The proposal and solid s.., p.9
Ice Cream Boy, page 9
I’ll have to explain why I told Ryan. Tell them I was in a state.
“I was upset on Friday night. Really upset.”
“No wonder.” Sitara’s voice was warm with sympathy. “I know how difficult this has been for you. This competition is about your whole future. You must be so anxious!”
Relieved, I just nodded.
They don’t need to know about how bad things are with Nonna. Nobody needs to know about that.
“So, I left the house, went for a walk and ran into Ryan. And he said he might come along to the City Chambers on Saturday, to give me a bit of support.”
I raised my head, looked at Kamal, and didn’t like what I saw. There was real anger in his eyes, and no wonder, when I’d just confessed to fraternising with the enemy. He wiped chip grease from his mouth with a paper napkin. His voice had lost its usual warmth. “Maybe next time Ryan’s dad’s attacking Sitara you can ask him to come along too.”
Heat burned my face. Leaping to my feet, I grabbed my bag, about to storm off, but as soon as I was on my feet, an uncomfortable awareness set in. I knew only too well that leaving would be a big mistake. This needed to be fixed. My pals were too important to lose.
And luckily, Sitara rescued me, by jabbing a finger in my stomach. “Oi, you! Sit back down. Right now.” Making sure it was even, she poked Kamal in the ribs too. “And you, stop your nonsense. Think of me for a change. I wouldn’t know who to stay pals with if you and Luca fall out. It would be mega awkward, and I have enough drama in my life, thanks.”
She paused, before continuing to tell us off. “Kamal, I’ve told you a zillion times, I can fight my own battles. It’s not your job, or mine, to tell Luca who he can talk to and who he can’t. This is a free country, or so I’ve always been told.”
She turned to me. “I get it, I really do. But next time, phone us. We’re your support network.” She smiled. “And we’ll both be there for you on Saturday. We can’t wait, can we, Kamal?”
He nodded. “We’ll be on the edge of our seats.”
It was hard to miss the sarcastic edge. Kamal was still annoyed with me. But the mention of Saturday reminded me of Ryan’s words. Bet you’re buzzin about the final.
I hadn’t answered him, but he wasn’t wrong. I was buzzing like a hive of bees.
14
LEMON DRIZZLE CAKE
It was a tricky situation.
If I let Mum know I’m in the final of a big inter-schools’ competition she’ll be thrilled to bits and determined to come along. But if I lose, I’m going to be mega upset. Mum has enough on her plate at the moment, worrying about who’s going to take care of me now Nonna isn’t capable. She doesn’t need to know how much I’m stressing out about my future.
So on Saturday morning I poked my head round the bathroom door, where Mum was busy scrubbing the shower, and announced I was heading to the park with Kamal and Sitara.
“Luca, listen. I’ve had an idea.” Mum plonked herself down on the toilet seat, while I hung onto the door jamb, super keen to leave. “What about Mrs Chatterjee? She could keep an eye on you after school. I know she’s ancient, but she’s all there.”
“Mum, I can look after myself. I don’t need a babysitter. Nonna and I will be fine.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Last week’s incident was a million miles from fine,” she groaned. “Think I’ll need to have to have a word with my manager at work.”
“Sending me out to work isn’t the answer, Mum. Child labour’s illegal.”
“Yeah, that’s massively inconvenient, right enough.” Mum laughed despite herself. “But I’m hoping my work might be able to give me an office job, since I’m not allowed to send you down a mine or up a chimney.” She fell silent, and twisted a lock of her hair. “Sadly, an office job won’t pay as well as my current one, so I’m not sure how we’d manage…” Glancing up, she smiled. “Och, don’t listen to me. Of course we’ll manage. Off you go to the park with your pals!”
I wasn’t fooled by the smile, but I had to leave. Winning this competition could fix everything. “See you later, Mum. Stop worrying.”
* * *
Kamal, Sitara and I caught the train into town and walked to George Square. Sitara chattered cheerily, but Kamal was quiet, and I wondered if he was still angry with me. Then when we reached the steps of the City Chambers, he put his arm round my shoulder and gave me a hug.
