The Sicilian Woman's Daughter

by Linda Lo Scuro

  “Yes, minghia, Zia. I could strangle him.”

  Zia points a finger at me and wags it four times, to the beat of each word, as she spells out: “You – no – kill – him.”

  “Zia! The thought never crossed my mind. Really! I would never kill Humps. Not even now that he turns out to be as big a minghiuni as any other man.”

  “You never say never.” And imagine my surprise when Zia starts singing: “Only you, and you alone can fill my heart with love... A-ha, A-ha.”

  Zia, stop it. Are you taking my pain seriously, or what?”

  “You sing no more love song.” Zia doesn’t know, but she’s just near enough quoted James Joyce. “I tell you he put it in, and you say me: ‘No, no, my Hump he good man...’ Only you, and you alone... ”

  “Zia be serious I’ve had my life shattered.”

  “Oh, you shatter, “ she says. “I tell you what is shatter. My husband Tony is shatter. He no tall, he no handsome, he no rich. And he hit me. That is shatter!”

  She’s even getting angry at me now. She’s impossible, but at least I can speak to her and know she won’t tell anybody.

  “So, he futtiri puttane,” she says, “you go home give him nice kiss, you futtiri another man. What the problem?”

  “What, Zia? Are you saying I should go with another man?”

  “I sure, it make you feel better. If you find man you like, you futtiri him. Occhio per occhio, dente per dente, meaning: eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, she says quoting the Bible.

  “But you’ve always been against adultery.”

  “This time it no adultery, this time it revenge. Capisti?”

  “I can’t,” I cry.

  “Why you no can?”

  “I love him.”

  “Ah, you silly girl. Next week when you get over, you find nice man.”

  “Zia! Uncle Tony cheated on you. Did you go with someone else?”

  She lowers her eyes: “Maybe.”

  Oh, God. Am I the most boring person in my family? Apart from Emma that is.

  “Now you go buy three fish and chip on corner shop, and we have lunch. Adele say she come back for lunch. I no have time for cook.”

  “Yes, of course, Zia. Is Adele still here?”

  “Yeah, she go shopping. She tell me, she here for lunch.”

  Zia puts the fish and chips on vividly-coloured, flowery plates.

  “I pop Adele plate in oven.” But as soon as Zia is about to do so, Adele rings the doorbell. She comes in loaded with shopping – all designer items in large paper carrier bags. Well, she’ll have no problems getting through customs in Palermo when they see her name.

  “I had to get a taxi back, I couldn’t face going on the underground with all this shopping,” she says. Anything will look good on her tallish, slim figure.

  “You come eat. Fish and chip ready for you.”

  Adele comes and kisses us both. As we’re eating, I wonder when I can tell Zia about the missing money at the bank. But, I can trust Adele, and I might well get some help.

  “When we went to Sicily, your father said that if I ever needed help I was to ask.”

  “Sure,” Adele says, “we’re family. Fire away.”

  “It’s just that... there’s money missing in Humphrey’s bank. There’s a gaping hole of more than fifteen million pounds.”

  “Stra-minghia!” Zia says.

  Adele is eating chips with her fingers, one by one. At the sound of fifteen million a chip stops in mid-air. “Wow! Are you kidding me?!”

  “Humps and his colleagues have been taking money from accounts to organise PR events. They bought and sold shares. They’ve done it before, but this time they lost money instead of making it. They might have lost money before but managed to recover it. This time it’s got out of hand.”

  “Vaffanculo, when you husband rob, he rob big,” Zia says. “He no rob olive jar from supermarket.”

  “You’re telling me!” Adele says.

  “I know, I was shocked when he told me. All the top-tier people know about it at the bank,” I say.

  “I’m not shocked that they took it, bankers play about with money. But I’m shocked that they lost it, whoa!” Adele says. “We should be able to help you out. Leave it with me. I have an idea. I’ll talk to dad about it when he gets here. Does this bank have an Italian branch?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll find out,” I say.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll find out myself. Mom and dad are getting here on Monday. They’re coming to see the premises Clara found for the art gallery. Sounds like it’s a great location. Did Clara tell you?”

