BooksBarbecue
Back Escape to the French Farmhouse
Chapters (79)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Jo Thomas
  4. DEDICATION
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. THIRTY-THREE
  38. THIRTY-FOUR
  39. THIRTY-FIVE
  40. THIRTY-SIX
  41. THIRTY-SEVEN
  42. THIRTY-EIGHT
  43. THIRTY-NINE
  44. FORTY
  45. FORTY-ONE
  46. FORTY-TWO
  47. FORTY-THREE
  48. FORTY-FOUR
  49. FORTY-FIVE
  50. FORTY-SIX
  51. FORTY-SEVEN
  52. FORTY-EIGHT
  53. FORTY-NINE
  54. FIFTY
  55. FIFTY-ONE
  56. FIFTY-TWO
  57. FIFTY-THREE
  58. FIFTY-FOUR
  59. FIFTY-FIVE
  60. FIFTY-SIX
  61. FIFTY-SEVEN
  62. FIFTY-EIGHT
  63. FIFTY-NINE
  64. SIXTY
  65. SIXTY-ONE
  66. SIXTY-TWO
  67. Epilogue
  68. Acknowledgements
  69. RECIPES
  70. Lavender shortbread
  71. Apricot jam sponge cake
  72. Lavender lamb
  73. READ MORE
  74. Prologue
  75. ONE
  76. TWO
  77. THREE
  78. FOUR
  79. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

I remember asking Angelo why he sang every morning. He said he had to do it to bring in the customers from the piazza, away from the overpriced cafés and into the side streets. Nonno’s place is in a side street on the other side of the square. But it’s Nonno’s reputation and word of mouth that bring the customers, new and old. To bring in customers, Angelo said, and because singing makes him feel alive. He may not sing on stage any more, but singing is who he is. The day he stops singing is the day we’ll all have to worry.

I smile to myself as I climb out of bed in my cotton pyjamas, stroll over to the window and look out at the yellow-painted apartments opposite, and the cream arches over communal doorways on the street below. I’ve slept late. Nonna is laying out coffee, pastries and milk-bread rolls in a basket on the table on the balcony below. And I know she will have been up early baking and preparing the family lunch. We always eat at the apartment at lunchtime, once everything is ready at the restaurant. Afterwards Nonno has a siesta and goes to the restaurant to light the forno ready for service in the evening. He doesn’t open during the day: it’s too hot to cook in front of the forno. People round here like to eat out in the evening when it’s cooler. Nonno often brings back members of staff to eat with us at lunchtime. It’s how it’s always been. But it’s Sunday, and Sunday lunch is always special with Nonno and Nonna, and I can’t wait to hear what she’s cooking today, maybe guess from the smell from the kitchen.

The sound of the buzzer makes me jump. I can hear Nonno’s voice. He’s greeting someone at the front door. I realize it must be whoever he has in mind to take over the restaurant. He said I’d meet them today. I feel a little leap of excitement in my tummy.

I wash and dress, tie up my hair loosely with a scrunchie and hurry down the stairs to where I can hear muffled greetings, polite conversation and laughter. I get a jolt of recognition. That laugh. There’s something familiar about it. I’m excited to find out who Nonno has in mind to take over. I stand at the bottom of the stairs by the kitchen and look through the living room to the balcony beyond, where I can see Nonno shaking hands with a figure in the shadows.