“Good luck, mate. Hope this batch of Verani’s vanilla ice cream’s even better than our first one. Save me some this time.”
The other nine finalists were already there, huddled in a tight group inside the City Chambers’ intimidatingly grand entrance hall. They all appeared to have at least one grown-up with them, and I wondered if maybe I should have told Mum after all.
“Schools’ cooking competition final? This way, please.” A man in a smart uniform ushered us all up a magnificent white marble staircase, along a dark, wood-panelled corridor and into a massive room with a domed ceiling.
I hadn’t been able to practise making the ice cream after that first batch because vanilla pods were so expensive and I could hardly expect Kamal to buy them for me again. Luckily, the competition paid for our ingredients in the final. We’d been allowed to specify any equipment we needed too. Each finalist was directed to their own long white table. Mine had a mini hob, tiny freezer and an ice cream machine, which I hoped would be simple enough to operate. Kamal and Sitara sat together in the front row, looking as nervous as I felt. I was so glad they were there.
A lady stood up and spoke to the assembled guests, introducing herself as Glasgow’s Director of Education. She talked a lot about diversity and inclusion and the joys of food until I got really twitchy, wondering if there was going to be any time left to actually make the ice cream. The whole time the woman was speaking, I stared at the ice cream machine, but when she introduced the judge, a well-known celebrity chef, I finally looked up and caught sight of Ryan in the audience, grinning at me. He was sprawled across two chairs, three rows back, and his presence made me even more nervous.
Kamal and Sitara say he’s like his dad. What if he’s here to make trouble?
The celebrity chef snatched the mike from the Director of Education’s hand.
“Good morning! I hope all the invited guests are going to enjoy watching our young chefs at work. As they prepare their dishes, I will walk around and chat to the children about what they’re doing. Afterwards, I will ask each finalist to present their dishes for sampling, and then coffee, tea and delicious lemon drizzle cake will be served in the banqueting hall, where the big announcement will be made. Chefs, your time starts now! You have ninety minutes to complete your dishes!”
It was time to start cooking, if only my hands would stop shaking long enough to stir the mixture. Sitara’s carefully written recipe was on the table in front of me. All I had to do was follow the step-by-step instructions.
I can do this.
At the table next to me, a determined-looking girl with her hair scraped back in a neat ponytail had already got to work. She seemed so unruffled and was cutting red peppers as efficiently as a professional chef. Suddenly, I felt totally out of my depth.
Can I really do this? I’ve only put together a batch of Verani’s Velvet Vanilla once before. What if that was a fluke?
Hands trembling, I made a right mess of separating the first egg yolk from the white, and had to dump it in the bin.
Why didn’t I practise more? What was I thinking?
Then I managed to cut my finger while I was trying to grate the big Amalfi lemon. Panicking, I was trying to wrap my finger in tissue when the celebrity chef strolled over to observe my work.
“Dear me, our first injury.” He clicked his fingers at his personal assistant. “Jennifer, are there plasters in that first-aid box?”
Luckily there were, and I was able to carry on grating without splattering my ice cream mixture with blood. No one was asking for a vampire’s version of Raspberry Ripple.
I did get everything mixed and then warmed on a very low heat, worrying that it was either going to heat so slowly I’d run out of time, or that it would heat so fast I’d burn or curdle the whole batch. I spilled quite a lot, and burned some of the spillage on the hot plate, but finally the mixture itself thickened and was ready to pour into the ice cream machine. My nerves were shredded.
Then, when I opened the machine, I realised a vital part was missing.
Where’s the bowl?
Panic rose in my chest as I scrabbled around, searching on and under my table, before finally finding the bowl, sitting inside the freezer. My shoulders sagged with relief. Whoever had set up my table had obviously used an ice cream maker before. To make good ice cream, the bowl needed to be ice-cold.
Whoever it was would probably be doing a better job of making this. I haven’t a clue what I am doing.
With shaking hands, I removed the bowl from the mini freezer, placed it in the machine and was about to pour the mixture into it when I remembered to check the recipe. ‘Remove the vanilla pod first…’ Yikes.