  “Eh, no. I’ve been away for a few days and haven’t spoken to her,” I say.

  “Yeah, she found this awesome place near the Thames, on South Bank. Mum’s coming over to see it and sign the contract, if she likes it. Dad’s coming as well because he has things to do here.”

  “Adele she sort for you. She clever girl,” Zia says.

  “Would you and your parents like to come to ours for dinner one evening?” I ask.

  “We’d love that,” Adele says. “Which evening are you thinking of?”

  “How long are your parents staying?”

  “We’re going back together on Saturday.

  “What about Thursday?”

  “OK. I’ll ask mom when she phones this evening and let you know.”

  That gives Humps a week to get back home and get his act together, and come back to London after he’s got the windows fixed.

  “Zia, you come, too. Young Cushi will be delighted if you’re there.”

  “I come later. I bring dessert.”

  “Fine, Zia, as you wish. I’ll give Susi a call and see if she wants to join us.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Sunday 22nd October

  Humps has been texting and phoning since Thursday. I’ve ignored him. And I’ve just received a text saying he’s on his way home and will arrive soon. I don’t answer. He’ll get his answer when he’s home. What a mess he’s got us into. Humps together with Jimmy and Frank couldn’t rustle up that kind of money, and now they will have to accept Young Cushi’s help, that is if he and his daughter can find a way to do it.

  But what hurt most was his escapades with call girls. I could get over the bank business. Betrayal is different. I didn’t realise how much it hurt. I have always been faithful though I have had a few indecent proposals during our long married life. I even resisted the constant overtures of that sensual music teacher. Those escorts were probably beautiful, long-legged, long-haired blondes from eastern Europe, or cute petite women from Asia, or voluptuous Brazilians. And what sweet nothings did he purr into their ears? The same as he’s murmured to me? Or was he simply animalistic, got on with the job and said nothing to them? How debauched can you get? Oh, Humps, I hate you.

  Zia says having an affair myself would make me feel better. I’m in my early sixties for God’s sake. Men my age look for younger women. Anyway, that’s not on the cards right now. I hear the key in the lock. Humps walks in. He’s in his jeans and dark blue suit jacket, looking like a million dollars. In his arms a huge bunch of red roses. “These are for you,” he says, holding them out to me. It would be churlish to refuse them, though I feel as though I could cut their heads off and stuff them in his mouth. I take the roses, say a cold “Thank you,” and take them into the kitchen. Then I ignore him, and he is sensible enough to realise now’s not the time to talk to me. He goes to the bedroom and stays there for a while. When he comes out he says: “Don’t those roses look beautiful?”

  I want to hug and kiss him, and I want to punish him at the same time. So, I just utter a “Yes.”

  I didn’t get any lunch for myself, so I’m not cooking for him either. He notices there are no smells in the house and says: “Shall we go to a pub and get a Sunday roast?”

  “No,” I say, “we have things to talk about that can’t be discussed in pubs.”

  He gives a sigh of relief because at least I’m speaki
ng to him.

  “Fine,” he says, “I’m ready when you are.”

  “I don’t want to talk about your antics at parties. The less said about those the better. Even if we talked about them at length, the fact remains and there’s nothing you can say that’ll make me feel better.”

  I try holding my tears back but they triumph and start running down my cheeks. He puts his arms around me, but doesn’t say anything. It would feel so good, if he weren’t such a bastard. I wipe my tears, go and sit in my favourite armchair, and say: “Young Cushi and his family are coming to dinner Thursday evening. Zia and Clara are coming as well. Susi can’t because she’s got a date.”

  “I see. So they’re here in London, are they?” he says.

  “Yes, I’ve spoken to Adele who’s still at Zia’s. She says she might be able to find a way of solving the fifteen million problem. You’re going to have to speak to your colleagues before Thursday and tell them that you’ve probably found a solution. And if that doesn’t work, and a journalist finds out, the papers will have a field day and your face will be on the front pages for all to see. Your elderly parents will choke on their breakfast when they see your picture plastered all over the Daily Telegraph. I mean, although your colleagues hold senior positions, you’re number one and the buck ultimately stops with you.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry for dragging you through this.”

