The Ingredients for Happiness. Lucy Knott
felt and truly more motivated with her creations.
Giulia stepped back from the garment Louisa had been working on and looked up at the clock.
‘We must get going,’ Giulia said with a sweet smile, the clock having moved to ten past four. It was family time now or time to grab a coffee with friends or prepare the dinner. Work for the day was done, if Louisa could call it work; she loved what she did. As Giulia stepped back, Louisa noticed the pins on her hem had moved. She did a double take as she watched Giulia move towards the door and she herself grabbed her bag. Casting another look at her dress before she followed Giulia’s shouts of ‘Viene, viene, come, come,’ she shook her head. The woman was like her guardian angel sent down by Grandpa to guide Louisa and put her on the right path.
With the hemline now perfect and ready to be sewn in the morning, it gave Louisa a sense of purpose. She appreciated this opportunity that Giulia had given her; she needed to focus on what she was doing and the passion she had inside her and not what she was missing back home. She had given up too easily last time on her fashion dreams at university; now she needed to face the fears of being away from her family and not run back home the minute it got tough.
Grandpa’s Focaccia
Ingredients:
1 sachet of yeast
1 cup warm water
1 tsp salt
1 tsp sugar
Sprinkle of fennel seeds
1/3 cup of olive oil
3 ½ cups of Tipo 00 flour
What to do:
Place warm water, salt, sugar and yeast in a bowl. Mix and allow to sit for fifteen minutes.
Add your flour, fennel and olive oil and another dash of salt for more flavour.
Allow to rise for at least an hour, covered under a tea towel and in a warm spot. (Grandpa sometimes placed near radiator.)
Roll out. (You can use a rolling pin or just manipulate it with your hands to make your rectangle shape and prod with your fingers to flatten it. No harm getting stuck in and it makes it more rustic.)
Cover with tea towel on baking sheet for twenty minutes, drizzle with a touch more olive oil, then bake at 180 degrees for 20–25 minutes, until crisp and golden.
When they had returned from Italy in the New Year, Amanda had been a ball of energy – a woman on a mission and a force to be reckoned with. She and Dan had buried themselves in newspapers and estate agent windows, as well as tirelessly wandering the streets of Manchester looking for the perfect location for her café. She was now standing in front of that perfect location, terrified of going inside.
The paperwork had been straightforward, though Amanda had certainly been glad of Dan’s presence. As was the case with her blog and social media, she wasn’t one for reading the fine print, editing, or patience – she just wanted to get in and create her vision. But once the paperwork had cleared, Dan had joined Sabrina and the boys back in LA and Amanda was left to face the task of building a café from the ground up, with no previous experience, knowledge, or known skills when it came to flooring, shop-fitting or that of plumbing or electrical matters. Her dream had quickly turned into a shambles.
The door creaked open and she made a mental note to remember to get WD40 on it sooner rather than later. She stepped over the threshold with her eyes closed and breathed in the smell of plastic and a subtle burning scent. ‘Oh god, what’s that?’ she said out loud. She flicked the light switch and opened her eyes, but nothing happened. When she flicked it again, she heard a click and a hiss and the wire that was dangling from the ceiling sent out a spark. She quickly pulled her phone from her pocket and turned on its flashlight. Newspaper covered the floor in addition to a layer of dust, and the plastic-covered tables and chairs were piled high to one side. The newly painted walls were splotchy, with paint having made its way onto the skirting boards and light fixtures. The place was a mess.
‘Okay Amanda,’ she told herself, ‘you have to fix this. When the electrician comes today, he needs to know that this won’t do, and that you need your kitchen up and running this week.’ She carefully treaded over the newspapers to put her bag down on the bar, still using her phone for light when it started ringing. Her dad’s name appeared on the screen.
‘Hi Dad,’ Amanda answered, as chirpily as she could. ‘How are you?’ She went to lean on the counter but thought better of it with the dust and grime present in a thick layer, so instead hovered by it awkwardly.
‘Hi sweetheart. I wanted to check in on the work at your café. How’s it looking? Do you need any help today?’ he asked. Amanda could hear the pride in his voice when he said, ‘your café’ and she didn’t want to let him down. The girls had been lucky, growing up with parents who supported them in all they wanted to do. Amanda wouldn’t have travelled the world, exploring exotic cuisine or completed her strenuous placements in restaurants over the years if it wasn’t for their encouragement and belief in her that she could do it. Now, with no job and Jeff having tainted her reputation, this café had to work. She wasn’t just doing this for herself and her career, she was doing this for her family.
‘Everything’s fine thanks, Dad. I’ve got it all under control,’ she gulped, looking into the gloomy abyss. He had already helped unload the furniture earlier this week, which he had done with a smile on his face, but Amanda hadn’t missed his occasional pauses where his hands rested on his lower back, while he took in deep breaths, pain crinkling his eyes. He wasn’t as young as he looked and when Amanda had rung her parents’ house at 7 p.m. that evening to thank him once more, her mum had answered and told Amanda she would pass on her message in the morning when her dad woke up. The day had wiped him out. She couldn’t do that to him again. ‘Have a good day, Dad, and I’ll keep you posted,’ she said, ending the call. She glanced around at the dark and dreary shell of a café and then down at her watch.
‘Okay, so the electrician will be here any minute and I’ll just text the decorators and ask when they’ll be coming back to do another coat and final touch ups and clean the sockets and skirtings, then everything really will be fine,’ she said. She walked over to the bay window and rolled up the matte gold blinds that had recently been put in, just enough to let some light in but not enough for onlookers or paparazzi to get a good look. San Francisco Beat were a big deal – the media had already sniffed out Dan’s scent while he was visiting and helping her look for a place.
Thinking of Dan made her pulse quicken but her stomach sink. She missed him like she’d never missed anyone before, and she wished he were with her, making this task feel less daunting than it was. But she understood his work; she knew his life was his band and it made her happy to know that he was living his dream. She had to admit that it felt different now though. He’d been gone three weeks and the distance and time difference had thrown her for a loop. Had it been this difficult to stay in touch when they were just friends? Anyway, she couldn’t think about that right now. She had to get her own dream back on track. Another crackle and spark jolted her from daydreaming of Dan, and she turned abruptly to see that it came from one of the plug sockets by the bar. ‘Any minute now, the electrician will be here,’ she repeated to herself. ‘Any minute now.’
*
The minutes turned into hours. It was now three in the afternoon and thankfully the day was still bright; the sun high above the houses, enough to cast a glow on her café, so she didn’t have to sit in the dark. Amanda was sprawled out on the cold unfinished floor, covered in dust and muck, feeling pretty useless and no longer caring about the state of her clothes. She had been waiting for the electrician since eight o’clock this morning and he still hadn’t turned up. She had received no reply from the decorators, and they were not answering their phone. She was feeling sorry for herself, missing Sabrina’s efficiency in a situation like this and replaying her conversation