Chasing Daisy

kitchen.
    Will looks at me. ‘If you don’t mind, that is.’
    ‘Of course I don’t mind.’
    I stare off into the distance. Dark clouds have begun to invade the mountains.
    ‘That looks ominous,’ I comment.
    Will nods and we fall silent. A short while later, Nonna calls us to the table.
    ‘This was amazing,’ Will says after dinner, indicating his clean plate. ‘You’re a fantastic cook.’
    ‘Oh, this was nothing,’ Nonna replies modestly, but I know she prides herself on her cuisine. She stands up and I quickly join her, helping to clear the table.
    ‘You young things go through to the sitting room. I’ll bring coffee through in a minute. Go!’ she insists when I hesitate.
    Nonna only has two chairs in her small sitting room. One is a sofa and the other is her armchair, so I join Will on the former to leave the latter free for our host.
    After a moment he sighs.
    ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
    ‘I wish I could just chill here for a few days.’
    ‘Really?’ I look at him in delight.
    ‘Yeah. I’m so sick of staying in hotels. And this is so . . . homely .’
    ‘It is homely, isn’t it?’
    ‘Very.’
    ‘I know it’s small, but it feels—’
    ‘Right,’ he finishes my sentence.
    ‘Yes. Exactly.’
    ‘Do you reckon we could persuade your grandma to go and live in my Chelsea pad and we’ll camp up here?’
    I laugh. ‘That’d be nice. But you’d never get her to leave the mountains.’
    And I don’t suppose your girlfriend would approve, either, I think to myself. But let’s not mention her.
    ‘Here we go!’ Nonna enters the room with a small tray.
    Suddenly a loud crashing sound reverberates through the stone walls.
    ‘Is that thunder?’ Will asks, taken aback.
    ‘Yes,’ Nonna replies, listening as the heavens open. ‘Big storm. Is treacherous, these mountains,’ she continues in stilted English as she places the tray on a small side-table and hands us tiny, white espresso cups before sitting down.
    ‘I hope it passes by tomorrow,’ Will says.
    ‘ Cazzo , yes! Sorry Nonna,’ I apologise for my language when she looks at me sharply. ‘Will was just saying he hopes the storm will have passed by tomorrow otherwise they won’t be able to finish filming,’ I tell her in Italian.
    ‘Oh, no, no, no!’ Nonna cries in dismay, clambering up from her armchair. She rushes away and comes back with a couple of saucepans while we look on, concerned.
    ‘These walls!’ she despairs.
    Water is leaking through a crack in the far wall.
    ‘Does this happen often?’ Will asks, as we both come quickly to Nonna’s aid and help patch up the naked stone with old rags.
    Nonna replies in Italian so I translate. ‘Every time she gets it fixed, the water finds a way back in through somewhere else. She needs to renovate the entire house.’
    ‘Will it cost much?’ I ask Nonna.
    ‘Too much,’ she replies. ‘It’s not worth it at my age.’
    ‘Nonna!’ I cry. ‘Of course it’s worth it. You can’t live like this.’
    ‘It’s fine,’ she insists. ‘It’s not a problem.’
    ‘But it is a problem. We can see that ourselves. I could help. I’ve saved a little money.’
    ‘No, you will not!’ she snaps, glaring at me. For an 82-year-old, she’s a feisty old bat.
    ‘What are you saying?’ Will asks.
    ‘Nothing,’ I tell him, when I see my grandmother’s face. She wouldn’t want Will to feel pity for her.
    We mop up the rest of the water and strategically place pots and pans on the floor to catch any drips.
    Finally Nonna turns to Will. ‘You can’t be driving.’
    ‘I’ll be okay,’ Will says.
    ‘You stay here on sofa.’
    ‘No, no, I’ll be fine.’ Will laughs.
    ‘Is no laughing matter!’ Nonna snaps, wiping the smile off Will’s face. ‘Carlo, my husband, he died on these roads.’
    Hang on, I thought Nonno died of a heart attack?
    ‘Oh, I’m so very sorry.’ Will looks mortified.
    ‘So you stay here. Drive in morning when storm gone.’
    The sound of thunder comes crashing through the walls again.
    ‘You tell him,’ she says to me firmly. ‘He not drive in this.’
    ‘You did say you could stay here for a few days . . .’ I look at him pleadingly.
    ‘True. I guess it would be okay . . . Are you sure it’s alright?’ he asks Nonna.
    ‘Of course!’
    ‘I should call Simon and tell him what I’m up to.’ He pulls out his mobile.
    ‘There’s no reception up here, I’m afraid. Do you want to use the phone? Can Will use the phone,