DEAD GOOD (24 page)

I’m not even going to start trying to factor in stupid, inconsequential things like (a) ghost of former residents appear and (b) dead people need help finding the Light or a way back home (c) dead boy kisses me…. etcetera. I’m not. It is what it is and that’s a simple, straight-forward x - y formula. No frills.

‘So, you fancy popping down to the restaurant with me, Mads?’ Dad asks as he slips some pieces of paper into a file and slots it into his folder. ‘I need to go through some invoices with Victor and he might even be glad of a hand in the restaurant…he was flat out last night when I left. And it could help you out with some pocket money?’ He looks so much better. No dark rings under his eyes and now frown lines. And not a Botox injection in sight.

He smiles and my heart does a small spin. But somehow I feel like I’ve got my solid, stable, reliable, hardworking dad back and he’s on a mission for success. Of course I want to come with him to the restaurant and of course I’ll help out in the restaurant if I’m allowed. It’ll take my mind and my stupid heart off of things. Talk about complicated.

It’s half three and Ristorante Gardella has a low hum of customers who are finishing off their coffees and desserts from lunchtime. The air has a kind of well-fed comfort about it and there’s not as much smell of freshly cooked bread in the air as there is strong coffee and the sweetness of melon and the odd twang of lemon which must be coming from the home baked cheesecake on the sweet trolley over by the bar. It’s a haven of hospitality and I feel right at home the minute we walk in.

Leo’s Uncle buzzes straight over to us and clasps my dad’s hands delightedly as if they’re long lost relatives. He slaps him on the back with his other hand and then notices me. His face lights up and he takes my hand too, then leans in and does the double-kiss Italian style which I’m still not sure I’m comfortable with. It’s like an infringement of my personal space and it feels a bit weird if I’m honest. I mean, I have Aunties I see every Christmas who I keep further away from me when we meet. Mind you, they do smell odd mostly and Uncle Victor here smells like a freshly-baked pizza with all my favourite toppings. Aunties -v- Uncle Victor? No competition. I’ll suck it up.

‘Ah, Madelina!’ he beams and I frown at the addition of an ‘a’ to my name, making it sound all foreign and exotic. Hmm…you never know, though, I might get to like it like that. ‘You’ve come to help too? We’ve finished all the mad rush of lunch now,’ he sweeps his hands around the room to indicate the finished-ness of the mad rush of lunch and I nod my understanding. Okay, Uncle V, I can see that, I think. ‘But you can help Antonella with the sweet trolley and the coffees if you like?’ He places his hand on my back and I’m steered through the bar area and out to the kitchen in the back where I guess I’m to meet this lady. And I haven’t even said a word yet.

Antonella’s lovely. She’s not like the Big Italian Senora I was expecting. She’s quite tiny and dark and she’s got the most beautiful skin and eyes and she smiles constantly. And she has perfect white teeth too. She could so easily be a model and everyone would want to be her. She’s just great. And she seems to love working here. I watch her little body nip gracefully between tables as she dips and lifts and pours and nods and smiles and shakes her glossy ponytail and all the while, being so shiny and cheerful about everything. Ah… I think I may well re-consider my career prospects if waitressing makes you this happy. And I wouldn’t need to stay on to do A-levels for it either; I’m pretty sure you don’t need to be super-qualified to lay tables, write down orders and carry plates of food to tables. And I already know how to wash up so it looks like this afternoon was meant to be like some kind of calling or something. The Gods of Fate have decreed I be here to discover my true path in life.

I decide to enjoy learning all about how a restaurant works so that when I have my first interview at Jamie Oliver’s restaurant in London, I will know exactly what I’m talking about. It’d be more like working for an older brother or a young uncle than for a proper grown-up, wouldn’t it? I mean, he’s just so ordinary, isn’t he? I bet he doesn’t swear and get all shouty like that other bloke – the one with the unironed creased-up face. What’s his name again?

‘Everything okay?’ Dad slides into the kitchen as I’m stacking another load of tiny espresso cups into the dishwasher. It’s not all I’ve done though. I’ve taken a couple of plates of cheesecake and one hot chocolate fudge cake through to a family on a table by the window and they didn’t seem to mind being served by a boring old English person. I poured cream over the chocolate one and didn’t spill it anywhere – apart from where I should have - oh, you know. I’ve even been copying Antonella’s big happy smile too and it’s funny but it kind of sticks if you paste it on hard enough and then you start actually believing you mean it and then it’s real. Very clever. I might try that trick more often. If something totally pisses me off I’ll try a smile instead of a grimace and see how it pans out. In fact didn’t I hear somewhere that you use more muscles frowning than you do smiling? So I’m even doing my face a favour as well as my mind.

‘It’s great, dad,’ I smile. And I actually mean it. I feel almost grown-up and responsible and part-way to becoming a proper adult here in this kitchen – here in this restaurant. ‘Does that mean we’re done?’ I add, hoping that he’s got at least another hour or so left before we have to think about going home. He smiles and shrugs and I’m not sure what that means exactly. Then he smiles wider.

‘How about some pudding before we go, though, eh?’ he says. ‘Victor says you’ve done well in here.’

My heart swells with pride. He does? I have? Ooh.

‘It’s been fun,’ I tell him as Antonella bustles back through with another armful of messed up plates. She slots them into the dishwasher and then wipes her hands on her apron, turning to my dad who beams back.

‘You’ve done very well, Maddie,’ she shines. ‘You should come again, when you’ve got some time and not too much homework, yes?’ she nods.

I nod back, thrilled and then I see a familiar figure standing behind her shoulder looking very pleased to see me.

