Beyond a cosy cup of tea and home-made cakes. That ‘cuppa tea?’ is beginning to grate.

  “My mother has great respect for you, you know?” Adele says.

  Wrong kind of respect, I think.

  “Yes, I’m fond of your mother, too. We were best friends during that time I spent in Sicily. We shared all our girly secrets.”

  “I’d hate to think what they were,” Adele says.

  “Well, I’m not letting on,” I laugh.

  Zia comes back with her tray. “We tell Maria, you other present for her,” Zia says to Adele, while she turns to me and gives me a sly grin – one that reminds me of Peppina’s. I’ve never seen, or maybe noticed, that smirk on Zia’s face before.

  “Yes, it’s exciting,” Adele replies. “Look, I have here Peppina and your grandmother’s guns.”

  “This Peppina gun,” Zia says, picking one up. “This my mother gun. I tell Maria take her mother gun. She no want.”

  “It’s a very old model,” Adele says.

  “She keep souvenir of her poor mother,” Zia says, “she must take gun. She must respect mother.”

  Adele looks at the gun and says: “This old model wouldn’t be much use. The only thing it’s any good for is as an ornament. Like in a glass-fronted cabinet. Dad’s got a great gun collection, up in the attic. You must have your mother’s for keepsake,” Adele shoves it into my hands.

  “Yeah, you take gun and two cannoli for you husband when you go,” Zia says to me.

  Defeated, I take the gun. I’ll throw it in the Thames on my way back home. Drop it into the Thames when nobody is looking.

  “Giusy take my patch business,” Zia says, “Adele come to speak to Giusy. She good girl. She work with me. She got experience. She clever. My Susi no so clever. Silvio and Stefano work with me. They do good business. But they no time to take my patch. They wife busy busy.”

  “Now, I hope that day is as far away as possible before you go, Zia” Adele says, Adele gives Zia a kiss.

  If Zia tells Young Cushi, I am the cause of Peppina’s death, he’ll believe her, rather than me. I can’t antagonise him. Uncle Tony’s body in this house was no longer insurance for me at all. I couldn’t use that now. First, because Young Cushi knew about it. His father had buried Uncle Tony there. If I disclosed that, I’d end up with Bella and Rosa under the motorway.

  Have the three venomous sisters won? They have struck through Zia. They have slithered towards me, tracked down their prey and pounced on me. Am I locked in their tight grip again? Drawn into their world? I have been a good student, a good teacher, a good wife and mother. All in vain. The evil in them has ultimately raised its ugly head in me. I’d let down the good people in my life: Auntie Marge, Humps, my daughters, Mark and little Benjamin.

  I manage to get away and take the gun, irritated that I will have to go to Zia’s again. But the next time must really be the last time.

  “Humps, now that I’m retired, I’d love to go and live in our lovely thatched cottage in Dorset. What’s the good of having it, if we don’t make the most of it? All that peace. I so long for some peace and quiet.”

  “Well that’s unexpected. I’m still working, you know that. And you’ve always been happy in London.”

  “I know but I need to get away now. I need to get away to think straight. I’d miss London an awful lot if I couldn’t get here when I wanted to. But it’s perfectly feasible to get to London and back in a day.”

  “What brought all this on, then? You’ve always loved London.”

  “I know but I need to get away now. I need to get away from the whole Sicilian community. I was wiser when I was younger and steered clear of them all. Now I’ve let my defences down, and look what people we’ve been in contact with. I want to go back to being out on a limb. I don’t want to see them again. I’ll go and say goodbye to Zia. Then that’s it.”

  “You’re being rather harsh, aren’t you? Zia’s not that bad, surely. And Susi’s the sister you never had. It’s the people in Sicily, you want to be away from. And you’re far enough here.”

  “It’s not that easy, darling. They’re all linked. Having contact with one of them is having contact with all of them. I’ll miss Susi. But she badgers me about going to see her mum. I need a complete break.”

  He lowered his head and looked at me over his glasses. Like he does when he’s disagreeing with me.

  “Look, darling,” I say, “I don’t want to keep on digging up reasons why, but please just take it from me that we’ll be better off in Dorset. When there’s a play or exhibition here we want to see, or if we want to visit the kids, we’ll come up for the day or stay for a night or two.”

  “It’ll probably be more than one or two nights we’ll be staying. But, Mary, if that’s what you want, we can spend more time down there. It’s an easy move. Just take a few clothes with you and go and stay there.”

