The Art of Starting Over

Chapter 1 - Coffee, Anisette and Lipstick

4 years later...

I groan and pull the sheets higher over my head to block the vicious sun rays penetrating the curtains. My retro alarm clock is going off again and I know I can't possibly get away with hitting snooze for the third time.

Ugh. I hate mornings.

I haul myself out of bed and drag my feet to the bathroom, my eyes shut tight against the morning light. As I turn on the water and wait for it to become lukewarm, I scoff at the sound of the happy babble of pedestrians coming from the alleyway below. Birds are chirping flamboyantly and with more than a smidgen of irritation, I wonder what it would take for me to reach that level of happiness this early in the day.

"Ally! Ally, hurry up! Your coffee's getting cold."

I smile at the sound of Nanna Millie's voice. I turn my face up towards the shower head and let the patter of water soak my skin.

I step out of the shower, dripping onto the fluffy, pink carpet. I wrap myself in a large towel and pull my hair up into a messy bun, tying a fancy scarf around it in a feeble attempt to look stylish. I put on the black trousers and pink blouse that Millie left folded on the chair for me and slap on some red lipstick before grabbing my bag and heading downstairs.

"Bonġu," I call out reaching straight for the mug on the table. I down the contents desperately. "Mm, your kafe' is lifesaving, Nann," I sigh, over the dreary newscaster's voice coming from the DAB radio on the refrigerator.

"Bil-mod! You'll spill it all over your shirt," Millie warns as she wipes at the countertop scrupulously.

The quaint kitchen is drenched in sunlight and the yellow curtains are completely still despite the wide-open window. Looks like it's going to be another hot day in Sunny Malta.

I notice the draining tray beside the sink caving under the weight of many pots and pans. A dish covered with a cloth is perched on the cupboard and freshly diced vegetables are gleaming on the chopping board, no doubt waiting to be transformed into some godly meal by Millie's magical hands. Glancing at the old, wooden clock on the wall I see it's already twenty-past eight. 

"Well, I'm off. I have to pick up Sosa."

Millie's concerned expression swiftly transforms into a stern look. "You know, I get that the girl needed to be taught a lesson, but really..." She rests her hands on her hips and tuts disapprovingly. "It's been a month! And you're the one being punished not her. Driving her all over the island... I'll have a word with Manwel if I see him."

"U ejja, Nann," I wave her off as I place my empty mug in the sink. "It's fine. Their house is on my way to work and I'm sure it's only a matter of time until he lets her have the car back."

Secretly, I do agree with her that this has gone on for too long. But I don't like the idea of Millie confronting Sosa's dad in public, and it's not Millie I'm worried about. My grandmother might be small, but there is a fire within that little body of hers that would make the knees of the mightiest giant tremble with fear. 

I can just picture her 'having a word' with Mr Macho Mifsud in the middle of the all-seeing, all-telling streets of Bormla. More likely, she'll give him a piece of her mind and leave him cowering like a little boy. 

"Don't you think he's being too hard on her?" Millie persists. "So, she got a speeding ticket. So, what? It's not like he's Safest Driver of the Year."

I press my lips together to suppress a laugh. "It was her ninth ticket in less than two years. She was going over a hundred and thirty kilometres per hour on Saint Paul's bypass at three o'clock in the morning. In his car! You know how much he loves that BMW."

"More than he loves his youngest daughter?" she challenges.

"Exactly!" I sigh, kissing her on the cheek and slinging my bag over my shoulder. "I'll see you at around eight o'clock tonight, okay?"

She walks me to the front door. "Is fish soup okay for dinner? Carmen brought over some beautiful snappers this morning. Apparently, Pawlu and Silvio had a good catch."

Ah, that explains the dish. And the smell now that she's mentioning it. "Fish soup is great, Nann."

I give her a small wave and make my way down the alley steps to the narrow street below where my battered, blue Opel is loyally waiting for me.

Ten minutes later, I pull up in front of Sosa's house and blare the horn. Out she comes. Bright and cheerful and looking amazing as always. A thin layer of make-up covers her face just enough to enhance a God-given beauty that is evident to any person with at least one half-functioning eye. A wild mass of black curls frames her pretty features. Sosa has olive-toned skin and big brown eyes with long, lush lashes. She is quite tall for a Maltese girl, way taller than me, yet people still find it hard to believe she is three years older. Mainly, because she acts three years younger.

"Bonġu, Sanxajn," she greets, plopping herself into the front seat and flinging her fake Louis Vuitton bag behind her. She pulls a face at Donna Summer's voice coming from my stereo and immediately starts to flip through the stations until she finds something more current. I let out a short laugh as I drive off and she turns to me cracking her gum obscenely.

"Qow. Maj. Godd!" she exclaims with an exaggerated Maltese accent that makes everything sound rude. "Did you just laugh before mid-day? Ooh, something good must have happened. Hmm," she mulls dramatically, dusting my filthy dashboard with her hand and scowling at her fluff-covered fingers. "Jesus, you really need to clean your car."

I toss a stray candy wrapper at her in response. "Good morning. You okay?"

She looks at her phone, her smile faltering and her lively demeanour quickly fading. "Yeah, I guess so," she replies in a small voice. "I... uh... Derek and I broke up last night."

I jump on the brakes spotting a perfectly good parking space. The car behind me stops with a screech. Looking in the rear-view mirror, I can almost hear the sweet, old man inside his white Starlet swearing at me. He gives me the finger and overtakes me aggressively. 

"Why? What happened?" I ask as I squeeze my car into the tight space.

Sosa always falls madly in love, hard and fast. Then she gets bored and ditches the poor bloke faster than an over-excited bar-hopper, revved up and ready for another tray of tequila. Full on, with salt and lemon. Somehow she managed to stick with Derek for over four months. 

"Well, actually... he broke up with me," she confessed.

Uh oh. This changes things. Not a lot of men can say they've walked away willingly from Stephanie Mifsud a.k.a. Sosa. Her voice trembles a little and I see tears welling up in her eyes, even though she's holding her face down to hide it from me. 

"He said he's not looking for a relationship and that I'm rushing things. Can you believe it?" she huffs in frustration. "We just went on a few dates. We go out, we have fun. That's it. It's not like I'm pushing to get married, you know?"

She looks imploringly at me as if begging for an answer. "So, my guess is that there's someone else," she goes on when I don't answer.

I gape at her open-mouthed as my brain tries to compute how she came to that conclusion. She takes her pocket mirror from my glove compartment and checks that her mascara is still intact, which of course, it is. She blinks away her tears, smacks her lips together to fix her pink lip gloss, and then shoves the mirror back into the compartment with an air of finality. 

Her dashing smile is back on her doll-like face as she chants her favourite mantra. "No matter. Lip gloss on, worries gone."