Escape to the Tuscan Vineyard

Chapter Six

My 6 a.m. alarm went off just as it always did, and I reached over and switched it off, just as I’d always done. Except today, it was different. I didn’t immediately spring out of bed and get my energy moving. I took a beat and opened my eyes into the darkness. Today was the first day in eight years of living in London, that I didn’t have to be anywhere, or do anything. I could lie in bed all day if I wanted to. Or have a three-hour bath. Or paint a mural on the kitchen wall. Oh God. I already had decision paralysis and it was only hour one of day one. I decided to do what I’d always done at this time in the morning and pulled on my running gear. Some fresh air would help clear my head and I wanted to keep being me for as long as possible. Out onto the same old streets, around the same old park, along the same old route.

I beat my personal best by twelve seconds and ran back into the flat feeling proud of myself. A quick shower and I was dressed and in full make-up by 7.35 a.m. and ready for the day ahead. Which suddenly felt like a lot of time to fill. I made a pot of camomile tea and opened my notepad to start a fresh, new list and get myself organised. I loved a list. It helped me feel in control. And sometimes I wrote down the things I’d already done that day, just to have the satisfaction of crossing them straight off. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to finally have some free time on my hands – it would give me chance to get cracking with all the things I never normally had time to do.

That’d do for now. I put a satisfying line through number 5, put Netflix on for some company, and spent the next four hours methodically working my way around the flat. Cleaning every surface and crevice. Shaking out and refolding my sheets and clothes, bleaching and scrubbing the bathroom, hoovering then mopping the floor. Staying busy to while away the morning, so I didn’t have to sit still on my own. The memories always hit me in the quiet moments. How life might have been if things had gone a different way. I buzzed around the flat, a double cardio day today, then sat back on the sofa, exhausted but satisfied. So that was that then. The flat was spotlessly clean, and my to-do list was complete. Nothing much else ‘to do’ for now.

*

‘This is amazing news!’ I could feel Holly doing a little happy dance down the phone. ‘A whole month off, giving you zero excuse not to come out and see me at-bloody-last. It’s been over six months since we’ve seen each other! That’s the longest we’ve ever gone.’

It didn’t feel like amazing news. It felt like being unemployed. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d not been up to my neck in work. The last time I’d taken a break. Holidays were my nemesis. They gave me far too much time to think, and I didn’t like to think, and remember, and feel. Not if I could avoid it, anyway.

‘I’m not sure, Hols, I’ve got loads of things that need doing in the flat,’ I said, looking around my immaculate lounge. The floorboards gleamed, the rugs were still stripy from the vacuum, and the net curtains were shining bright white, having been through a bleach wash. The floating shelves displayed my collection of vases: pink, red, purple, green, in different shapes and sizes, clean and colourful, interspersed with scented candles. I was the ultimate anti-hoarder and if you stood around long enough, you’d be put in the bin.

‘Like what?’ Holly asked, suspiciously.

I glanced at the bookcase, where all my art books were sitting in perfect colour order – a beautiful rainbow to look at but a completely useless system when it came to finding anything. Luckily, I knew every single one of them by heart – from those I’d pored over as a child, to my university textbooks, and all the way up to my most recent purchase – a photography book of iconic divas from the VA. The windows were sparkling and there wasn’t a speck of dust on the furniture. Even the sofa was buffed up and meticulously clean, the fluffy purple cushions working hard to make a statement.

‘You know what it’s like, Hols, the flat won’t clean itself!’

‘I know what you’re like, Abi, and I bet I could eat my dinner off your floor right now. And even if I can’t – who cares if your flat isn’t clean? Get yourself out here and you can help me clean my flat if it’ll make you feel at home.’

‘I’m just not really one for holidays – you know that. I get ants in my pants if I sit around for too long.’

‘Don’t look at it as a holiday then – see it as coming out to visit me. And I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s actually quite a lot to do in Italy – need I mention the art and the history? We could go to the Uffizi and see that Botticelli Room you’ve been banging on about your entire life, for a start.’ My heart jumped at that suggestion. Josh and I had planned to go twice and had to cancel both times, and then the timing had never seemed right to rebook. I’d kind of given up on ever seeing it. ‘You don’t have to lounge around out here doing nothing all day.’

‘Hmm, yeah, I know.’ I picked at a piece of lint on my jeans and rolled it into a ball.

‘There’s no point staying in London. Everyone will be at work in the day. At least here, you’ve got me to play with.’ She was right. It was having a whole month’s worth of time on my hands that was the problem, and that would be the case if I stayed in London, too. ‘What else are you going to do?’ Holly’s frustration was palpable.

‘I was thinking about cataloguing my photos,’ I said, honestly.

‘If that’s true, then I’m getting on the first flight over to stage an intervention. You’ve got a whole month of paid leave – you can do anything you like, go anywhere and see anything, and you want to stay in your flat and trawl through a trillion photos? What happened to my friend Abi who always said life was for living?’

I smiled into the phone. ‘She hasn’t been seen for quite some time.’

‘We’ll all be dead in fifty years – isn’t that what you used to say in your wild, adventurous phase? And you’re right! We will be! And then no one will care that you’ve got seven identical photos of a monkey on your phone.’

I thought back to our uni days when I was the ditsy, whimsical, arty one and Holly was the studious, taking-life-far-too-seriously one. ‘But until that day, my iPhone will continue to remind me that I have zero storage until I clear it.’

