Personality Read online

  ‘Hello superstar‚’ said Michael Aigas. Maria shrugged her shoulders and giggled down her straw.

  ‘Hiya‚’ she said.

  ‘Christ, little sister. You certainly go the whole bundle.’

  ‘Did you like me?’

  ‘What? Too righteous. Too righteous I liked you. In my book you’re way upstairs.’

  ‘You’re daft, Michael.’ Maria giggled.

  ‘No kidding‚’ he said. ‘Maria. You’re gonnae have to get yourself a manager or something.’

  ‘I know‚’ she said. ‘My mum and Alfredo were talking to a woman who works on the telly. She came tonight. I might get a chance to sing on the telly.’

  ‘That’s jake‚’ he said. ‘That is totally jake.’

  She giggled again, and she looked up at him. ‘You’re daft, Michael‚’ she said.

  ‘Take it easy, kiddo‚’ he said. She looked at him but she wasn’t quite looking at him. People surged in and he was squeezed behind them. Though she continued sitting on the piano stool, something in Maria – he saw it – stepped right out to meet the strangers’ handshakes and the enthusiasm in their voices, and she rushed into their feeling for her, instantly smiling and blushing for them.

  ‘Look after yourself, do you hear?’ he said. But she couldn’t catch him from where she was, and Michael Aigas, young Michael Aigas, just sixteen, who thought she was great, disappeared into the noise.

  Around the walls of the Athletic Bar hung framed photographs of Rothesay: they showed Edwardian ladies under parasols on the promenade, crowds of 1950s holiday-makers at the pier, wooden gangways being rolled into place, Glaswegians laughing, and bands striking up before the Winter Gardens. The photographs were dry and uninvolved behind the glass, but the glass itself was clouded with condensation, the small, hot breaths of the living running like strangers before the cold windows of the past.

  *

  Rosa was at the back of the café. She could hear some late punters at the tables talking about baptism, of all things. Mrs Bone was sipping a Russian tea. ‘Only if you’re then going to get up on a Sunday morning and take them yourself‚’ someone said, ‘because if you don’t the whole thing’s hypocritical. You get them baptised then you live the life. You go and do all the stuff. Get up on a Sunday and you take them yourself.’

  Frances Bone didn’t look round. She just blew on the tea and stirred it with a spoon.

  Rosa was throwing things out of the fridge. Alfredo had introduced her to a well-spoken woman after the concert and that was nice, that was good, that was right, she was wearing a fine blouse and they’d be hearing from her soon, so Rosa came straight over the road, went upstairs and cleaned her teeth, and now she was doing the fridge.

  Just go off their heads and don’t give a bugger at that Cash and Carry and come in here with more and more stuff and half of it’s bloody rubbish anyway and we’re left with all this food the bloody waste is diabolical.

  Rosa smiled at the tables as she went through the front to find more bin-bags. ‘It’s been a nice day, hasn’t it?’ she said to the group.

  ‘Oh aye‚’ one of the women said, ‘but you must’ve been run off your feet, Rosa.’

  Rosa smiled and narrowed her eyes as she walked back to the kitchen, but when she focused them again next to the fridge they were filled with tears. She had enjoyed the afternoon. It was a good party and she was happy it went well. Drinking with Giovanni had been a lovely thing to do; so handsome, Giovanni, in a nice clean white shirt there was nobody like him, he could charm the birds off the trees. But nobody, not even Rosa, could explain how one thing could quickly turn into another. Today was all out of sorts, she thought. Holidays and special days were always like that: drinking since early, eating at the wrong times, some shops shut all day, pubs open half the night. ‘I’m just tired‚’she said to herself. When she got like this nobody could do anything. ‘It’s just me‚’ she said.

  She put a pan of water on the cooker. She had a basin of chopped vegetables – onions, celery, carrot and garlic – and she put them in a pan. There was mince in the fridge she was going to throw out, but she browned it and then put it in with the vegetables, then added salt and tomato and let it simmer. Rosa never really sat down to a meal herself. She always picked little bits of the ingredients along the way. She liked to be busy making dinners for the men and the customers and she didn’t bother for herself. She picked. She always said to Maria the men should get the biggest bits of fish. Make sure they are fed well and see to yourself later.

