THE next morning, Lina climbed out of bed carefully so as not to wake her brother. Her grandmother was already up, her bed neatly made. Teeth chattering, Lina tiptoed down the corridor towards the kitchen.

A gentle murmuring came from behind the kitchen door. Lina opened it slowly. Both her parents were sitting at the table sipping coffee. Nonna had her back to them, preparing something at the sink. As Lina watched, her mother leaned in towards her father and he kissed her tenderly on her forehead. No one had seen Lina at the door, and suddenly she felt like she had entered a scene that was too private, too grown-up for her to handle, and she made to slip back the way she had come. But at that moment, her father turned slightly and smiled when he saw Lina in the doorway. Her mother, sensing something had changed, drew back and took a quick sip of her coffee before turning to look at Lina herself.

In the morning light, Lina thought her mother looked younger somehow, softer. Even the deep crease between her eyes seemed to have faded.

‘Aren’t you going to be late for work?’ Lina ventured, noticing her mother wasn’t even dressed. As Lina stared at them both, she saw her father’s hand slip off his lap and take her mother’s hand in his.

Nonna dusted off her apron and muttered something about going for basil in the garden.

‘Your mother is going to have a day off today,’ he said gently. ‘She needs some rest.’

‘Oh. Are you sick?’ Lina asked, alarmed. Things were definitely not how they should be and it made Lina’s skin prickle.

Lina’s mother shook her head. ‘I thought I might walk you to the bus stop this morning,’ she said quietly.

‘Oh,’ said Lina, feeling concerned at the thought of another lecture from her mother. ‘You don’t have to do that. I mean, if you’re not feeling well?’

‘I’d like to,’ Lina’s mother insisted. ‘I . . . I feel I haven’t seen much of you lately.’

‘Um, well, okay. That would be great,’ Lina said, trying to sound enthusiastic. But deep inside her ribs, her heart fluttered like a bird’s.

After breakfast, Lina quickly got dressed for school. When she came out of her room, her mother was already waiting by the front door. The two of them pulled on their coats, hats and gloves and walked out into the frosty grey morning. For a while, they walked side by side without talking, the only sound between them the clip-clopping of her mother’s shoes on the cobble stones.

When they were halfway down Rathdowne Street, Lina’s mother stopped and put her hand on Lina’s shoulder. Lina braced herself for another scolding, but her mother’s voice stayed calm.

‘See down that street?’ said Ma.

Lina looked in the direction her mother was pointing, but she wasn’t sure what she should be focussing on. The fruit and vegetable store? The hairdresser? The cafe on the corner? Lina’s mother obviously hadn’t been expecting an answer because she soon provided her own.

‘If you keep walking down that street, Lina, you will see some old buildings surrounded by beautiful gardens and very high gates. That is the University of Melbourne. That is where all the smart people learn to do important things and make a difference in the world. That is where your father should be, Lina. Not working in a car factory. Your father is the most intelligent man I have ever known. He will never have the chance to go to university, Lina, which is why he wants this so much for you.

Poor Papa, thought Lina. So that’s why he cares so much about school.

‘Bruno will never work hard enough and Pierino thinks only of girls. Enzo? It’s too soon to tell. Your father thinks that you will be the one, the first in our family, because you are smart like him. You got that scholarship to that expensive school. Me, I am not so sure this is the best thing for you, but all the same, I would like you to prove him right. In Italy, in our village, a girl can only be a wife. Here, you can be whatever you want to be. If you work hard. Don’t waste what we give you, Lina. All I ask is that you appreciate what we do for you.’

‘I do, Mama, I do,’ Lina said in a small voice. And she did, there was no doubting that. But at times the weight of her parents’ expectations became almost more than she could bear. Will I ever be brave enough to tell them that I want to be a writer? Lina wondered. What if they’re disappointed in me?

As they walked down Rathdowne Street towards the bus stop, Lina’s mother took her hand, something she hadn’t done in a long time, and Lina leaned in a little to feel some of her mother’s warmth.