Page 85 of The Italian Village in the Hills
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Stella watched Amy’s departing back. ‘Okay, let’s get going. It’s a bit early for a drink, but who cares?’
‘Sure,’ Marta said. She set off towards the bar at an ambling pace, pausing to admire an array of pot plants by someone’s front steps, stopping to chat to an old man carrying his shopping home and bending to stroke a cat. Stella was surprised by her sister’s tardiness, it was almost as though she were waiting for Amy to come back and catch them up. As they got nearer to the bar, Stella could see there was only one empty table outside but that still didn’t cause Marta to speed up.
‘Let’s sit inside,’ Marta said. It seemed a strange decision on such a nice day but Stella was on too much of a high to argue.
Marta appeared to hang back as Stella pushed open the door. Her brother Giovanni was standing just inside.
‘You decided to get out of bed at last,’ Stella quipped.
‘It’s not every day my big sister turns sixty.’ Giovanni grinned.
‘You remembered!’
‘Of course we did. We all did.’ Marta gestured towards theBuon compleannobanner strung across the wall behind the bar.
A cork popped loudly. Stella swung around. Gino was holding an open bottle of basurà rosa.
‘Happy birthday, my darling!’
Stella accepted a glass. ‘To old friends and new ones! Talking of which…’ She looked towards a rather pink-faced Amy, who’d just flown through the door.
‘Ah, there you are, Amy, I thought you’d got lost,’ Marta joked. She held up her glass. ‘Happy birthday to Stella! And a toast to all of us, to adventures, near or far.’
Amy’s hand reached for the coin nestling at the base of her throat. ‘And to Grandpa Lance and Violetta, for changing all our lives.’
‘And now we have cake,’ Leo said, appearing from the door leading to the kitchen. ‘Papà wanted to try and make you atorta sacripantina.’
Stella thought of the fancy tiered liqueur-soaked sponges. ‘That would be impressive.’
‘But sadly too ambitious,’ Gino said. ‘So, I was persuaded to leave your cake to the experts.’
‘You can come out now, Nonna,’ Leo called.
And out of the kitchen stepped Fernanda, her arm through Domenico’s. He was carrying a pale-yellow sponge cake on a round tray crowned with six lit candles. Apanarello:the soft almond birthday cake beloved by every Ligurian child.
‘I didn’t think we could fit sixty candles on,’ Domenico said.
‘You made this?’ Stella said.
He laughed. ‘Don’t be daft, Fernanda did.’
‘I hope you like it,’ Fernanda said.
Tears filled Stella’s eyes, blurring the diamond pattern Fernanda had so carefully stencilled on the top. ‘I haven’t had one of these for years. Too many years.’
‘Blow out the candles, Stella, make a wish,’ Marta urged.
‘Go on, Stella!’ Amy said.
‘What are you going to wish for?’ Gino asked.
‘I can’t say. You know it’s bad luck to tell.’
In truth, Stella had nothing left to wish for. She closed her eyes and blew softly on the flames.
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