THE PROUD ITALIAN- PART ONE

The doctor has shut the door but I can hear every word.
“Mr Monzopolates, it seems there has been an injury to your Achilles tendon-“
“My what?”
“Your Achilles tendon, it’s below your-“
“I know where it is!”
“Yes, well-“
“There’s nothing wrong with the blasted thing!”
“Mr-“
“Achilles mightn’t even have had a fucking tendon for all you know!”
“Mr Monzopolates!” screams the doctor. “There is something wrong and whether you want to make it right or not is entirely up to you. Now please leave my surgery!”
I can hear mumbled profanities. It seems that Danny isn’t taking kindly to being asked to leave so bluntly.
He blasts out into the reception area, banging the door behind him. He pulls out his wallet and waits at the desk.
“Would you like to make a payment, sir?” asks the blonde receptionist.
“Yes, though why anyone would pay to have crap said to them, I really don’t know-“
“That will be fifteen dollars,” she says, pushing the eftpos machine towards him. “Is it warm in France, sir?” she asks as he swipes his card.
“I don’t know,” he spits, “I’m Italian.” He collects his receipt from the bewildered girl and starts walking out of the sliding doors.
“Danny!” I call. The entire reception turns to stare at me, wondering what I would have to say to this madman. He turns and looks at me, and his face spreads into an almighty smile. “Trev! How are-“
“Get out. Now.” I start pushing him towards the door. This isn’t an easy feat, considering he’s almost double my size lengthways as well as sideways. Finally we break out into the open air. I unlock my car and open the door for him. He packs his substantial body inside as I get into the driver’s seat. Fully settled, Danny turns to look at me.
“Come stai, Trev? It’s been a while.”
“I’ve been all right,” I reply, “Yourself?”
“Ay, what could go wrong? Yes, I’ve been fine…”
“Danny, what was that?”
“What was what?”
“That, in there, what were you thinking?”
His face swells and colors to match a ripe tomato. “That woman-“
“Is your doctor. Who was trying to help you.”
“She was trying to kill me,” he says staunchly. “There’s nothing wrong with my-“
“Then why did you come to the doctor at all?”
“It hurt,” he says petulantly.
I sigh. “Well, someone needs to take a look at it, if not her. Why don’t you come over to mine and let Karen take a look at it?”
He considers this. “All right,” he allows.
I feel as if I have won gold at the Olympics.

Karen freezes when I usher Danny through the door.
“Ah, la mia bella!” says Danny extravagantly.
“Erm… how do you do?” says Karen politely, shaking his hand. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Some nice strong brandy would be nice,” he says, plopping himself down on the couch uninvited. “I’ve had a bit of a bad morning,” he adds, looking meaningfully at me.
Karen does not enquire further. “Trev, can I have a word?” she asks quickly, completely forgetting about the brandy. We excuse ourselves and she rushes me into the drawing room.
“Trev, that’s not Danny?” she whispers, once we are out of earshot.
“Yep.”
“Not the Danny?”
“Yeah.” I rub my nose.
“Do you remember what happened last time he set foot in this house,” she asks, “or must I stimulate your memory?”
“N-no need, darling.”
“Then what the hell is he doing here?”
“Danny,” I say, “has damaged his Achilles tendon.”
She sighs laboriously and stalks out of the room. “Achilles can just go screw his bloody tendon.”