by Lucy Knott
‘Not enough to visit though, hey,’ Amanda said with a note of disappointment. Sabrina drew her attention away from the cake counter where she had been eyeing up the remaining slices of ricotta torta and olive breads that Francesca and Kate were organizing into boxes. She sent them a smile and a wave and was given bright smiles in return. Her sister, it seemed, wasn’t feeling as friendly. Amanda concentrated on wiping down tables, almost ignoring Sabrina.
‘I’m sorry Amanda,’ Sabrina sighed. Was everyone mad at her today? ‘I know I’ve not been in much but we’re in full-on recording mode and I’ve been swamped with marketing plans and strategies and getting to know everyone on the new team. Please don’t be upset with me,’ she whispered, not wanting to cause a scene in the middle of the café, though now it was empty, bar Kate and Francesca cleaning the coffee bar and counter.
‘If that’s your excuse does that mean the ban has been lifted and the boys can once again eat at my café?’ Amanda stopped wiping the table and took a seat in the blue armchair by the bay window. Sabrina followed her but couldn’t quite sit down in the yellow one opposite; she felt too antsy, she wasn’t one for confrontation and especially not one for causing the hurt she could see upon her sister’s face.
‘Amanda, please understand what my job entails. I don’t wish to hurt you, or Dan, or Levi, but image is everything and the publicist is insistent on the band keeping their girlfriends under the radar,’ Sabrina explained, as she fiddled with the watch on her wrist.
‘Ahh, that is until, of course, they’re spotted with a hot celebrity darling or maybe someone more in their league and then they will be signing them up for every red carpet event and encouraging the paparazzi to take all the candid shots they desire. I’m sure if James were to dine here with a Victoria’s Secret model it would make for quite the cute image of “rock star dining with model at quaint Italian café”,’ Amanda said, running a hand through her hair, which she pulled loose of her messy bun, relieving her of the weight atop her head. Sabrina watched her. She wasn’t shouting, which Sabrina took as a good sign, but the bags under her eyes indicated that was due to exhaustion and not for a lack of being angry with her. There was no hiding the dismay in her deep hazel eyes at what Sabrina had enforced.
Sabrina sighed, and her belly rumbled. She didn’t know what more to say on this topic. In her mind she was doing right by her band and giving her sister the breathing room to run the café without hordes of screaming fans outside. ‘I thought you’d all understand. It’s the music business, it’s the media; we have to cooperate and give them what they want,’ she told Amanda, feeling disgruntled.
‘What do you want Bri?’ Amanda asked, raising her hands limply at her sides. ‘I get it. I do. I’m not going to pretend that the paparazzi don’t scare me, but what’s worse is not seeing my boyfriend. I may not be the girlfriend the media or the record label want Dan to have, but I am the girlfriend he has, and I’d like to continue being that girlfriend. You being on their side and not thinking I’m good enough for Dan, it bloody hurts Bri. You of all people.” Amanda paused. Sabrina felt the anger in her sisters’ tone with those last words, her heart stung at how hurt Amanda looked and sounded. “It will be hard enough as it is when he’s away on tour, but not being able to see him when he’s around, well, it sucks. This relationship thing, it’s all new to us and I’m not going to lie and say it’s been a perfect transition because, well, it hasn’t, and honestly, this whole ban thing hasn’t helped. Dan has been super weird lately and I can’t put my finger on it. It would be lovely to talk to him without getting berated the next day because pictures of us together are online,’ Amanda finished, sitting towards the edge of the armchair, getting her cloth ready for more action.
‘I’m sorry about that.’ Sabrina started. Amanda shrugged. ‘You’re not out of his league and I didn’t mean to have a go at you the other night on the phone. The publicist can get a bit pushy, that’s all. And I just want to make the band successful, for them to do well and live their dream.’ Sabrina plonked herself down in the yellow armchair opposite Amanda. Had she really made Amanda feel like she was second best to celebrities? Like she wasn’t good enough for Dan? Sabrina felt hot all of a sudden. How could she argue her case now? How could she deny how she had made her sister feel? She always tried to encourage Amanda to share her emotions; now that she was doing so, she couldn’t dismiss them. What was more important?
