He rounded the counter without waiting for an answer and took a seat at the family table. Luis followed, brows drawn together in a deep, bemused frown.
Paolo eyed him. “What is it?”
“Nothing, I just . . .”
“What? Spit it out, mate.”
Luis treated him to a faint smile. “I don’t understand how we went to school together and I don’t remember you.”
“It’s pretty simple. I was one of the guitar emos who hung out at the music block, and we had no classes together. Also, you were never there, and even when you were, I’m pretty sure you spent most of your time behind the tennis shed with Tanesha Johnson, so . . .”
It was Paolo’s turn to trail off as Luis’s smile sharpened to the kind of smirk Paolo had expected from him all along. But it didn’t reach his eyes, and it was gone before it truly solidified, leaving in place the frown that aged his lovely face by a decade he didn’t deserve. “Still feels weird that I don’t remember you.”
“Why?”
Luis tapped his fingers on the table. Opened his mouth. Shut it again. “Doesn’t matter. What do you want to talk about?”
For the life of him, Paolo couldn’t remember. Abruptly, he was sixteen again and casting furtive glances across the corridor at the popular boys who smelt of hair gel and cigarette smoke. He couldn’t recall most of their faces now, but he remembered Luis, with his gold rings and mean stare, and yet somehow the sweetest smile that had driven all the girls wild—
Luis’s drumming fingers got louder. Paolo blinked and forced himself back into the present. “So . . . we need to talk about money and hours. I work all day every day, but I don’t expect you to do that.”
“I can if you want. Haven’t got anything better to do.”
As tempting as it was to have full-time help, Paolo’s conscience wouldn’t allow him to inflict his punishing schedule on anyone else. “I can give you six days, Monday to Saturday? Six till three? It’s £10.75 an hour, which I know isn’t—”
“How much?”
Paolo repeated the figure. “I know it’s shit, but it’s LLW, and—”
“LL what?”
“The London Living Wage. You know, the—oh fuck. I don’t suppose you do. It’s pretty new.”
“Is it the same as minimum wage?”
“No. It’s higher, and not legally binding. I can pay you £8.20 if you’d prefer?”
“Is that minimum wage? Jesus. I thought it was six quid or some shit. Even £8.20 would make me fucking rich.”
Luis’s relieved grin was gorgeous.
And infectious.
Paolo smiled too. “Seriously? I figured whatever I paid you would be peanuts compared to whatever you did for money before you went down. I’ve seen your boys in their flash cars.”
Luis’s good humour faded. “They’re not my boys.”
“What about your brother?”
“What about him? I already told you I don’t run with Moss Farm anymore.”
He had. More than once. And given his joy at an extra few quid an hour, Paolo was starting to believe him. “Anyway, you won’t pay much tax on that as most of it will come under your annual allowance, so you’ll probably end up with about twelve hundred a month. Can you live on that?”
“I guess so. After rent and bills, I haven’t got anything to spend it on.”
“What about going out? Clothes and stuff?”
Luis laughed, but it was devoid of humour and did nothing to light up his face. “Yeah. Next question.”
Paolo hadn’t intended on asking him anything aside from his preference for working hours, but the longer they talked, the more he wanted to. Luis fascinated him for all kinds of reasons, none of them good. “How do you want to be paid? Weekly? Monthly? I can pay cash if you want, but it still has to go through the books.”
“I wouldn’t want it off the books. I need a real job to keep my place. But it might take me a while to figure my bank account stuff out. I don’t know any of the details, and I lost all my ID before I went away, so I can’t open a new one.”
“Did you call them?”
“Who?”
“The bank.”
“No.”
“Maybe go down there? Do you have a letter from your landlord and your prison paperwork? That might be enough.”
Luis shrugged, and Paolo thought hard for a solution that wouldn’t see him starve. “How are you paying your rent?”
“With a payment card at the post office.”
“So you can pay that with cash?”
“I think so.”
“Okay, well, find out. If you can, I’ll pay you in cash until you have your accounts up and running. If not, I’ll hold your rent money and come with you to pay it by card.”
“Why would you do that?”
Paolo had no idea. He offered a shrug of his own. “You’re no good to me if you’re homeless.”
Luis nodded. “Fair enough.”
It really wasn’t, but they’d run out of time to talk about it. Paolo drained his coffee mug and got up to refill it for the first of the many he’d need to get through the day. He turned to offer Luis more tea, but he was already in the kitchen, rummaging in the fridge for tomatoes and mushrooms.
He found the green and brown chopping boards without being asked and got to work. Paolo figured it would keep him busy for a little while. He fired up the grill and stacked the bread by the toaster. Two fresh mugs of coffee found their way into his belly, but their effects were dampened by the bone-deep exhaustion hanging over him.
Just before six, his phone rang. It was Toni.
“What happened?”
Paolo swallowed a sigh. “She fell in the bathroom. They thought she’d broken her hip, but it’s just a bruise. She’s okay now.”
Toni cursed in Italian and set off on a rant that made Paolo’s ears bleed and his heart ache. His grandparents landing in separate care homes had been the worst thing that had ever happened, and guilt burned craters in his soul that the cafe didn’t make enough money to put it right. Hell, it barely made enough to cover the fractional amount he paid to Toni’s home each month.
With Toni still talking, Paolo set the egg pans to heat, drifted to the front door, and unlocked it on autopilot. A handful of waiting tradesmen wandered in; some faces Paolo knew, others he didn’t.
The ones he knew nodded in greeting. Paolo nodded back and gestured to his phone. “Be with you in a sec,” he mouthed. And to Toni, “Nonno, I’ve got to go. It’s opening time. I’ll call you later, okay?”
Toni sighed with the weight of the world. “Okay, but don’t come and see me tonight. I want you to go and be with Nonna, even if they’ll only let you in for a little while. It frightens me so much to think of her alone.”
“She’s not alone. She’s got friends there, and I’ll take you to see her on Sunday.”
After sixty years of marriage, it was a sad offering, but it was all Paolo had, and Toni knew it. He bid Paolo goodbye and hung up, leaving Paolo to face the world alone.
5