WHEN Lina entered the kitchen, only her father remained at the table. He looked up from his coffee as Lina walked in.

‘Carmelina,’ he said sternly.

‘I know,’ Lina sighed. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken to Mama like that.’

Lina’s father’s brow softened and he beckoned her over and patted his knee. Lina climbed onto her father’s lap and lay her head against his wide, warm chest. He wrapped his big bear arms around her and she felt his warmth seep through her clothes, her skin, her chattering bones. Lina listened to his heartbeat and wondered what dreams he’d had as a boy, and whether, like her, his heart had ached for things he would never have.

As if he could read her thoughts, her father stroked her hair and said in a low voice, ‘Be good, cara mia. Study hard. Don’t bother your mother; she is tired and works too much. Listen to your nonna and do your chores and be kind to your little brother – he is only a baby. Do all these things, my sweet, and the world will be yours when you are grown. You just need to be patient.’

‘I know, Papa,’ Lina said and sighed heavily once again.

‘Will you read me the paper before I go to work?’ Lina’s father said.

‘Of course!’ Lina replied. It was their evening ritual. Every night before her father left for work and Lina got ready for bed, she would skim through the day’s paper, pick out articles she thought her father might be interested in and translate them into Italian for him. His favourites were the sporting pages and the local stories, but Lina always made sure she translated any important news, too, and they always read Stella Davis’s column: The Stories Behind the Stories. This was Lina’s favourite.

Lina hopped off her father’s lap and collected the paper from the kitchen bench. Then she pulled up a chair and skimmed the front page. As usual, there were lots of stories about getting ready for the Olympics, which were being held in Melbourne that year. It was such an exciting time.

Finally, she turned to the second-last page to read what Stella Davis had written. Today it was a piece on Monaco’s Prince Rainier and his beautiful wife, the American actress Grace Kelly. They had only been married a few months but Stella had visited Monaco to interview the famous couple and written a fascinating story about what life was like for Grace now that she was a true princess.

Lina gazed at the small black-and-white photograph of Stella at the bottom of the article. Imagine interviewing princesses! Lina thought. Or famous athletes. She must have an amazing life.

Lina remembered the thrill she had felt that morning, reading out her story in assembly and how everyone had admired her. Maybe one day could I be like Stella Davis? she wondered. I’d travel far and wide and people the world over would want to read my stories. Lina smiled as she pictured herself talking to Grace Kelly, then Dawn Fraser, maybe even Elvis Presley!

‘What are you thinking about?’ Lina’s father said, catching Lina smiling to herself.

‘Nothing,’ said Lina. Her daydreams were hers and hers alone.

She had once told Pierino that she wanted to write stories for a living and he had simply huffed and told her that she was ridiculous. ‘Ha! You think Ma and Pa have worked all their lives just for you to become a writer?’ he’d snorted. Lina had been so hurt that she decided from then on she’d tell no one about her secret dreams. That way they could never be trampled on.

‘All right,’ Lina’s father said when they had finished skimming through the paper and he had emptied his second cup of black coffee. ‘To work for me, to bed for you. But first, I think you have an apology to make.’

‘I know, Papa,’ Lina said. She followed her father down the dark corridor to the front door. When he opened it, a shaft of light from the street lamp outside streamed into the hallway, lighting up the little paper serviette squashed on the floor.

‘Hmm, what’s that?’ Lina’s father said, pointing to the rumpled pink ball.

‘Nothing,’ said Lina sadly, bending down to scrape the flattened cupcake off the worn linoleum. ‘Just rubbish. I’ll put it in the bin.’

‘That’s a good girl. Goodnight, carina, I’ll see you in the morning.’

Lina closed the door behind her father. She stood in front of her parents’ bedroom for a moment, getting up her courage.

‘Ma?’ she said timidly, poking her head into the room. Lina was surprised to see her mother sitting up in bed in the flickering lamp light peering at a textbook splayed open across her lap. ‘What are you doing with my old schoolbooks?’ Lina asked, suddenly distracted.

Her mother snapped the book shut. ‘Is that what you came in here for?’ she scowled, pushing the book to one side. Lina glimpsed the cover: Elementary English. Despite everything, the thought of her mother studying her old English books almost broke Lina’s heart.

‘No,’ she stammered. ‘Sorry. I mean, I came to apologise. For my behaviour tonight. I was very rude . . .’

‘And disrespectful,’ her mother added.

‘And disrespectful,’ Lina said humbly.

Lina’s mother nodded and then gestured to the door. ‘You have school tomorrow,’ she said gruffly. ‘You should go to bed.’

Lina pulled the door closed again. She looked down at the crumpled pink serviette in her hand, sticky with icing and cake, and suddenly felt angry with her mother all over again. It’s always me that she gets mad at, she thought. Never my brothers. They can never do anything wrong! She stomped down the corridor into the kitchen to wash the mess off her hands.

Nonna was already snoring heavily by the time Lina crept into their room. Just as Lina was about to slide into her cold bed, a little body appeared in the doorway. Enzo’s voice squeaked out of the dark. ‘You didn’t come and say goodnight!’ he whimpered.

‘Oh, come here, you!’ Lina patted the bedsheets beside her. Enzo didn’t need to be asked twice. He scrambled up into Lina’s bed then snuggled down into the blankets. Lina wrapped herself around him. He was much warmer than a hot water bottle and much, much softer.

‘Don’t you love me anymore?’ he whispered into the dark.

‘Of course I do!’ Lina said. ‘What are you talking about?’

Enzo pulled at his bottom lip. ‘I heard you say to Ma you don’t want to look after me.’

‘Oh, Enzo, it’s not that.’ Lina squeezed her brother tight. ‘It’s just that sometimes I want to be with my friends, you know? That doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, you silly munchy munchkin!’ She pulled up his pyjama top and blew a noisy raspberry on her little brother’s soft white belly. Enzo squealed and Nonna rumbled in her sleep.

‘Shhh!’ Lina giggled and snuggled down next to her brother again.

‘Tell me a story,’ Enzo begged.

‘Oh, Enz, it’s late. I’m tired.’

‘Please?’

‘All right,’ sighed Lina. So she told him his favourite story: about a little boy called Enzo who found a magical hat that could take him to faraway lands. Long before she had finished her story, her brother had fallen asleep, his head on her forearm.

Lina gazed up at the ceiling. With her grandmother snoring nearby and her baby brother curled up in the crook of her arm, things didn’t seem so bad after all. Tomorrow, I will be everything my father asks of me, Lina promised into the dark.