What other photographs were not taken that night? Well, after dinner and toasts, Mother proceeded to get completely drunk. She didn’t end up in the tree ferns out back of La Coccinella, on her haunches, vomiting (as I would see others do over the years) but she did explode briefly over something she thought she heard somebody say that she didn’t like and didn’t agree with, and didn’t think ought to have been said at a wedding. It might’ve come from Gray quarters; it might have been something about Eyeties or Roman Catholics. And she didn’t leave elegantly for the Menzies Hotel, smiling from the windows of the cab, like the photographer would have us believe. She trotted to the taxi with her wedding shoes swinging in her hand, and when she threw her bouquet, it ended up stuck in the canvas awning of a neighbouring shop. The expense of the Menzies Hotel ended up being a waste. Mother spent most of the night with her head over the toilet bowl. Father told me this fondly but sadly.

What should I believe then? I choose to believe the wedding menu. You kept this, folded, for years. I found it when cleaning out your house in Richmond. And menus can be trusted. Food is a solid fact.

The wedding menu:

Gli antipasti: offered on trays with the obligatory champagne. (Actually, Italian sparkling wine. Nonno now had a 10 pm liquor licence, though with the odd condition that he only serve Australian wine, a condition he did not observe.)

Capelle di funghi ai gamberetti

Carciofi con maionese all’Arancia

Crostine al dragoncello

You slaved for hours for all those tiny little shrimp-stuffed mushrooms, didn’t you, Ornella? Carlito laughed at you as he smoked in the kitchen doorway and you pinched and tucked this fiddly finger food and he called you la domestica. And did Mother and Papa ever thank you? No, not properly, never. Never! Mother picked up a piece of crostini, took a bite, and put it back on the tray.

I primi:

Polenta pasticciata con il gorgonzola

o

Passato di spinaci alle nocciole

You toasted the hazelnuts. You wound the spinach through the foodmill. Your mouth was taut and grim. Nonno was laughing and happy in the background. The kitchen was a place to sing, he said, and he sang, badly. You were grimacing, but you kept working.

I secondi:

Pollo al vin santo

o

Spezzatino ai piseli

This was Nonno’s area. You untied your apron. You smoked a cigarette in the courtyard with Carlito. Nonna found a splash of oil on your pink silk dress and yelled that you were stupid for wearing it in the kitchen. You’d wanted to wear dark blue silk, but Nonna said that was married women’s silk and not suitable.

I dolci:

Budino di albicocche al caramello

o

Crema al mascarpone