could she work for such a horrible woman? It was Lydia who had warned Sabrina to stay clear of dating clients. The company didn’t tolerate it and Sabrina was asked to promise that she would not date any member of San Francisco Beat. This rule, however, had only come into play after Lydia had heard that Levi and Sabrina had got rather close at the band’s album launch party two years ago. Sabrina had never heard of it prior to the event. And Sabrina hadn’t intended to be unprofessional, but it just sort of happened.
Naturally, she had pulled away from Levi, worried about being taken seriously, scared that she would get in trouble, that she was breaking rules. How silly had she been to throw away what she and Levi had – and for what? There hadn’t been any rules then, but now Lydia had gone and created and enforced those stupid rules. And she’d made it abundantly clear that when one of the boys dated it should be with a fellow star – a model, an actress, someone who could raise their profile, someone who was definitely not Sabrina.
She dragged her feet along the sidewalk towards her apartment. How could she have been so naive? Of course, Lydia had only been jealous – she had wanted Levi for herself. Sabrina realized this, but it was too late. The image from moments ago now burned in her brain: Lydia with her arms wrapped around Levi’s neck, falling with him onto the couch in her office.
Sabrina shuddered. She didn’t know what hurt more: the fact that this woman hated her so much or that she had thought Levi had felt the same way she had that night they kissed. Who was she kidding? What guy waited two years for someone? She didn’t live in a fairy tale; this was real life and in real life she had chosen work. She had stomped on the book of love without turning another page, and in doing so had well and truly placed Levi in the friend zone.
She didn’t have a right to be sad. It had worked out well for everyone. The band were doing fantastic and she had progressed tenfold with her job in spite of Lydia. Yet here she was, with another Christmas upon her, daydreaming of Levi. Whether she had the right to or not, she did indeed feel sad. She needed her grandpa’s pizza and she needed it now.
Grandpa’s Pizza
Ingredients (I’m sure this makes a lot of mini pizzas; need to check on pizza for one?):
10oz yeast
1lb flour
Olive oil
1oz butter
Mug of water
Cheese and sauce
What to do:
Once yeast dough is formed (thank you, Grandpa), roll it out to fit the trays/baking sheets.
Place trays in clear bags (not Tesco bags like Grandpa did once; they will melt) and leave in warm oven until risen.
Once the base has risen, take the trays out of the bags.
Turn the oven on and when ready, cook one side of the base until golden brown.
Flip over and add sauce and cheese like Grandpa does.
Place back in the oven and allow cheese to melt and edges to turn golden.
With a tear in his eye Grandpa reached out and touched Amanda’s arm. He pulled her towards him and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
‘Thank you,’ he said with so much sincerity that Amanda couldn’t stop her eyes from welling up too. She paused for a moment to take in his features. His bright blue eyes glistened, the wrinkles on his round face crinkled up and a small smile developed at the corners of his mouth as he looked at her. If hearts could leap from one’s chest, smile and do happy dances, Amanda was certain that’s what hers would be doing right now. Her chest felt fit to burst, she loved this man so much.
‘Grandpa, grazie. I’m so excited. I think I finally have it all up here now,’ she said, knocking her knuckles against her forehead. She then wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him tight. ‘Come on, let’s go and sit in the living room and have a break.’
Before they could leave the kitchen, Grandpa did his usual check. Deep down, Amanda knew he didn’t doubt her knowledge in the kitchen, but at the same time she was aware that Grandpa liked being thorough. He loved teaching her and repeating the steps to every recipe numerous times and she loved learning from him and could listen to those steps every time he repeated them.
‘It will take about …’ Grandpa started.
‘… an hour,’ Amanda finished. Both were looking at the oven door.
‘Ah, you know.’ Grandpa’s face lit up as he said this. He nodded and walked in the direction of the front room to join the others. He had his arms outstretched, touching the walls as he walked. They were his guide now; he didn’t quite trust his failing eyesight. His shoulders were hunched from years bent over the kitchen counters and his legs wobbled delicately with each step he took.
Amanda puffed out her chest. She loved the feeling of making her grandpa proud. Then she subtly walked behind him, his shaking legs making her anxious that he would fall. They had been in the kitchen for the better part of an hour, making pizza dough. At ninety-five years old that was no mean feat. You still couldn’t get him out of the kitchen when he had his heart set on cooking. These days, however, he knew when to stop and rest, when his legs couldn’t take his weight much longer and no amount of his determination and strong will could hold off the aches and pains.
Grandpa went to sit down beside his youngest granddaughter – Amanda’s baby sister, Louisa – on the soft grey couch. Louisa placed a hand on the small of Grandpa’s back, guiding him down, aiding him with his balance as his old knees did their best to bend. Then she scooted up to give him some space and make sure he was comfy.
Amanda made for the little blue chair in front of the fireplace. This had been the girls’ favourite spot to perch when they were kids. In the cold months, they would run in from school, drop their schoolbags at the foot of the stairs and race to the living room, ready to fight for the chair. With their arms outstretched over the flames they would try to capture the heat, as Grandpa shouted, ‘Careful not to roast,’ with a chuckle. They would tell their nonni about their day and what they had been up to while taking it in turns to sit on the chair, indulging in soft, buttery Bauli cakes as crumbs sprinkled the carpet.
Things hadn’t changed much, except these days Amanda had to position herself more carefully in the chair. When she looked up she caught sight of Louisa who was grinning, her brown eyes looking from the chair to Amanda. They weren’t kids any more. The precise movement – a twist of the hips and a gentle shuffle to avoid getting stuck between the armrests – was certainly a sight to behold. She couldn’t help but reciprocate Louisa’s grin. She would not get stuck today; she’d mastered this by now.
‘Grandpa, would you like a biscuit?’ Louisa asked, picking up the tin and offering it to him.
‘Just one?’ he questioned, making both girls laugh. Amanda watched him tuck into his chocolate biscotti. Tears threatened her eyes again as she replayed his ‘thank you’ in her mind. Though Grandpa could be impatient at the best of times, his passion for cooking knew no bounds and it was getting harder for Nanna to help him in the kitchen.
The
