Lucy Zeezou's Goal (3 page)

We left for Sydney the next morning on Papa's private jet. He couldn't come with us, as he had to play a fixture that weekend and had other sponsorship commitments he couldn't get out of. So at such short notice, Mama and I had to leave without him – and without poor little Gigi. It was all such a rush, I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to my friends, not even Pino. I'd just have to call him when we landed. I was going to miss kicking the ball around with him and the boys in the park, but right now Nanna was my priority.

When we arrived, Sydney was wet and miserable … yuck. I was expecting it to be sunny and warm but it was grey and dull, reflecting my mood, and the drive from the airport took us through heavy traffic into a bustling modern city. The people walking along the streets were dressed in extremely casual clothes, even thongs. I never saw that in Milan. It'd been so long since I was here that I really didn't remember Sydney at all. I was just a toddler when I was last here with Mama for a brief visit.

We finally got to Nanna and Grandpa's shop in Kings Cross. It was set in a wide, tree-lined street with a mixture of large Victorian terrace houses and modern flats. Grandpa's store was small, yet full of the largest and brightest fruit and vegetables I have ever seen gleaming from the front window. The driver opened the door and in an instant I was swept up in a huge, welcoming hug.

‘Lucia, look at you! I'm so happy you came.'

‘Dad, how are you?' wept Mama, grasping his hand and reaching for a tissue.

‘I'm holding up, and much better now that you're here.'

‘How's Mum?'

‘She's all right. I can't talk about it now.' A tear slipped down his face. ‘Let's have a cup of coffee, then we can go and see her.'

‘I'll take our bags upstairs while you two talk,' I said. I needed a little time to myself. It was hard, seeing Grandpa so upset. I walked up into the little apartment above the shop and made myself comfortable on the beige lounge strewn with embroidered flowery red cushions. I was desperate to hear a familiar voice, so I rang Pino. We'd arrived very early in the morning, Sydney time – with any luck he might still be awake.

‘Ciao, Pino. It's Zeezou.'

‘Ciao. What's up?'

‘I'm sorry I didn't have time to let you guys know. I had to come to Sydney.'

‘What, Australia? Why?'

‘My nanna is in hospital after being hit by a car, so Mama and I had to leave as soon as we could. We're staying with my grandpa. We're going to visit Nanna soon and I'm not looking forward to seeing her hooked up to machines.'

‘That's awful, Zeezou. I hope she gets better soon.'

‘Me too. Please say hi to the rest of the guys for me.'

‘Yeah, of course. How long are you there for?'

‘I'm not sure.'

‘Oh. Well, we'll miss you down at the park, Zeezou.'

‘Ciao, Pino.'

‘Ciao.'

 

We were staying on at my grandparents' place so we could keep Grandpa company and spend more time with him. He didn't seem to be coping very well, so it was a good thing we were there. The place was small, and Mama was already finding it tough having to help out with the housework, which was pretty funny. I'd never seen her domestic side. Watching her wash dishes was hysterical.

‘I'm not made for this. I could be more productive with my time. I shouldn't be mopping and cleaning dishes! How do people
do
this every day?' she complained as she wiped down the table one night. The first thing she'd buy here would probably be a dishwasher – the designer
shops would have to settle for second place for once. It gave Grandpa a bit of light comic relief to see Mama in an apron. Grandpa told me that even as a kid she used to avoid it … she always managed to escape her chores with some excuse.

Two streets away from the shop was the heart of Kings Cross. It was known as an exciting place to party, with lots of nightclubs and trendy restaurants, but it was also deemed an unsafe area. It had a very diverse mix of people. Businesswomen and men in suits frequented the cafés, rubbing shoulders with tourists and labourers. Even celebrities tried to blend in, with Hollywood actors and champion boxers popping in for their caffeine fix.

Mama grew up in the Cross, although she liked to call it Roslyn Gardens. In fact, she grew up right here above the fruit shop. (To my absolute delight, the shop also stocked chocolates and all sorts of treats and other essentials. It was kid heaven, especially since Grandpa had a gelato bar set up at the back of the store.)