‘All I’m saying Bri, is that you were all about the music; you’ve always been like that and you did a damn good job at keeping those boys grounded and fighting for them and taking the heat back at Jones Records whenever someone tried to steer them in a direction you didn’t like. Don’t forget that. Music is one thing. Image is another. You can correct me if I’m wrong and give me the inside scoop on the music business if I’ve got this all upside down, but I don’t believe that my loving Dan interferes with his ability to make music,’ Amanda said confidently. Sabrina let out a breath, her nerves relaxing slightly that she was getting to talk this out with her sister instead of being given the silent treatment – though she realized she deserved it. She had been neglecting them both recently and clearly putting success before family; since recording started she couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken to Louisa on the phone.
‘Quite the opposite, in fact. He sounds incredible on this album. It’s different to the last one and I have no doubt you’ve inspired the lyrics,’ Sabrina noted, playing with the hem of her skater dress and letting out a light laugh. ‘I guess I’m scared,’ she sighed, Amanda having become a bit like a therapist in the last ten minutes. ‘This record deal is amazing. The control they’ve given the boys with the writing and their sound has been unprecedented. I don’t want to screw it up. But you’re right, they’re grown men with families and girlfriends, who make amazing music. That’s their image, not some box that the label is trying to fit them in to suit media trends and fantasies. I can’t believe I’ve been falling for it again and pushing Levi away,’ she added, palming her forehead. ‘He was so disappointed with me this afternoon. I didn’t stick up for them this time. If it wasn’t for the fact that I now go home with Levi every night, I’m repeating the same mistake as before, allowing the label to cause a rift between us, running away from our relationship.’
Amanda laughed and stood up. ‘I can only imagine his pretty face pouting. It’s okay to be scared, Sabrina. But you must give yourself more credit. The boys have girlfriends, so what? That has nothing to do with the music they produce or the art they create. They can’t pretend to be people they are not, in hopes of shifting a few more records. The world will continue to fall in love with them for who they are and that’s honest to goodness ridiculous musicians who, okay, yes, all have take-me-to-bed eyes, but that’s beside the point. You’re not repeating the same mistake. You’re aware of what’s happening this time so now you fix it and focus on running towards Levi and not away from him. Now, come on, I could hear your stomach growling before you even walked through the door, let’s get you some food.’ Amanda walked towards the kitchen and Sabrina jumped up to follow.
‘You mean you started that whole conversation even when you knew I was hungry?’ Sabrina asked, with a gentle shove to Amanda’s shoulder as they both burst through the swinging double doors.
‘We haven’t had a good chat in ages. Which reminds me, you need to message Lou. She’s been asking about you. I think you were better at staying in touch when you lived four thousand miles away,’ Amanda said, with a teasing tut.
‘Alright, I’m sorry. You’ve put me in my place. I’ve been a terrible sister this past month and I’m sorry. Now please tell me you’re not going to withhold that delicious looking tiramisu from me?’ Sabrina asked, putting down her bag by the door and edging her way over to a bowl that was resting on the kitchen island.
‘Only if you tell me that you’re going to see to all this “banned from the café” nonsense and put Levi out of his misery?’ Amanda said, taking two fork
s out of a kitchen draw and taking them over to Sabrina.
‘I promise,’ Sabrina affirmed, snatching the fork from Amanda’s grip and tucking in.
Chapter 17
Nanna’s Sugared Almonds
Ingredients:
Whole raw almonds
Icing sugar (I think Nanna said 1 cup for every 2 cups of almonds)
An egg white
Vanilla (maybe a tsp)
Cream of tartar (just a tsp too)
What to do:
Almonds need to be blanched and allowed to dry and then peeled. (Don’t rush Amanda, make sure they are fully dry.)
Once dry they need to go in the oven at 180 degrees for 5 minutes.
In a small bowl beat together egg white, icing sugar, vanilla and cream of tartar.
Dip the dried almonds into mixture and then set aside to cool.