  Rosa could make all the dishes in her sleep. She knew them by heart, and on the shelf there was a book of scribbled recipes – the Book of Stuff – a loose-leaf compendium of notes Lucia and her father had put together over the years. Most of them came from the days of the first café. As she stirred the pan and gazed at the deep red of the sauce Rosa began to think of the book, but then the thought of the book and the redness and all the events of the day somehow merged in her mind and she began to think of the night the old Academy went on fire.

  She took the book down. Over time, Lucia had put scraps of paper between the pages – boat tickets, goods receipts, articles ripped from the Rothesay Academy Magazine, sometimes prayers brought home from the chapel, cuttings of one kind or another. Rosa remembered the night of the fire. It was the year of the Coronation and Rosa was eleven. Her mother came to her room in the night and shook her. ‘The Academy’s on fire!’ she said. Through the window they could see the sky all red, and up on the hill the school was blazing: you could see crimson sparks flying into the air for miles. The whole of Rothesay Bay was lit up. In the morning the arches of the old school stood empty in a black ruin with the smoke still rising.

  She leafed through the pages. She passed lasagne al forno and cannelloni, passed her father’s secret, the recipe for Tambini ice cream, and stopped at fetuccine sauce. They didn’t make these dishes so much now. They ate rubbish now. Folded over and stuck in the spine was a tea-brown cutting. She opened it and right away recognised it as something from the Academy Magazine. It was something of Alfredo’s.

  WHAT I SHOULD LIKE TO MAKE OF MY LIFE

  I should like to dedicate my life to the service of God. I do not believe that there is any other way of life which is more satisfying than working for Christ. When I see and hear those people whom God has chosen to work for Him, when I see how fully satisfied they are, how happy and content whatever their lot, I long to be like them.

  I should like to serve the Lord with humility and understanding and not to seek after the pleasures of this life. What greater joy can this world hold than to bring some heathen to believe in God?

  I should work in darkest Africa or in the darkest slums. I should go willingly without a grumble and work till I could work no more. Discomfort and disease would not hinder me. The worst loneliness and persecution would not dissuade me. What a gladdening thing it would be to be loved, to be sought after for advice by some community which had come to know and love the Lord! And then, when I am old, all would come to me for sympathy and advice. I would not be lazy nor selfish or cross.

  Alfredo Tambini, Form IV

  There were other articles of Alfredo’s, several short notes from the Drama Club, paragraphs about signal boxes, a dissertation on fish and chips, and other ones about school dinners, teachers, and the Isle of Arran. Later on in the book, against a recipe for spaghetti carbonara, written in ball-point pen with wiggly lines underneath and things scored out, was lodged another small square of yellowed paper.

  EDINBURGH

  The first place we went to in Edinburgh was the castle. It was very interesting. We saw the famous cannon, Mons Meg. Beside it is a telescope through which we could see nearly all of Edinburgh. After that we went to the Shrine, which I think is one of the most beautiful places in the castle. We went to the Crown Room, where the Honours of Scotland are kept. After that we went to Cannon Ball House for lunch and from there to Holyrood Palace. We saw the place where Rizzio was murdered an
d Queen Mary’s rooms. Lastly, we went to the zoo and saw the lions and tigers, bears, birds and fishes. We had tea at the Ice Rink, and were lucky enough to see some skaters practising. All too soon it was time to go home. We arrived at the pier soon after nine o’clock.

  Sofia Tambini, Primary 5

  The sauce was bubbling and Rosa stirred. She put spaghetti into the pan. ‘Sofia‚’ she said, ‘my big sister.’ She knew most of the stuff in the cookbook but she had forgotten Sofia’s trip to Edinburgh. She’d never met Sofia. Her big sister was dead before Rosa was born. Lucia always said she had died of leukaemia, but Rosa thought she knew better. Poor young Sofia had drowned on a ship at sea. It was during the war. Lucia would never speak of it. She never told the truth.