Grandpa had been operating the business for over forty-five years. He came to Australia by boat from Lebanon when he was only fifteen years old, without a word of English and only a few shillings in his pocket. That was hard to imagine – I could never be that brave.

Nanna was the next-door neighbours' daughter. Grandpa used to persuade her to sneak off to the park with him. Whenever I spoke to Nanna, she'd tell me some
story from their early days, such as how they'd happily stroll along the harbour foreshore, innocently hanging out and talking for hours.

When she was a young girl Nanna dreamt of being an actress, seeing herself on the silver screen and looking glamorous like Marilyn Monroe. She loved the romantic notion of stage and film and her long blonde hair and stunning looks proved a popular mix. Once, when I complained to her about Mama wanting me to model all the time, Nanna had laughed. ‘Times change, Lucy! My parents were so dismayed when I started to dabble in the acting world. I was in a few television commercials and TV shows, and performed on stage in theatrical productions, you know.'

‘I know, Nanna. Mama's told me she got it from you,' I'd said.

Nanna and Grandpa married at just nineteen years of age and had never been apart since. Two years later, their only child, my mama, was born, and Nanna gave up acting. Mama was named after Frida Kahlo, Nanna's favourite artist. Nanna's been painting since before Mama was born. We had many of her paintings on the walls at home. They were absolutely beautiful – I had a few of them in my bedroom. She used a stunning ruby-red colour in many of her works, and the magical thing about them was that they were so childlike and playful. They always made me feel closer to her.

Mama always encouraged my relationship with Nanna. I think the two of them quarrelled, but loved each other really. That sounded familiar. Talking with Nanna helped me get through a very difficult time after Nonno Dino passed away, and she and Grandpa shared my secret about playing football with Pino and the other guys. She always told me to follow my dreams no matter what my parents have planned for me.

Now I was here for her and that felt good. After all, family came first.

Poor Grandpa. It was killing him seeing his beloved wife fighting for her life. The store was the only thing keeping his mind off the horrible accident that put Nanna in hospital. He loved his fruit shop, meeting people from all walks of life and getting to know the locals. Many of them had become close friends, frequently popping in for a chat and asking after Nanna. He was so engaging and hospitable, it was no surprise that he was so popular with his customers.

Nanna once told me that he'd have Elvis tunes playing in the shop. He'd sing along and swing his hips while serving customers, or grab them for a spontaneous dance in the middle of the store. Nanna said she preferred to look on and admire his zest for life and love of people. She was more of an observer, very private and in her own world, even though she was a different person on stage.

When she was hit by a car while crossing the road in front of the shop, Grandpa tried to get a glimpse of the number plate but the driver sped away into the night. Now she was hooked up to a machine in intensive care. She'd already been through three operations; at this point it was still touch and go.

 

‘Lucy, what are you thinking about?' Grandpa gently asked as we walked home from the hospital one evening. Mama and I had been in Sydney for three weeks and visited Nanna every day and most nights. She was still weak, but slowly improving. She was perky enough to tease Mama about her dressy outfit tonight. That was definitely a sign she was on the mend.

‘Oh, I want Nanna to be able to walk out of here with us. I just wish that I could help her,' I replied.

‘You're helping her by staying with me. I'm so glad that you and your mother are here. I don't know what I'd do without you.'

Grandpa hugged me close as Mama looked over with tears in her eyes.

Poor Mama. She and Nanna had argued over the phone just a few days before the accident, and I suspected Mama was probably feeling guilty about it now. They had been close when Mama was growing up, but when she decided to live in Italy it caused problems in their
relationship. Nanna was constantly trying to persuade her to come and live in Sydney, especially after I was born. But Mama was reluctant to give up her glamorous life in Italy. She couldn't come without Papa, either. Grandpa and Nanna visited nearly every year, but they were starting to tire of the long trip, even though Mama had them travelling first class. This time, Nanna was begging Mama to bring me over for an extended holiday and even suggested I continue my schooling in Sydney. But they ended up arguing over the idea and Mama snapped at her.

