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‘I…what? No! I saidmi piace pene!’ I protested. Marta slammed her hand on the table, tutted and stormed into the kitchen. ‘I don’t understand. I was complimenting her pasta. Why is she upset?’
‘Yes…’ He snorted again. ‘I know what you meant, but you pronounced itpen-ehwith onen, which ispenis. If you want to saypennewith two letternforpasta, then you must say:pehhh-neh.’He chuckled again.
Great.
I couldn’t believe I’d just told Lorenzo’s mother—the woman who seemed to hate my guts—that I not only loved dick, but I also found it delicious.
Cringe.
And I closed my eyes and licked my lips, which made it ten times worse.
Bollocks.
Ooops. Poor choice of words once again…
Now Marta probably thought I was a raving nympho. If only she knew that right now,penewas the last thing on my mind…
Surely she’d see the funny side, though. It was an easy mistake to make.
‘Oh God!’ I buried my head in my hands. ‘How was I supposed to know that? The words sound so similar!’
‘Tranquilla. Don’t worry,amore. Is normal to make mistakes. I remember I said many bad things when I was learning English.’
‘But English is so much easier!’
‘Of course you will say that.’ He waved his hands in the air. ‘You are English!’Obviously. Then again, even learning French came more naturally to me. ‘But words likebeachandbitch,beerandbeard,ankleanduncleorfannyandfunnysound similar. I remember once on holiday I met a captain and told him he had a very bigshitinstead ofship.’ He shook his head.
‘Youdidn’t!’ I chuckled.
‘Sì!’
‘Still. Not as bad as what I just said, though. At least you said it to a stranger you were never going to see again. I said it to your mother!’
‘Is okay. Mamma knows you are learning. But as I said before, the best way to avoid this type of mistake is to study. One of the customers at the restaurant today is starting Italian lessons in the town.’
‘Oh?’ That surprised me. I didn’t think there would be much demand for it here.
‘Yes. I took her number.’ He reached in his pocket for his mobile. ‘I will send it to you now.’ I heard my phone ping. ‘Call her tomorrow.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Please.’
Marta came back in the room holding a large dish with steak and vegetables. I didn’t really eat a lot of red meat, but it did smell good. She gave me a dirty look. No doubt because I’d committed the terrible sin of pronouncing something wrong (I know, shoot me, right? Most normal people would have just laughed it off). She dished out the food and annoyingly, it was just as amazing as the pasta. But I’d learnt my lesson. This time I wouldnotbe attempting to compliment her. Knowing my luck I’d end up saying something likeI love a nice bit of rump, rather thanI like this beef.Sigh.
‘Mamma,’ said Lorenzo as he cleaned his plate. ‘For dessert, Sophia has made a crumble for us all. Is a traditional British dish.’ He translated in Italian, then Marta raised her eyebrow.
My heart started beating. That was my cue. It was time to bring out what I hoped would be thepièce de résistance. No idea how that was said in Italian. I felt like I was a contestant onCome Dine with Meabout to serve up my food after slaving away in the kitchen all day. Okay, it hadn’t takenthatlong, but you catch my drift. If this was a competition, I wasn’t sure I would be declared the winner, as Marta’s cooking was a tough act to follow, but I was still feeling confident.
I went to the kitchen and removed the foil from the dish.Looking good.I warmed the homemade custard I’d whipped up earlier. Lorenzo had taught me how to make it and it tasted much better than the shop-bought ones. It had been a long time since I’d felt like I was winning, but I’d been pretty productive today: with work, as a mum and in the home. Not so much on the Italian language front, but the crumble would be my saviour. Even Marta would have to give me a thumbs-up after having a mouthful of this.
Done.
I poured the custard into a jug, took it out with the crumble to the table and began scooping it out into the bowls, starting with Marta’s.
‘Bene?’ I said in a poor attempt to ask if one spoon was okay. She didn’t respond, so I went ahead and was about to add a second helping when she raised her hand in protest and shook her head vigorously like I was about to sprinkle poison on top.
‘Mamma will just start with one spoon,’ said Lorenzo, ‘but I will have three, please. Looks very delicious!’ God, I loved him. He was always enthusiastic whenever I tried to cook.