  “And what about your work?”

  “I’ll see how I can shift my work around so I can be there as much as possible. I can probably get away with being in the office once or twice a week. I can do a lot of work from home, like writing, conference preparations and even take phone calls. But I’ll have to travel back here for meetings.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” I look around the flat. “This place is far too big for us, anyway. I’m not getting any younger and soon won’t be able to clean it all properly. I’m tired. I want some peace, reading, walking, cooking and so on. And you can go back to a bit of gardening. Like you did when we first got married and had a garden.”

  “Now, that does appeal to me,” he says, “but I’m not happy about not having a bolthole in London. We could get a smaller place here. You might want to come back, darling. You never know.”

  “I don’t think so. Also, my retirement has made me think back through my life. It’s been a turning point, if you like. I’d like to do some writing. My head is full of ideas. That will take a lot of time and I need to be in a place with no distractions. The calming effect of fresh sea air.”

  “To Dorset, it’ll be then. Lots of fresh air and exercise, walking in the woods and by the sea. What could be better?”

  “And, also we need to sell our chalet in Italy. I don’t want to go to Italy any more,” I say.

  “Now, that’s overdoing it,” Humps puts his foot down. “Let’s gradually switch over part-time to Dorset first. Then we’ll think about the chalet. You’re a little depressed at the moment. You haven’t been happy lately. We can’t take important decisions like this now.”

  FIFTY-THREE

  Friday 13th October

  This is the final time I am going to Zia’s. I do hope that she has no other visitors there. Zia opens the door, kisses me. I go in and Giusy is there, all tits and holy cross. She is about to leave. That’s a relief. I’m not in the mood for false chit-chat.

  “Zia, I have something I need to talk to you about. It’s about this Peppina business. I’ve been worried that you’ve got into your head that I was somehow responsible for her death, which is totally unfounded. It’s been keeping me awake at night.”

  “Ah, Peppina business! You no like Peppina, Peppina no like you. You go down stair, she die.”

  “Yes, but the point is, I need to know what your view is about how she died. Do you think I killed her? I came here for that purpose. I want an answer. A promise, even.”

  God knows, I will kill Zia before Young Cushi gets me.

  “I do no thing. I no know about you kidney. You no tell me. You daughter my poor sister. What I do?” Zia answers her own question, “I no tell Young Cushi. He second cousin. Yo
u are what left of my sister. I think you push, but if you say she slip, she slip.” Zia often came up with these contorted contradictions. In essence, she was saying that she thinks I pushed Peppina, but she wouldn’t tell anyone that.

  “Thank you,” I say to Zia, and kiss her. “So you promise?”

  “I promise. Look I swear on Bible. I no tell anyone,” she moves to fetch it.

  “No, Zia, that won’t be necessary. You’ve promised. I take your word for it.”

  “You know word of Sicilian is like pillar in cement with steel inside,” she says.

  Zia is well up on Sicilian construction work. That brings all sorts of connotations to my mind.

  “Yes, secrecy is in our blood,” I say. “And, I promise I will never tell on you or Susi,” I glance over at the pantry. Which is under lock and key again.

  “We let dog asleep lie,” she says.

  “Yes, let’s let sleeping dogs lie. And sleeping bodies lie, too: Bella, Rosa, Giulio, Adriano, Peppina and, of course, Uncle Tony, too.”

  “Yes, they all rest in peace. I bless them. God look after soul of them,” Zia says. Zia is completely without remorse. At least, I have a little guilt.

  “I’m not too sure about their resting in peace,” I say. “They are probably turning over in their graves crying out for revenge.”

  “Ah, revenge? Revenge for living people. If you have saint in paradise, revenge easy. If you have no saint in paradise, you lose.”

  Others might not understand this, but a Sicilian does. Her ‘saint in paradise’ is Young Cushi. It used to be Old Cushi. With a little help from her saints, Zia had got rid of her husband and decimated his family. Another reason why Zia is letting me off the hook is that she knows that if I had it in me to kill Peppina, I could do it again – I could very well kill her. She is now quite frail.

  “Cuppa tea?”

  “No, Zia. I have to go. I’ve lots of organising to do. Humphrey and I are moving to the south coast.”

  She is shocked.

  “You London girl. What you do there?” she says, nearly crying.

  I ignore her reaction.