Louisa’s eyes fluttered open with the first signs of light that crept up over the horizon. She liked to sleep with the curtains drawn back in Italy; the morning view made for a spectacular and rather magical wake-up call. It was a surefire way to have her jumping out of bed, and was a sharp contrast to her usual slow starts and lacklustre attempts to get out of bed to the brick and mortar views back home in Manchester. The birds were singing loudly atop trees near and far and the turquoise sea glinted as the early specks of the morning sunrise danced across it. Louisa had to blink a few times, still unable to believe that this was her life; a life that she had gone after when taking a giant leap out of her comfort zone and choosing to stay in Italy.
Shuffling out of the bed, careful not to disturb Luca during his one lie-in this week, Louisa pulled on a light cardigan and stuffed her feet into her slippers before creaking open the balcony doors and stepping outside. There was a gentle nip in the six o’clock air, the tweeting of the birds louder now she was on the other side of the glass. Louisa leaned over the railing, watching the fishing boats bob along the water. No other sounds could be heard expect for the water lapping against the boats, the birds chirping and the occasional tuk-tuk wheezing up the steep mountains of Orzoro.
Light, fluffy clouds teased the clear baby-blue sky. Louisa felt as though she could reach up and nibble on the cotton candy plumes that floated not too far above her head. She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the morning view, feeling no rush to be anywhere but in the moment. Adding to the comfort blanket that Italy provided her, were Luca’s arms as he weaved them under her elbows, his hands resting on top of hers. So much for his lie-in, Louisa thought, while at the same time leaning back into him, appreciating his lack of pajamas as she felt smooth, tanned skin and the curvature of his muscles through her flimsy cardigan and camisole ensemble. Turning from one stunning view to another, Louisa spun around on her tip-toes to wish Luca a buongiorno and was greeted with a feathery kiss. They remained on the balcony enjoying the peace and quiet until the grand church bell signalled Palm Sunday was about to get under way in Italia.
Louisa could hear the steam whistling from the espresso machines as she and Luca rode past the quaint cafés. The spring sun had opened the potted plants that hung from the balconies and lined the streets and doorways, adding vibrant pops of purple and pink flowers everywhere you looked. The cracks in the turquoise and yellow walls on the passing flats were more prominent as the heat dried the paint. Nothing looked brand new or pristine, yet everything was charming and inviting. Even with its worn and modest exterior, each place stood proud in its own beauty and history, calling her and welcoming her with open arms. She got lost in the smells of the almond blossoms and the colours, and the constant thought that lurked in the back of her mind, no matter how many times she told herself to stop thinking about it; would she be getting a call today to be informed she was the winner of the Young Designers Fashion Showcase?
Suddenly a car horn shrieked obnoxiously, scaring Louisa out of her daydream as she studied each tile and brick they passed and envisioned herself winning the prestigious showcase, while absentmindedly forgetting the narrow roads and the need for cars to get past. In most cases the cars treated her and her bike as one of their own and allowed her to blend in with the stream of traffic; however, one wiggle or swerve into their space and they weren’t afraid to use their horn. You’d do well to not get in between an Italian and their need for speed on the road.
‘Amore, stai attenta,’ Luca shouted from somewhere behind her. Louisa daren’t look back for fear of wobbling, losing her balance and crashing into a parked car.
They passed a couple more streets before a twinkly bell in the distance from Luca signalled for her to pull over. She carefully dismounted her beloved cream bike with a white wicker basket, which she had treated herself to with her first paycheck from Giulia, and retrieved the lock from her backpack. Luca pulled up beside her and upon getting off his bike, kissed her on the cheek before tying up his own bike – deep grey in colour, a little rusty round the edges, with a black wire basket.
‘Sorry,’ Louisa apologized to Luca, staring up at him from under her mascara-covered lashes. He brushed a hand against her cheek. ‘Va bene, you give me a fright. Where does your mind wander?’ She reached up and took his hand, finding his concern for her sweet and endearing.