  ‘Forgets everything it suits her to forget‚’ thought Rosa. ‘The story of her life.’

  Then she found a clipping from the Academy Magazine about herself. There was a photograph too, from 1955. She remembered the year. It was just before the new school was built, and they were saying it was like a nuclear power station, the new Academy, or like something that had dropped from outer space.

  HIGHLAND FLINGS

  A Rothesay Academy pupil, Rosa Tambini, Form 3L, has won top honours at the the Annual Scottish Inter-Schools Highland Dancing Gala held at Dundee Central Halls. Rosa won the finals for Individual Highland Dancing for Rothesay Academy, and the formation finals were won by Blane House. Rosa says she is serious about her dancing and will be performing displays in various venues, some as far north as Aberdeen. The picture shows Rosa holding the Championship Bowl.

  The spaghetti swirled in the pan. With the pad of her finger Rosa picked up chopped pieces of onion lying on the table and put them in her mouth. When she was tidying up she would do that all the time. Maria always saw her picking up stray morsels like this, and couldn’t decide whether her mother was hungry or whether she was just tidying. Anyway, the bits of food she couldn’t get hold of with a cloth and shake into the bin she ate, and the pasta was bubbling when Alfredo arrived.

  ‘Thank you‚’ Maria was saying at the end of his arm, looking back towards the customers.

  ‘Here’s our wee star‚’ he said. ‘She’s absolutely knackered, Rosa.’ Rosa looked at her daughter.

  Oh rubbish you’ve got to have stamina if you want to make it in this business Maria oh look at you you’re that well turned out and an absolute picture that’s all, did you see the nice woman from London now this really has been a successful day for us Maria and I don’t have to tell you hen the way you sang in there tonight you could’ve heard a pin drop.

  ‘I want you to eat something‚’she said.

  ‘It’s pyjamas time‚’ said Alfredo. Rosa scooped the hot sauce into the drained spaghetti. Maria looked through the steam rising off the table and saw into her mother’s eyes.

  ‘Don’t forget the big curlers tomorrow, Uncle Alfredo‚’ said Maria with a yawn. And they all said goodnight. Maria sat down at the kitchen table.

  ‘Eat it clean‚’ said Rosa.

  Maria swallowed the steam. ‘It’s really nice, mum‚’she said.

  *

  In the Athletic Bar the floor was sticky and Big Jack was hitting the bell for last orders. Mrs Ross who worked in the Amusement Arcade sang a song beside the organ, ‘I Left My Heart in San Francisco.’

  Rosa and Mrs Bone and other women from the shorefront flats were out sweeping Victoria Street. They had each brought down their brushes. There were streamers and forgotten Union Jacks lying about. The women swept all the rubbish together and made a pile outside the Winter Gardens, and as they swept they spoke of old singers and dance halls they used to go to years ago. ‘Your Maria was something else in there tonight‚ Rosa‚’ said Mrs Bone. ‘Never heard her so good as that.’

  ‘She’s got a chance at singing on the television‚’ said Rosa, leaning on the end of her brush. The music was coming down from the Athletic and a small wind began to rustle through the palm trees over the putting green.

  ‘Well, if that’s not cause for celebration I don’t know what is‚’ said Mrs Bone. ‘Wait here a minute.’ By now there was a great pile of paper hats and half-eaten biscuits and everything lying heaped in the road.

  ‘Here you go‚’ said Mrs Bone coming back. She handed out five small glasses and brandished a bottle of sherry.

  ‘Oh to hell‚’ said Rosa, laughing and putting her glass out.

  Mrs Bone poured a measure into each one. ‘Whau’s like us?’ said Mrs Bone, putting the bottle under her arm and sipping her own.

  Maria looked down from her window at her mother and the women laughing in the road. She could see the lights towards Port Bannatyne and hear the music from the Athletic Bar and it was nice to look out. She curled up on her bed and gazed at the luminous stars on the ceiling but in minutes she was fast asleep. Sitting on the dressing table next to the window was the blonde head of her Girl’s World; it looked out with plastic eyes at the dark of the room and the girl asleep.

