Giulia. Maria Gabriella Zampini

      

      Maria Gabriella Zampini

      Giulia

      translated by

      Andrew Fanko

      A huge thank you to all those who have been so,

      so patient

      with me. You know who you are!

      â€œDammit!”

      It just wouldn’t budge. Giulia turned the key both ways in the lock, put her shoulder up against the door and pushed with all her might….nothing. The damn thing was jammed.

      She was a prisoner in her own home at 10 o’clock on a stifling August morning. Great! Giulia had arrived at her lovely little summer house by the sea at midnight after a final, utterly exhausting day at work.

      Obviously, there had been no-one there to greet her. It wasn’t as if she could expect her sons to forgo a night of clubbing to welcome their mother with open arms!

      So, not even bothering to unpack her case, she had collapsed straight into bed, looking forward immensely to a whole month of peace, quiet and doing absolutely nothing, and fallen into a deep sleep. And now this – marvellous! She gave the door another shove but succeeded only in bruising her shoulder.

      â€œFine!” she yelled at the door. “You win! I’m on vacation and I’m not about to get mad at anyone, not even you!”

      She wandered into the kitchen and started singing to herself as she set about making a coffee.

      She had always found that singing helped her to calm down. Some people counted to ten, others rolled their shoulders. She sang, much to the annoyance of whomever she happened to be with at the time. But Giulia figured the door wouldn’t mind, so…

      Her singing had made her husband - well, ex-husband – want to throttle her. He had told her as much on a cold January morning ten years earlier, and that was the end of their marriage. At the time, she had felt like her entire world was crumbling around her, but that was a long time ago. Now, her life was rolling along pretty smoothly: work, kids, the occasional fling, her lovely little summer house by the sea...

      She shot a filthy look at the door that was preventing her from doing what she loved the most: climbing down the rocks and watching the perpetual ebb and flow of the waves, filling her lungs with salty sea air and, best of all, plunging into the turquoise sea that had waited patiently for her for a whole year.

      She was suddenly distracted by a movement outside the house. It sounded as though something heavy was being dragged away, and then the door flew open.

      â€œHey there!”

      Stood before her bathed in sunlight was a figure with flowing jet-black locks and sparkling eyes of the same intense colour.

      â€œYou must be Ale’s mamma? I’m Leonardo. Pleased to meet you.”

      In his early twenties and with a thick Florentine accent, the young man was broad-shouldered and wrapped in a sarong that showed off his lean figure, and he had a tan to die for...

      â€œI had a bit to drink last night, you know how it is, so Ale asked if I’d like to stay here. I must have fallen asleep with my bag blocking the door.”

      Slept here? But where? Giulia frowned, then decided a smile was the better option and extended her hand.

      â€œHi, I’m Giulia. And, yes, I’m Ale’s mamma.”

      â€œWow, the guys said you were hot but they never said you could pass for his sister!” he said with a cheeky smile.

      Giulia sighed. She was always embarrassed when someone paid her a compliment.

      â€œOh, behave! You do realise that if you give me too many compliments, I may start to believe the hype?!”

      It was her stock response. She had come to learn that it made people laugh and removed the possibility of any awkward silences. It worked yet again.

      â€œDo you want some coffee? I’ve just made some.”

      She poked her head out of the door and was met with an absurd sight: covering the patio as far as the steps leading down to the sea was a row of bodies sprawled out across a load of towels. Giulia reckoned there were at least twenty of them.

      She turned questioningly to Leonardo, who chuckled.

      â€œSorry, I didn’t tell you, did I? Your son bumped into us on the beach last night while we were rehearsing for tonight’s gig. You might have heard us? He started to jam with us and said we could sleep at his place, you’d be cool with it... There’s only five of us, but there were loads of other people around and everyone kind of ended up here!

      So that explained it. Typical Ale: meeting randoms out and about and inviting them back to the house. She was unsure at first. I mean, who were these people lying outside her house? What if they weren’t very nice? But she calmed down when she reminded herself that Ale was a sensible kid who mixed with the right crowd. In fact, she had become friends with them herself and even put some of them up before, but never twenty in one go!

      Anyway, they were here now so she had to think of something. She opened the sideboard, located the big cafetière and put it on the stove.

      Meanwhile, Leonardo had grabbed hold of the portable stereo she kept in her kitchen, taken it outside under the awning and started to fiddle around with the buttons. Thirty seconds later, a wave of sound invaded the house.

      â€œDid I mention we do Afro-Cuban music?”

      No you didn’t, thought Giulia, but there was no need: it was the only kind of music her son had played over the last couple of years. She was roused by the familiar sexy, pounding rhythm and began to move in time as she poured the coffee into cups of all different colours and shapes that she had laid out on a tray.

      She stepped out into the heat of the summer, headed for the marble table in the centre of the patio, doing her best not to tread on any of the sleeping kids, and placed the tray down carefully. She sat on the bench and lit a cigarette.

      Leonardo came and sat next to her, lit a cigarette of his own and turned up the volume on the stereo. The youngsters began to stir. There were some grunts, some yawns, some mutterings of “hey, what the fuck?”, and eventually a few dishevelled heads lifted off the floor.

      â€œLeo, what the hell are you doing?” said one, in clear Roman dialect.

      â€œAh, so they’re not all from Florence!” thought Giulia, admiring the thick mohawk that adorned the head of the boy who had just spoken. The young man glanced over at her sleepily, slowly got his focus and staggered to his feet.

      â€œOh, err...sorry, Mrs...ermmm..”

      â€œIt’s Giulia. Do you want some coffee?”

      The boy seemed taken aback as she reached over and handed him a cup.

      One by one, the youngsters slowly came round to the persistent beat of the djembes. Giulia looked on, surprised at how many different hairstyles there were. One had a shaved head like her youngest son, one had magnificent dreadlocks like her eldest, another had a rather shaggy mane, and there was one, presumably a girl, who was seemingly just a big tangle of braids. And all that colour! One of the boys was dyed platinum blonde, while one of the girls had flame-red locks interspersed with tufts of electric blue. Giulia felt pretty inadequate with her naturally wavy, long brown hair!

      Meanwhile, a stunning brunette had emerged from Ale’s room. As soon as she saw Giulia, she blushed, stumbled over and offered her hand:

      â€œHi, I’m Stella,” she ventured.

      It was a pretty embarrassing situation, particularly for the girl. Giulia gave her a big smile and handed her a cup:

      â€œHi, want a coffee?” Stella relaxed and gratefully accepted the drink.

      A