With the final touches of paint and the café’s name screwed into the front wall, Vincenzo posts the menu in an alcove at the door, his white apron and wispy hair curling in the easterly breeze. Today, Vincenzo promises the children that he will reveal his veiled seascape; lots of fish and plenty of surprises. Winifred, who is now stretched out on the cane lounge in the courtyard has been at the café since 7.00 am, first waking Vincenzo by yelling towards the top window. ‘I have to get to school, Vinny. I can’t wait all day.’
‘Whatcha want, ha?’ he had said. ‘You kids nip at my brain like Pomadina does at my ankles. I be there in a minute.’
She had waited a half hour for him, listening to his singing, his banging in the kitchen, the utensils scraping over a burnt smell of onions and sausages. After the first three days and opening party, Winifred had been mesmerized by the atmosphere of the Ozone Café. On her way home from school she helped Vincenzo simmer sauces in the pot, wash up or dry the dishes. She loved all the large stainless steel pots, the large chopping knife that easily slipped into his freshly grown herbs. She learnt all their names; basil, thyme, myrtle, oregano, marjoram, borage, and chervil. Vincenzo made his own preserves just like her grandmother, but his bottles held the bright reds of capsicums, chilli, and pimentos. At home, it was peaches, apricots and figs. How she hated figs, and always Betty Parker offering them after school with ice-cream. Yuk!
* * *
Pomadina crawls over Winifred, digging his sharp claws into her skin. ‘Ouch, Pommy, that hurt. And look what you’ve done, dirty paws on my clean uniform. Thanks for making me look like a goob.’
Winifred blushes when Vincenzo walks into the courtyard, wearing only his pyjama pants and apron. She stares at him up and down, holding Pomadina against her stomach.
‘Okay, so I’m not dressed, but the salad, she is.’
‘How many did you get last night? Was it better than Wednesday?’
Winifred places Pomadina on the wooden bench, below a green tarpaulin slung across the courtyard wall. She lifts the material like someone peeking under a dress.
‘Three couples. I had some noisy holidaymakers come in, asking for fish and chips. At this rate, I go broke.’
‘I told you, people round here don’t want pasta, olive oil and that pickled stuff.’
‘Ah, I dunno what to do. Rennie says I gotta go Australian, but look at me, I’m a Calabrian through and through. Maybe if Maria was here she know what to do.’
‘I told you, you have to have: Number 1. Fish and chips. 2. Hamburgers. 3. Paddle Pops for the kids, and Number 4. Kraft cheese sandwiches. Well, something like that.’
‘Aah, that cheese? Tastes like soap.’
‘I know what to do!’ says Winifred, putting her finger in the air like a traffic signal. ‘Mr Sanderson over the road, he’ll help. Go have a talk with him. He’ll tell you what his customers like.’
‘Maybe. Say, where’s Casey and Nicholas for the unveiling?’
‘I don’t know, but I’ve got to go. See you later, Vin. I’ll be back after school.’ Winifred grabs her school case from the courtyard, swings it in the air with a final, ‘Hey Vin, any shells left?’
‘Aah, very funny, Winny,’ he says, raising his voice in the breeze.
* * *
