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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 porcelain cup rapidly turned to dark brown as Caterina dropped some dry tea leaves in it, stirring them lightly. Absentmindedly tracing the faded birds and roses delicately painted on the saucer, she turned another page of the Birmingham Daily Post, thick headlines glaring at her from the yellowish pages.
Strikes at the BSA
Wages Cut Again, Workers Up-rise Eminent
New Racing Favourite from Small Heath
The usual worker's unrest had increased rapidly in the last few months, the blame mostly resting on the communist agitators riling up the masses of underpaid factory workers, and IRA activists milling about, looking for recruits.
Losing interest in the headlines she let her eyes wander down, over the lively neighbourhood of Nechells Green where she had one of her gelato parlours and a tiny flat above. It has become a sanctuary after yet another turbulent spat with Francis. They had become a common occurrence: him complaining about her way of making deals, her screaming at him to stop wasting family money on whores and unruly parties in London until one of them stormed out of the house to cool their rage.
A flock of children ran by, scaring the chickens, their screams and giggles startling the old ladies near the panetteria debating over the quality of imported garlic. Several Dio mio's and Piccoli ratti! could be heard, the old ladies threatening to pinch their ears, pointedly waving their walking sticks in the direction of the tiny rascals.
Shaking her head and smiling at the children's antics, she took a few long drags of the cigarette, the smoke coiling around her neatly pinned waves. If she could have stopped the time then and there, she would reminisce in later years, she would have grasped the warm morning air and the sound of chiming bells above shop doors, and put it away safely between her ribs, cradle it, protect it like a child.
The bliss of a peaceful morning was abruptly cut short as an unfamiliar man hurried down the street, disoriented and carelessly bumping into passerby's. He stumbled and clattered into a metal table in front of Travelli's creating a ruckus that made Caterina glance up from the teacup and lean over the rusty rail of the balcony. Even from afar the man looked distressed and deranged, holding his cap tightly to his chest and rocking back and forth like a mad man.
The waiter, Cat knew him to be Franco Stuzzi, appeared from the cafe. He levelled the bald headed, barrel of a man with a cold glare.
"Hey, what you do? We're closed." He spat, making a shooing motion at him.
