Monday 28th AugustI am still shaken by the recent thoughts about my childhood when I arrive at Zia’s clutching the ice-box. Angelina and Provvi are there. They look as sad as can be. Zia has laid out some cannoli Siciliani cakes filled with ricotta, and decorated with candied lemons. They look delicious. “Cuppa tea?”
“Yes, please, Zia. I’d love one.”
Provvi now has a dark yellowish stain on her neck. Did the brute clutch her by the throat? Zia’s right. That Giulio definitely needs some education. Provvi is looking down at her feet and is in the middle of telling Zia how her husband, Giulio, purposely ran into her with a shopping trolley, bruising the back of one of her ankles badly, on Saturday when they were doing the family shopping at Tesco’s. Provvi keeps going through intervals of s
