Chasing the Italian Dream: Escape and unwind with bestselling author Jo Thomas by Jo Thomas

Author:Jo Thomas [Thomas, Jo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Transworld
Published: 2021-04-08T04:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

I stare at the young man now rolling at my feet in pain. His friend drops his cigarette and walks off down the dark street as if he has nothing to do with the other at all.

The man is now on all fours. Clearly the fist hitting the cheek came after a swift kick to the nether regions. But I didn’t touch him. Did I? Or was it someone else? I stare at the face coming into focus in the dark. Its owner is rubbing the hand that delivered the punch and stretching out the palm.

‘On your way,’ says the deep, gravelly voice, with a swear word or two thrown in. The man on his knees doesn’t argue. He stumbles to his feet and follows in the direction of his friend, limping and whimpering as he goes.

I turn back to my rescuer. ‘Grazie, mille grazie,’ I stammer. ‘I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come.’ Tears leap to my eyes. I’m shaking. I feel so angry.

‘And, by the way, I’m Welsh, not English!’ I call after my assailant. ‘Got it? And no! I don’t ever want to be your friend! Stay away from me, you hear?’

I hear Italian swearing in the distance and think he’s got the message.

‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’ I stare into the dark. Suddenly I turn and unlock the restaurant kitchen door. ‘Please come in. Let me look at your hand. Let me get you a drink. God knows I could do with one.’

The face smiles.

‘How did you learn to do that?’ I ask, pushing open the door and turning on the lights.

‘In my line of business, you have to learn to handle yourself against shmucks,’ says the woman I saw walking the streets on my first night back. ‘It’s part of the job description.’ She smiles again, still flexing her fist.

‘I’m Lucia,’ I say.

‘Veronica,’ she says, in her deep, husky voice.

‘Come in, Veronica. And thank you.’

I look down at the bowl by the back door and see the food is gone, as is the little cat. I wonder if she’ll be back.

‘I thought you were Italian,’ Veronica says, as she steps into the warmth of the kitchen where the forno is still glowing.

‘I did too,’ I say. Looks like I still have no idea who I really am. ‘I’m going to have to try a lot harder.’

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