As I fished out the pod, I glanced over at my friends. Sitara smiled and Kamal gave me a thumbs up. Feeling a little better, I poured.
Strands of hair were sticking to my sweaty forehead. Beside me, the girl with the ponytail swore loudly.
“I’ve burnt the courgettes. My ratatouille’s ruined!” Slamming the pan back down on the hob, she slumped onto her chair, face like fizz.
The Director of Education hurried over, high heels clicking. “It’s alright, dear. There, there.” She patted the girl’s back. “It’s not the end of the world, is it?”
The girl looked up and gave her a withering look. “No, course not. But it’s the end of my ruddy ratatouille.”
As I pressed the button on the ice cream machine, my hand shook and dislodged the lid. Yellow liquid sprayed upwards, gushing over my face and apron.
“This is the worst day of my life!” wailed ratatouille girl. When I turned, I saw that her face was splattered with vanilla custard. In the audience, someone giggled.
“Sorry. The lid wasn’t on properly.” My apology wasn’t very effusive, but I needed to focus.
Some mixture had been lost, but there was plenty left. No need to panic. On the baking shows I’d watched with Nonna, the panicky ones always ended up dropping their cakes on the floor.
Taking deep breaths, I concentrated on the machine. This ice cream had to be perfect, and my timing had to be right. There was never going to be enough time to chill it fully, but even if was a bit soft, it would still taste good. Hopefully.
The moment the judge began sampling the burnt-to-a-crisp ratatouille, I started spooning my ice cream into Nonna’s old-fashioned metal sundae dishes, borrowed from the kitchen cupboard. My creamy, delicious-looking ice cream was topped with some sprinkled lemon zest and a tiny bit of grated chocolate. Just as the celebrity chef swaggered over, accompanied by the Director of Education and a press photographer, I added a chocolate Flake, stuck at a jaunty angle.
“Well, that looks tasty!” announced the chef, grabbing the chocolate Flake and stuffing it in his mouth. “Vanilla ice cream, is it? Perhaps not as ambitious as some of the other recipes?”
If there’s ever been a time for me to talk myself up, this is it.
“The beauty of this ice cream is its simplicity. And its rustic charm. This is genuine Italian ice cream. The recipe originates from the hillside town of Barga, in Tuscany. I’ve added lemon zest and chocolate to give it extra flair.”
The press photographer, I was glad to see, was taking notes.
The celebrity chef spooned some into his mouth. “It’s very good. Very good indeed. Quality ingredients… But is it just too simple?”
He walked on to the next table, leaving me seething with frustration.
If it’s too simple, does it have no chance of winning?
It was impossible to tell. The celebrity chef’s expression had been unreadable – he could have played poker for a living.
Mine was the second-last table, so five minutes later the tasting was over. As the finalists and guests were ushered out, Ryan swerved and blocked the celebrity’s chef’s exit. As we shuffled past, I could just make out what he was saying.
“Aye, ma nan an me watch your programme aw the time. It’s a belter. Naw, I didn’t get past the heats, but ma pal Luca did. His ice cream’s pure class.”
I felt mean for suspecting Ryan’s motives. He had come to support me after all. But at the same time, I felt guilty he was there, because Kamal was so angry about it.
As Nonna would say, my feelings were in a complete guddle.
We were ushered into a magnificent banqueting hall decorated with paintings and gleaming with gold leaf. A guide explained that the massive murals on the walls depicted the history of the city. It was the fanciest room any of us had ever been in, and Kamal, Sitara and I were trying very hard not to get any lemon drizzle cake on the carpet. When I noticed Ryan pushing through the crowd towards us, I gulped, almost choking on crumbs.
But suddenly the judges entered the hall, and everything stilled.
The Director gave another speech while I shuffled from one foot to the other, and then she handed the celebrity chef the mike.
“This was an incredibly difficult decision, but in the end, we believe we’ve chosen worthy winners!” he announced. “In third place, Graeme Anderson with his fabulous pepparkakor: ginger cookies all the way from Sweden!”
