Ice cream DREAMS
Mum was banging pots and pans about when I wandered into the kitchen. Every now and then she spat out a word. Because it wasn’t in English, I didn’t get it. Except for ‘Lucia’, which was obviously a woman’s name and, from what I could make out, the object of Mum’s rage.
Dad was laying the table. His expression was one of quiet forbearance, the one he always adopted whenever he was confronted with Mum in the middle of one of her infrequent but intense rages.
Mum – Maria by name – was from Naples. She was proud to be Italian, but Naples! From what I gleaned on the rare occasions she mentioned it, Naples was rife with grudges so ancient that nobody currently alive had a clue about their origins.
But tonight, after another long day at the typing pool, all I wanted was a plate of spaghetti and a helping of Mum’s special sauce. Then I’d sink into the sofa and switch on the TV for an episode of Emergency Ward 10.
Meanwhile, the episode being played out in our kitchen was from Mum’s own personal soap opera, featuring Lucia, a woman I’d never heard her mention before, in the starring role.
When I gave Dad an enquiring glance, he shrugged his answer. If you
