THAT night, when everyone was seated at the dinner table, Lina pulled out the magazine to show her family. They all gathered around as she slowly turned the pages.

‘Haven’t you got anything in here?’ Bruno asked, nudging Lina.

Lina blushed and turned to a page near the back of the magazine. There, between the book reviews and celebrity profiles, was her story. It felt like she had already read it at least a hundred times that day, yet she couldn’t help skimming over it again now it was back in front of her. It was so strange to think that something that had begun as secret scribbles in a notebook late one evening was now in print. It looked so official, so permanent, in a way that late-night scribblings never were.

‘Will you translate it for us?’ Lina’s mother asked, as Nonna began to gather the dishes from the table.

Lina nodded then took a deep breath and began. Her family sat still, listening intently. Even Nonna paused, mid-tidy, to tune her ears to Lina’s voice. When Lina had finished, she looked up to see that her father’s eyes were shiny with tears.

‘You are a very fine writer, my girl,’ he said.

‘Hear, hear!’ Zio Mario agreed. ‘Great story, Lina. I must say, I hadn’t realised our family was that interesting!’

‘Especially me,’ Bruno joked.

‘Am I instering? Am I instering?’ Enzo asked loudly.

‘Yes, Enzo,’ Mama said, to quieten him down. ‘You are very interesting. Well done, Lina. It’s a beautiful story. And thank you for writing about all of us in such a lovely way. You have certainly portrayed me as a more patient mother than I know I am.’ She smiled.

‘I like the bit about the Parmesan.’ Nonna nodded, a smile twisting up her normally grumpy face. ‘It’s funny.’

‘And the bit about Bruno’s fight with the goat!’ Pierino teased.

‘Ha, ha,’ said Bruno, punching his big brother in the shoulder. ‘Maybe you should try looking after Bessie some day.’

‘I think the most powerful part is where you write about what it means to be Australian,’ said her father. ‘I’m proud of you Lina. You have put this into words more beautifully than I would ever have been able to.’ He raised his glass. ‘To Lina!’

All the others lifted their glasses, too.

‘To Lina! To Lina!’ little Enzo squealed, and clambered into her lap to try to gain some of the attention for himself.

‘Thank you,’ Lina said shyly, kissing Enzo’s soft black hair. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘That’s true,’ Bruno admitted. ‘Who else would give you such great material? I’ll bet your friends’ families aren’t half as crazy as ours!’

Everyone laughed and stood up from the table to move on to their evening business. Zio wandered out the back for a smoke, Mama began getting Enzo ready for bed, and Bruno and Pierino disappeared into their bedroom to begin their homework. Soon, only Lina and her father were left at the table.

Lina put his coffee on and placed the newspaper in front of him. Then she washed up the last of the dinner dishes. Outside, the goat bleated mournfully and the chickens gossiped amongst themselves as they settled down to rest. The evenings were longer now that summer was here, and the sun slanted in through the kitchen window. Light bounced off the upturned glasses drip-drying on the sink and shimmered across the cracks in the ceiling where the rain came in. The coffee sizzled in the pot. Lina poured her father a cup, picked up the sugar bowl, and sat down beside him to help him read the paper.

‘So,’ he said, placing his big oil-stained hand on top of hers. ‘What next? Now that you’ve started your writing career, you can’t stop here.’

‘I guess so,’ Lina said, smiling shyly. ‘I’d like to write more, but I can’t just keep writing stories about me and my family.’

‘Home is a good place to start,’ her father said, patting her hand.

‘I know. But I want to write other things, too. Important stories. About things that happen in the world. Like Stella Davis does,’ Lina insisted.

‘Well, perhaps before taking on the world you could begin with your neighbourhood?’ Lina’s father said. ‘I’ll bet there are plenty of good stories close to home. You just have to keep your eyes and ears open.’

‘I suppose so,’ Lina said doubtfully, looking down at the newspaper and turning the pages slowly. She spied an article about life after the Olympics, and then suddenly it came to her. She had the perfect story!