Lucy Zeezou's Goal Read Online Free Page A

Lucy Zeezou's Goal
Book: Lucy Zeezou's Goal Read Online Free
Author: Liz Deep-Jones
Pages:
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down his face. ‘Let’s have a cup of coffee, then we can go and see her.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Ciao, Pino. It’s Zeezou.’
    â€˜Ciao. What’s up?’
    â€˜I’m sorry I didn’t have time to let you guys know. I had to come to Sydney.’
    â€˜What, Australia? Why?’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜That’s awful, Zeezou. I hope she gets better soon.’
    â€˜Me too. Please say hi to the rest of the guys for me.’
    â€˜Yeah, of course. How long are you there for?’
    â€˜I’m not sure.’
    â€˜Oh. Well, we’ll miss you down at the park, Zeezou.’
    â€˜Ciao, Pino.’
    â€˜Ciao.’
    Â 
    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.
    â€˜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 designershops 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 somestory 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
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