Mama spent her childhood trying to find a way out of her life in Kings Cross. She wanted something more – she felt she was destined for a more exciting life, and didn't like living above a fruit shop and having to serve customers. When Grandpa spoke Lebanese to her in front of her friends she'd pretend not to understand. She was embarrassed! Back in her day people from different backgrounds were given a hard time and called awful names just because they spoke another language or ate different foods. Thankfully times had changed and we lived in a more tolerant society. Well … mostly more tolerant.

I kept thinking that staying here for a while would be good for Mama, and maybe bring her down to earth a little bit. Sydney didn't seem all that bad to me. Over the past few weeks it had grown on me, especially when the
sun was out. The city shone and everyone seemed much happier. But it would be even better if I could get a game of football. That thought perked me up.

I gave Grandpa an extra squeeze and then ran ahead. I was desperate to get some exercise after so long sitting in the stuffy hospital room, and I wanted to get away on my own. I bolted down the hill.

‘Lucia, you've run past the store,' yelled Mama.

‘I'm getting some fresh air. Don't worry Mama, I'll be fine.' I slowed down and half turned around. Mama's mouth opened for a tirade, but I could see Grandpa put his hand on her arm and say something to her.

‘Okay then, but be careful,' she called, shrugging. ‘Don't stay out too long!'

I'd never ventured down this way before and as I got closer to the bottom of the hill I could hear the most familiar sweet sound of a football being kicked. My heart accelerated to the beat of my run.

And I wasn't disappointed. At the very bottom of the street I found a gate to a park. Just inside was a bench, so I sat down, staring out onto the moonlit pitch. A few guys were getting their last kicks in before the night sky closed in on them.

This was heaven, a perfect pitch just down the road from Grandpa's shop, and with the harbour as the backdrop. It didn't get any better than this. Now I just needed to get my foot on the ball. But I was too late. The guys were picking up
their bags and heading off. I stayed on my bench, looking out into the night, wishing for a kick of the ball.

Suddenly I felt a tap on the back of my shoulder.

‘Hey, what are you doing here?' came a voice from behind.

‘Oh, I was just enjoying the football.' I turned around, slightly startled. Of course, I'd been taught never to talk to strangers but this guy looked harmless. He was around my age and really quite cute, with long shaggy brown hair and big chocolate-brown eyes. I'd just seen him kicking the ball with his friends and he was quite good – but I wasn't going to tell him that.

‘A girl that likes football, hey?' said the stranger.

‘So, what's it to you?'

‘Well, you're hanging around in my territory,' he bit back, ‘so I want to know what you're up to.'

‘I'm not up to anything, and who says it's your territory, anyway? Who are you?'

‘I live here. I'm Roy Spitz. And who are you?'

‘I'm a footballer from Italy, where they call me Zeezou. But off the pitch I'm Lucy Zoffi.'

Roy couldn't stop giggling. ‘You're telling me you share a nickname with France's legend, Zinedine Zidane? And I suppose you play like him?' He laughed. ‘Next, you'll tell me, Senora Zoffi, that you're related to the great Paolo Zoffi.'

‘It's Signorina Zoffi,' I corrected cheekily.

‘Oh, so now you're going to teach me Italian.'

‘No, I'm going to teach you how to play football. One day I'll be one of the best. Come on, I'll show you.'

‘You're confident, but you look like you belong in some silly fashion magazine, not on the football pitch.'

I could feel my face turn red. ‘Well, we'll see about that. How about I challenge you to a one-on-one? Then we'll see who the poser is.'

Roy looked a bit shocked, but quickly covered it up. ‘Why would I accept a challenge from a girl? Football's not for girls. I don't need to prove myself to you. Go and play dress-ups or whatever you normally do.'

‘You sound just like so many other silly boys. Come on, let's play so that I can prove you wrong. I dare you!'

‘Go and cry to Daddy. I suppose he's Paolo Zoffi … and I'm Zinedine Zidane,' he laughed.

I was tempted to tell him the truth. That would have shut him up, but I didn't want to be known just as Paolo Zoffi's daughter. In fact, this was really my chance to go undercover – to be just me, Lucy. I shouldn't have used my surname. From now on I'd be Lucy Zeezou, on and off the pitch.