‘I see you’ve met my mum, then,’ Leo smiles.

thirty-two

Too weird for words. That’s how it feels sitting here at the table at the end of the bar after the last customers have left the restaurant. I’m sitting beside my dad, so thankfully I can lean on him – emotionally and even physically if this starts getting too weird for words. Which is how it’s starting to feel. Shit, I’ve already said that. See. I’m flustered. And I daresay having a ma-hoosive slice of hot chocolate fudge cake with cream is not going to do much to calm me down. I’m on sugar overload. I’m glad I asked for a cup of tea instead of one of those gross-looking tiny cups of espresso coffee which might smell lovely but looks like you could stand a spoon up in them. Dad seems to like it, though. A perk of the job, I suppose.

‘Your dad tells me you’re studying for your GCSE’s, Maddie,’ Uncle Victor says, sounding just like an Uncle should. I nod and cram another spoonful of cake into my mouth before I have the opportunity to try and speak. My dad looks confused. I guess he’s not used to me trying NOT to talk.

‘Um… yeah, Victor…’ he takes over on my behalf. ‘She’s got another year to go – takes the exams next Spring. Is that right, Maddie?’

I nod on, making sure I chew v-e-r-y slowly. It’s better for the digestion anyway.

‘So what subjects are you taking, Maddie?’ Antonella calls over from behind the bar as she pulls a lever making hot foam froth into a chunky cup. She jumps back suddenly as a splash hits her hand.

‘Shi…it! Oops… sorry!’ she says, looking apologetically over at me as if I’m about seven years old and probably very easily offended. I smile back through my mouthful. ‘It always manages to catch me out!’ she laughs, bringing her cup over to our table, stirring as she sits down opposite me.

‘Um… English Lit, Drama, Music, Art, Graphics…’ I start to reel off.

‘Aahhh… a very creative person, then, are you?’ She says blowing on her frothy coffee and still managing to hold a smile.

‘Well, I suppose so,’ I say. ‘I like to design things, and I like to read – and I like music. So - um, yeah. I guess.’ I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to say and I realise that if I was actually having an interview I’d be crap at it and I would definitely not get the job. Even if it was only a bloody waitressing job. I replay my last sentence in my head and decide that I sound like I have special needs. I sigh heavily inwardly. Jeez-us, I deride myself, at what stage in my life am I going to become all eloquent and articulate please? I mean, I do the right subjects, surely a basic grasp of stringing a sentence together should be the least of my concerns?

‘You do okay in your head,’ Leo smiles over from the end of the table. I ignore him. I can’t let on to Antonella that he’s here. He’s not here. He’s dead. He’s a figment of my imagination and there is no way I can even attempt to include him in my world right now because his very-much-alive mother is sitting beside (dead) him and opposite me and the whole situation is just too weird for words.

Um - have I already said that?

‘She’s very good with the drama – that’s for sure!’ my dad pipes up in an embarrassingly typical parent-trying-too-hard way and I groan. ‘Especially lately, eh Maddie?’ he nods knowingly and I can feel my insides curling up with awkwardness. What the freakin’ hell is he going to start talking about now? Surely he hasn’t got the idiot bad-taste idea to mention the fire and the burning family and the ghostly presence – surely not? Please god no, please, please please! I swallow food I have long since digested and nod slowly. ‘What’s that you’re studying right now, Mads?’ he finishes like he’s handing over to me for the weekend weather report.

‘Um… Taming of the Shrew?’ I say quickly, hoping that’s what he’s talking about.

‘Aaaah - that was set in Italy, wasn’t it?’ Uncle Victor joins in. ‘As most of Shakespeare’s’ plays seem to have been,’ he continues. ‘Romeo and Juliet. Two Gentlemen of… well Verona - which is a beautiful part of Italy. Aaaah, there are no places in Italy that aren’t beautiful, you know?’ he stirs some more sugar into his tiny cup and sips as he is clearly remembering the lay of the Italian landscape.

‘My son was very good at English,’ Antonella volunteers suddenly and I freeze. My eyes swivel automatically to Leo who is still sitting casually next to his mother and looks very at home there. I wonder if he can hear my heart batting against my ribs and my brain trying to escape my skull as I wonder where the hell this conversation is going to end and, if it will end without tears.

‘Was he?’ my dad says innocently.

‘Oh, he was always playing the lead role in some play or other at the school,’ Antonella says wistfully – but strangely enough – still with a smile on her face. She doesn’t look as if she’s about to burst into tears at any time soon and for this I am mightily relieved. My heart is batting slower now but I am still concerned about my mouth. It’s frozen stuck. It wouldn’t know the first or the right thing to say if it was handed a piece of paper with it written down for it. It would flunk. It would pass out and it would never be asked back for a re-try. I am feeling the fear and sitting here anyway.

‘Wasn’t he Romeo one year, Nella?’ Uncle Victor says staring out of the window at a group of lads who are huddled over the menu by the doorway. One of them points, two of them wince, one of them laughs and then they all laugh before carrying on down the street.

My eyes are trained on Antonella, though. Although I can see things happening in my peripheral vision, I am staying with her face. I need to see a sign. I need to focus. I can feel the heat of my dad’s coffee beside my hand as I sit holding onto my spoon and I can feel Leo’s eyes as he sits opposite me and I know he’s trying to read my thoughts and so I’m not going to have any.

‘Madeline?’ My dad has very probably repeated and I must NOT say the first thing that comes into my head because then that would be something like I’m in love with your dead son and if Leo hears that then if he weren’t already dead, he’d probably kill himself laughing unless I died of embarrassment first.