Blushing scarlet, Graeme went up to collect his prize.
“And in second place…”
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my name not to be called. Second place wouldn’t do.
“Navreen Kaur for her delicious recipe for quick dal makhani!”
As Navreen squealed in delight and ran to fetch her prize, Sitara squeezed my hand.
“If you don’t win, Luca, it’ll just be a disappointment. Not a tragedy. Keep that in mind, pal.”
If my name’s not called, it’s all over for Verani’s. It’s all over for my futuro brilliante…
“And the winner of the Glasgow Recipes from Around the World competition is… Luca Verani! Congratulations, Luca. Your Italian ice cream was simple but scrumptious!”
Joy exploded like fireworks in my brain.
As I walked over to collect my envelope, hopefully bulging with banknotes, a camera flash blinded me and a massive grin spread across my face.
I’m going to be in the papers! I’ve won! I’ve actually won first prize! Wait until I tell Nonna – she’s going to be mega chuffed! Our ice cream’s the best in Glasgow – no, the best in Scotland – the whole world! Once people read about this in the papers, they’ll come flocking to Verani’s and buy gallons and gallons of our prize-winning ice cream. Aunt Julia and Uncle Gordon will never close the café now. Verani’s is going to be famous! I’ve done it! I’m not going to have to have a life of working every day at something I hate. Everything’s going to be okay!
I glanced over at my friends. Kamal and Sitara were beaming and clapping. Ryan was punching the air, whooping. A man put a comforting arm round his daughter’s shoulder, and suddenly I wished my whole family was here, to share this moment.
But wait till they hear. Wait till they read about me in the freaking Evening Times! I’ve only gone and saved Verani’s!
15
DOUBLE NOUGAT
As I waited to cross Pollokshaws Road, a bus moved off, revealing the café’s frontage. For a long moment I stood, head held high, bursting with happiness.
That’s my café! I did it! I’ve saved it. It’s going to be mine!
On reaching the opposite pavement, I stared in the window. The chairs and benches were nearly empty.
That’s all going to change.
Uncle Gordon was behind the counter serving takeaway coffee, a double nougat and a small cone to a harassed woman and her wailing toddler. Aunt Julia was clearing a table. I needed to speak to my aunt.
Not him. Gordon can go jump in a loch.
I wove through the empty tables.
“Aunt Julia, can I have a word?” Frustratingly, my voice squeaked. It was as if it knew I was deadly serious and wanted to keep acting the clown.
When she turned round, my aunt’s face was wreathed in smiles.
“Oh, that’s so weird. You were on my mind and here you are! Did your gran send you?”
Confused, I shook my head. “No, I came on my own. I wanted to tell you something.”
“What’s that, sweetheart?”
Pulling the crumpled certificate from my rucksack, I explained what had just happened at the City Chambers.
“I entered an inter-schools cooking competition and I only went and won! They said my ice cream was amazing! A photographer took my picture and I’m going to be in the Evening Times and maybe the Daily Record as well. The café will be famous!”
“Oh, my goodness. You clever lad.” Beaming, Aunt Julia waved the certificate in the direction of the counter. “Gordon, look at this! Our Luca’s won first prize in a school competition!”
Nodding his approval, Gordon lifted the counter and walked over. “Good job, lad. What was it for? Maths? Science? When I was at school, I won the chemistry prize twice, you know.”
I didn’t know, and I don’t give a monkey’s either.
Neither of them seemed to understand yet what my win could mean for Verani’s, so I tried to explain further.
“It was an inter-schools cooking competition called Glasgow Recipes from Around the World. I made Verani’s Velvet Vanilla ice cream with the original recipe. Everyone said it was delicious. Everyone will read about it in the local papers!”
I waited for their delighted reaction, but they still looked baffled, so I rummaged in my rucksack again. “Look, I’ve got the recipe here. I think it’s exactly how Nonno Vic made Verani’s Velvet Vanilla.”
As I passed another of Sitara’s printed sheets to Aunt Julia, Uncle Gordon snatched it from her hand. He took a quick look, then laughed.