  “Whatever happens, I’m standing by you. I love you, and my life without you would be meaningless.”

  “As mine would be without you,” he says.

  “Is that offer for Sunday lunch still valid?”

  “Yes,” he says and jumps to his feet.

  “Amuni,” I say.

  “And what does that mean?

  “Let’s go, in Sicilian.”

  “Amuni,” he says.

  While we’re waiting for our roasts, Humps says: “By the way, I got the window fixed. It needed changing. I chose the Tudor style lattice panes – you know, they’re reinforced in case of any more tempests.”

  “Well, I am not apologising.”

  “I’m certainly not expecting an apology. Quite the contrary. I thought that was a stonking performance. What was it you said: “Stiff-fucking-upper-fucking-lip?”

  The waitress overhears him as she arrives behind him with the roasts. I didn’t tell him she was coming. She smiles.

  What did you tell the window suppliers?”

  “Vandals. And that’s what I told Yvonne, too. Of course I had to pick up all the objects and the shards on the lawn first, otherwise they’d have realised the glass had been broken from inside to out, and not the other way round.”

  “Will you be making an insurance claim?”

  He smiles that smile that makes me melt. “We’ll let this one go, I think. I’m not sure they have a claims form for Sicilian tempests.”

  We laugh.

  “Buon appetito,” I say.

  “Buon appetito.”

  FIFTY-NINE

  Thursday 26th October

  Thursday soon comes around, and I’ve hired help to get the house ready. By midday, it’s sparkling. I’ve ordered food from the best Italian restaurant in the neighbourhood, and have asked them to bring the right wines along, too. They are bringing the food and sending a waiter and a cook. We’ve agreed that they will leave after the first course has been served. So it will be all small talk up till then.

  Clara arrives with a cardboard tube under her arm. “I’ve got the gallery plans in here,” she says, waving the tube about. “Where’s daddy?”

  “He’s in the shower. Our guests will be here soon.”

  “I’ve chucked my job in,” she says. “The bloody pittance they were paying me wasn’t worth my while working out my notice. I phoned them point blank, and told them I wasn’t going back. He said: ‘Clara, you’re in the middle of a project.’ And I said: ‘Someone else’ll have to finish it off then, won’t they?’ Oh, I can’t tell you how good that felt.”

  “Well, they’re hardly going to take legal action, are they?”

  “No, they definitely won’t do that. And, if they tried, I’m sure our family can find a way to put them out of business.”

  “But you won’t get a reference,” I say.

  “They can stick it. What do I need a reference for? My reference for Patrizia’s gallery is that I’m your daughter.”

  “I see.”

  “Mum, I’m over the moon. I’ve already got some designs in here to show Patrizia. I’ve put a lot of work into this. Do you know what my new salary is?”

  “No, idea, darling. I suppose it’ll be pretty high judging by your enthusiasm.”

  “Mum, high? It’s astronomical! And added to that I’ll be getting commission...”

  “That’s great, Clara, that really is great. I’m so happy for you,” I kiss her.

  “Have they signed the contract?”

  “Yes, they signed two on Tuesday. Straight after Patrizia, Adele and me had seen the premises. They signed the gallery contract, and my work contract.”

  “Wonderful! Sorry, darling, I need to change. They’ll be here any minute. Dad’ll soon be out and you can talk to him.”

  “Are you getting all dolled up?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say, looking at her in her jeans.

  “Well, don’t overdo it.”

  “No, I won’t. I’m wearing that light-blue shiny dress. By the way that’ll be an excellent choice for the opening of the gallery, too.”

  “I’ll be wearing my black and silver weirdo stuff. It’s allowed when you’re an artist.”

  “Ah, here’s dad,” I say. “I’ll be back in a mo.’ Do tell him about your new job.”

  As soon as I finish dressing, the intercom rings. They’re here. They come out of the lift loaded with presents.

  “Ciao, bella!” Patrizia says, kissing me first, then Clara.

