Free The Vatican Rip by Jonathan Gash

would account for. ‘Enrico! Tell them!’
Enrico
, for Christ’s sake?
    ‘It’s your auntie!’ people informed me. I was pushed at Anna. Faces were everywhere. A million voices were raised in tangled explanation as I looked about desperately for escape. And Anna was screeching and pleading, with the weary proprietor accusing Anna of stealing the things in her basket.
    ‘Poor old woman!’ people cried.
    ‘Let my nephew explain!’ Anna was bawling. She reached over and clutched at me. I could have strangled her.
    ‘Hush! Let the nephew explain!’ everybody babbled.
    There was no way out. A horde of faces turned expectantly. I drew breath, trapped. The trouble was, everybody looked so bloody nice and interested. If they hadn’t I’d have scarpered in a flash – and I’d have got away, too. Nobody scarpers like Lovejoy Antiques, Inc.
    ‘Yes?’ the proprietor demanded.
    Italy abhors a silence, so I started. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to the proprietor, casting a loving glance on Anna. There was no doubt in my mind the sinful old devil had half the shop in her basket and, seeing me contentedly sipping coffee, had hit on the notion of using me for cover. ‘Yes. I’m her nephew. Hello, Auntie,’ I smiled.
    ‘
There
you are!’ everybody exclaimed triumphantly. ‘He is her nephew!’ They told Anna I
was
her nephew, after all.
    ‘I’ve been looking for you, Auntie,’ I announced loudly, quickly beginning to get the hang of Rome talk. This was one thing Maria hadn’t taught me: use gestures and keep going. If everybody else talks louder, use a few more decibels yourself. The system of alternates used where I came from – saying your bit in turn – is regarded hereabouts as surrender.
    ‘You
have
?’ Anna said, amazed despite herself.
    ‘For two whole days,’ I lied, embracing her. ‘And here you are!’
    ‘Yes! She is here!’ the shoppers chorused.
    ‘My poor auntie,’ I bawled into the din, eyes misty, ‘has been expecting me for Easter and wanted to give me a present, but she is poor—’
    ‘Ah, how
loving
!’
    ‘– but,’ I thundered, ‘
proud
!’
    ‘Ah! How human!’
    I had some of them in tears. The proprietor was glancing exasperatedly about. A strolling policeman across the street was looking across. One more problem I could do without.
    If there’s any misunderstanding, I’ll pay!’ My yell gained instant approval, even scattered applause on the crowd fringes.
    ‘She stole—’ the proprietor tried loudly.
    ‘How much?’ I bawled louder over the hubbub. ‘I’ll pay, this very second!’
    The place was a riot of chatter. A couple of tearful old ladies and a well-dressed elderly man pressed forwards offering bank notes.
    ‘Here! Take this, signor! For the old
povera
!’
    No!’ I carolled. ‘This lady is my responsibility! My honour demands—’
    ‘Such honesty!’
    The proprietor named a sum beyond my resources. Thankful for the racket, I flourished my handful of notes and, howling explanations that my dear old auntie was in any case slightly loony, grandly miscounted out a complicated sequence of notes. Old Anna looked murderous. The pandemonium reached deafening proportions as I wrung the proprietor’s hand. Several of the shoppers embraced me tearfully.
    I left the shop a hero, with my dear old auntie clinging to my arm. We walked, smiling and reunited, round the corner to a small alley and paused, carefully looking right and left to check we were unobserved. Then she clobbered me on the side of my head, hissing abuse.
    ‘
Cretino
!’ she spat. ‘Stopping them from giving us money—’
    All for equality, I clocked her back hard enough to glaze her eyes. She leaned against the wall, moaning.
    ‘You beast!’ She was obviously at death’s door from my criminal assault.
    ‘Yeah, yeah,’ I said calmly.
    Her basket was crammed with chocolate delicacies under the cover cloth. No wonder the proprietor was narked. Old Anna had practically nicked his entire shop,