  When the sweeping was done and the women had gone inside, Rosa propped her brush against the window of the café and went over to the seafront. She put her hands on the iron railing of the promenade and felt the cold in the metal coming up through her. The water was calm and a beam from the Cowal lighthouse reached over. She heard giggling. Though nobody could see her, she had a clear view of the covered benches further down the front, where Giovanni, the man she had decided never to marry, was kissing and licking the naked breasts of the television woman from London. Rosa watched them for a moment. She looked at them, listening to her own breath and feeling the cold off the water, then took off her shoes and walked back to the café in perfect silence.

  9

  Rosa

  It’s funny how things come back to you. I loved games when I was young – dancing, uh, the dancing bug – and my daddy used to watch me from his chair and say I had two left feet. He was only kidding but I used to pretend it bothered me just so’s he would feel bad and go down the shop and bring me up a bag of chips. He said he had to put fresh fat in the fryer for me but that was just pretending. You didn’t believe half the things. My only regret when I look back is I wish I had spent more time with my daddy on my own. They never allowed you much time for that to happen but I wish it had you know.

  Funny when you look back on it. It was her that made all the fuss but it was really my daddy who looked after us. Me and Alfredo learned all the songs from my daddy and God knows who the man really was because he looked after us but he never really said much. I mean you couldny really say you got to know him. He wasn’t like that. Half the time you wondered if he was even there. But he was there. When it came to the things that counted, the truth to be told, my daddy was like an old man from as far back as I can remember. He just worked all the time.

  I only saw him lose his temper the once. We were up the meadows and it was an autumn day; leaves everywhere, and me and Alfredo and my daddy, we could see our breaths, and we ran through the meadows wearing balaclavas and gloves on our hands. She had told us so many fairy tales when we were weans I’m telling you we were frightened of trees, but we dodged round them and me and Alfredo chased each other in circles up the meadows and my daddy just whistled the dog.

  We had a leaf fight that day. I can still see them giant brown leaves, some of them wet, other ones dry and crackly and when you threw them up in the air in a bundle the dry ones came down slower. We had a leaf fight, and my daddy was up ahead of us. Alfredo hit me with a branch so I started burying him with leaves, giant bundles of them; more and more leaves, and I remember, I remember getting carried away with it, and Alfredo was shouting but I just put more and more leaves on top of him. He said his leg was trapped in the fence and I just ignored him and put more leaves and more leaves until he was buried.

  I ran away and left Alfredo there. My daddy said where is Alfredo and he turned round but I just didn’t say anything and we had to walk back and Alfredo was crying where he was buried under the leav
es. He said that was a horrible thing to do to your brother and he told her and I got kept in for two days and she said that’s just the measure of you, to make your brother suffer and bury him with leaves. It didn’t bother me that she was angry but I hated it that my daddy wouldn’t talk to me and said I was a bad article and he wasn’t nice to me.

  When I got pregnant with Maria it was my daddy who took me to one side and said not to worry. I fell pregnant in the summer and all he said was it’s best not to wear them short skirts so often hen. She wouldn’t speak to me and said she saw trouble coming as soon as I met the guy – Alan, that was his name, he worked at the submarine base on the Holy Loch and when he said he would go back to America no matter what, my daddy just said let him go. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish‚’ he said. She put on the waterworks of course. ‘There’s no use greetin’ about it now‚’ my daddy said. ‘She’s still our wee lassie and that’s that.’

  She always kept a clean house, my mother. She watched me and Alfredo all the time as if she was scared she might lose us, but she did lose us, me in my way, Alfredo in his, good God, though she wouldny choose to see it that way herself. I feel sorry for her so I do when I think of her up in that house with all the lies she’s told everybody. It’s terrible if you get to an age when you realise you can’t talk to your mother. Things would’ve been different if my daddy was alive. That’s what I say to myself all the time. Right enough: he let her go for years telling lies and covering things up.