‘Right now, my mind is wandering to wherever that delicious smell is coming from,’ Louisa said, casting her eyes around the small street, willing her brain to focus on something other than the showcase results. I will not talk about the showcase, I will not talk about the showcase; she repeated this mantra over and over again in her head. It was Palm Sunday which meant that most Italians congregated around the churches while the odd nonno and nonna, zia or zio remained at home preparing the lunchtime feast. This was the case with her nanna and zias. With the weather heating up and the three hundred plus steps to get to the church, her nanna and zias wouldn’t be making it to mass today. It was Luca and Louisa’s job to get the olive branches and confetti – sugar coated almonds shaped into flowers – blessed this morning.
Louisa was excited to be in Italy for this special holiday. Easter was a huge deal and she hadn’t experienced Holy Week – the week leading up to Easter – since she was a child. She wanted to celebrate every second of it. ‘Do you think I have a good chance of winning?’ The words slipped out before she could stop them, as she danced along the street holding Luca’s hand and waving her cheese, rosanna and chocolate loaded olive branch in the other. Easter time in Orzoro conjured up such childlike joy, the feelings of utter excitement and wonder made her flutter alongside the rumbling nerves of finding out the results for the showcase. She couldn’t help herself or push it quite far enough in the back of her mind to relax and not think about it today, no matter how hard she tried.
‘Si, ma of course.’ Luca indulged her question. His handsome face bore a five o’clock shadow and it looked good on him, making his blue eyes pop and giving him that dishy Italian look. ‘You are talented, Louisa. You can do anything,’ he added with a stellar smile as they walked hand in hand up to the church.
Louisa had stayed over at Luca’s place, which she did occasionally when he had a day off from the pasticerria. He had a beautiful little apartment, a ten-minute walk from her zia’s house, that made her feel like she was living in a dream. The kitchen was a small square; pots and pans dangling over an island, a white porcelain sink with turquoise tiles and a nook in the corner that overlooked a neat rose garden and vegetable patch. Luca kept his place tidy; his living room was home to a simple coffee table and cream couch that lent itself to the rustic vibe, and potted herbs decorated each room. It was cosy, had a modern flare and was very Luca; a mix of old-fashioned meets new, stylish and fresh.
When she stayed, they often curled up in the nook watching the sunset as they chatted away, each with a glass of wine in hand. Louisa savoured these moments with him, where she could slow down and unwind for a minute and appreciate the beauty around her. She felt a long way from her frazzled days in London as a receptionist when she didn’t have the foggiest clue whe
re she was heading.
Now she was in control and making sure to open her eyes to the journey she was taking. Luca still spoke of his dreams to travel; though he loved Italy, he wanted to explore other cultures, but like Louisa, he worried about letting his family down. He loved working at his family’s pasticceria and had done so since he was a young boy. Taking a break from it or leaving it behind was a decision he found difficult. Last night, over their wine and homemade lasagna, he had told Louisa how she had inspired him, how she was a good sister but also learning to do things for herself too. He hoped maybe he could take a holiday soon, just a short one so his family would not struggle, but so he could take a step in finding the right balance in doing all the things he desired. Her heart had expanded at the thought of the adventures they could take together.
‘Grazie amore,’ she cooed at Luca, her eyes glowing with love as she adored his side profile, his jawline strong and defined. Luca caught her staring and gently pulled her into him. Draping an arm over her shoulders he dropped a kiss on her light brown hair, which she had tied back in a cute ponytail.
They walked hand in hand and chatted excitedly about travel, Amanda’s café and how they couldn’t wait to hear San Francisco Beat’s new album, all while Louisa tried not to poke anyone in the eye with the small tree she was holding and its swinging balls of cheese.
Walking with the flow of the crowd up to the church, Louisa’s phone rang out from the depths of her maroon tailored coat. ‘Argh,’ she called out as she fumbled with her olive branches, getting them tied up in her hair. Her heart rate went from a gentle pace to Formula-1 speed as one of the branches slipped through her fingers, cheese hitting the ground by her feet as she searched manically for her phone. Luca ushered her towards the low wall, so she did not get trampled by fellow pedestrians, put his branches, laden with mini salami and chocolate eggs, and confetti down, and started to untangle the olive branches from her hair.