  “Young Cushi comes in holding two bottles of wine, while Adele is embracing a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

  “Oh, you shouldn’t have,” I say. I am so happy to see them. “Do come in and sit down. We’ll have our aperitif in a moment. Humps and Young Cushi shake hands. This is going to be an incredible evening. I can feel it.

  After our second course, Zia arrives in a taxi armed with cannoli. Susi phoned me to say Zia had left, so I worked out how long the journey would take and waited for her at the gate. “Ah, Maria, you take cannoli. I get out of taxi.” When we walk in, Zia is welcomed with cheers. “You my wonderful family,” she says. I place the cannoli on a large Spode oval serving dish. The waiter and cook have left. I don’t have time to get the dessert plates, and they’re all taking a cannolo each. Now, in other times, Humps would have thought that untoward, but he’s joining in as if he weren’t a toff. I hardly recognise him lately. It took a Sicilian tempest to loosen him up. Humps gets the port out. “Fill your neighbour’s glass to your right and then pass the decanter around to your left. And we keep going round until the decanter’s empty. You start, Cushi, there’s a good chap,” Humps says. Some things never change.

  “Fill up,” Zia says, when Young Cushi is serving hers.

  “Quick drink up, Zia, before the decanter comes round again,” Humps says.

  “I drink, you no worry,” she replies.

  “Let’s get to work,” Adele says. Zia wants to watch television because she always watches television in the evenings. She sits on the sofa, and I give her the remote control. She’s happy. Patrizia and Clara sit on the carpet, then Clara spreads sheets out for Patrizia to see. Humps invites Young Cushi and Adele into his office. I go too. I want to see what all this is about.

  “Can you design a structured product based on something that fluctuates wildly like the crude oil price?” Adele says to Humps.

  “Yes, the derivatives desk does this all the time,” Humps says.

  “What my father wants to do,” Adele says, “is to deposit twenty million euros in an investment account with your bank. Then we close the accou
nt when it’s down to three million euros. So that means seventeen million euros can be used to cover the loss. Your people will have to design the product so that my father’s loss is your bank’s profit. The only unknowns are how long the transfer takes, which depends on the fluctuation of the oil price, and any recovery in the pound against the euro,” Adele says.

  “We can design structured products so that the bank wins whichever way the price goes,” Humps says.

  “I’ll need to see a draft of the contract to make sure there are no hidden surprises,” Adele says.

  “Adele, I’m relying on your legal knowledge to get this right,” Young Cushi says.

  “Oh, we will get it right. No worries,” Adele replies.

  “A man of mine has examined the books and business of your bank’s branch in the south of Italy,” Young Cushi says. “We are prepared to offer your head office eight million euros to buy the branch from you.”

  “That branch is worth more like forty million euros,” Humps says.

  “That’s the offer. Your bank’s not in a strong position to argue,” Young Cushi says.

  Adele intervenes: “Eight million plus seventeen million makes twenty-five million we’re paying. It’s a decent sum given we’re getting you top people out of the media limelight and the law’s clutches.”

  “I’ll need to get it through the board. There are ten of us. The board knows hell will break loose if the press get hold of this story. The media hate us bankers as it is. I will argue at the board meeting that there’s too much risk in owning a small branch in the south of Italy, so we’d be better rid of it. We save our bank in London from a scandal and reduce our risk profile.”

  “Tell them I don’t barter” says Young Cushi. Don’t come back with a counter offer. And tell them we’ll need to open an account for the new gallery. There’ll be a lot of money going through that. If our offer is refused, we can take our custom elsewhere.”

  So if I’ve understood correctly, Young Cushi is making fifteen million euros, while adding a bank to his portfolio. Humps shakes hands with Young Cushi and Adele to seal the deal. “Let’s go back to the living room, join the others and open a magnum,” I say. “We must celebrate.” I give the bottle to Humps. He turns it upside down and shakes it vigorously. Then he pops the cork which flies and is followed by a champagne spray. He opens his mouth wide and tries to catch the champagne in his mouth before it hits the floor. With the result he drenches his face and hair. The man is decisively going insane. Long may it last.