‘So?!’ Holly said, exasperated. ‘That is not a reason to stay at home. Transfer everything onto a hard drive and add it to your future to-do list for when you’re old and grey. Otherwise, you are wasting an amazing opportunity. Spending time cataloguing pictures when you could be out here taking them instead. Doing things that are worth photographing, and more importantly, seeing me! Besides, is looking at old photos really such a good idea? It won’t turn the clock back, Abs, no matter how much you want it to.’

My stomach flipped. Holly was one of the only people in the world who could get away with that kind of comment. ‘I know,’ I said, sadly.

‘Come out here and reset. You owe me a trip, Abi – you keep saying you’ll come out and now you have no excuse. I’ve been back to London, it’s your turn to fly out to me. You haven’t even met Xavier yet!’

‘That is true. I need to meet the man my best friend has shacked up with.’

‘And we can drink amazing wine and I can show you the sunrise… and the sunset.’

‘You and that sunset! You’re obsessed!’

‘So will you be when you see it. The artist in you won’t be able to resist painting it.’

‘I’ve got more photos of Tuscan sunsets on my phone, than of my own mother! No wonder I’ve got no storage left.’

‘It must be about time to see the real thing then. What do I need to do to get you out here?’

‘I’ll think about it, OK?’ I said, not wanting to make any promises. ‘Once I’ve sorted out the flat, maybe I can come out for a long weekend, or something.’

‘Well think about it hard. The clock is ticking, and if you’ve only got a month, it would be a shame to waste it in front of your laptop. There’s a beautiful vineyard up the road that has just started doing bed and breakfast, so I’ll make some enquiries. In case you want to be unpredictable and spontaneous and come this weekend for example?’

I laughed. ‘Unlikely, but thanks.’

‘I just miss you. And this feels like a real chance to take a break – even better that it’s being paid for by someone else.’

I cradled the phone into my shoulder and plucked Holly’s latest postcard off the fridge. She was right. I’d been saying I’d go and visit for far too long. I needed to be a better friend. The truth was that I hadn’t flown anywhere for years and the thought of it made my stomach drop. I’d always loved travelling when I was younger, but that felt like a lifetime ago. These days, the idea of trusting myself to an unknown pilot and rocketing into the sky in a metal box, kind of terrified me.

*

It was only 12.30 p.m. and I debated getting started with freeing up my storage but decided lunch at Chez Margot would be a better use of time and a lovely way to kick off my new-found freedom. I messaged Kat and Sara, to see if either of them could sneak out for an extended lunch hour.

Kat:Sorry hun, it’s absolute chaos here. There’s been a data breach by one of my team and the paps have just turned up. I can still meet Friday night though?

There seemed to be a different drama every day at the PR agency Kat worked at. Constant chaos and stress across her clients. Product recalls, adulterous scandals, flash-mob takeovers. A lot of high pressure and high drama, navigating different spokespeople through the press and hoping they said the right thing. Kat was my messy, wild friend; always out for the night, room for one more drink, chatting with everyone and flirting with all the guys. Fun-time Kat. As long as it was outside working hours, clearly.

Sara:Lunch hour? What’s that?! LOL Nice try, no can do xx

It was a stupid question really. Not much last-minute flex in a lawyer’s schedule. I tried my brother, who always had plenty of time on his hands since taking another ‘career’ break at the grand old age of twenty-eight, having not yet chosen one, as far as I could tell.

Chris:I’m already out for lunch with a couple of mates – at Pizza Express in Soho if you wanna join?

God, no, I couldn’t think of anything worse. It was fine, I’d go to Margot’s on my own – I didn’t need anyone to escort me, and I really fancied one of her charcuterie boards all to myself. No bread, no butter, just a plateful of deliciously thin meats and a side of cornichons. I got on a London bike and cycled through Kings Cross and Russell Square, amazed at how many people were out and about. It seemed to be either groups of tourists or parents chasing after their kids. Dogs dive-bombing into picnics while the Pret brigade marched by with their fifteen-minute sandwiches, before heading back to eat at the laptop. No to all of that. Give me Margot’s place any day.

There was a gentle summer breeze as I clanked along. The bike was harder work than it should have been in the heat, and I was looking forward to an ice-cold Sauvignon, or two.

Chez Margot had been mine and Holly’s glamorous spot, our little payday treat, when we lived together in our Marylebone shoebox. Those two years as flat mates had been so much fun. Both finding our way with our careers – Holly on a grad scheme, and me as a paid intern with the BBC. Holly had always been my make-up guinea pig, as I moved from scribbling on my Barbies, to grinding up Mum’s eyeshadow. Our ‘get ready with me’ YouTube videos had been legendary in high school and were where I finally got the hang of blending and contouring. Saturday nights, first dates, birthday parties, Graduation Day, whenever there was a big occasion, I’d be there with my make-up box of tricks to help everyone get ready.

There was something magical about taking my pencils and powders and turning someone into their best self, highlighting their qualities and surprising them with a new look. I could transform Holly from day-Barbie to disco-Barbie in less than ten minutes, with a pale pink eyeshadow, a gold dot in just the right place, a luminous cream, and a dusting of shimmery powder. And the beauty side of make-up was just the start of it. Halloween was always a treat. Holly and I would deliberately go into the supermarket to buy snacks before we got into our costumes and laugh at the horror on people’s faces as they saw a bloody gash on my cheek or an infected scab on Holly’s neck. ‘It’s just make-up,’ we’d say, and shrug it off.

But there was no such thing as just make-up. Make-up was like a magic door. It could turn anyone into anything they wanted to be. I’d watch TikToks with fascination as children turned themselves into grannies, men into drag queens, women into cats; step by step using only make-up. I used to practise for hours in front of the mirror at home and occasionally Chris would let me do him a smoky eye. Brotherly love. I still had the photos of The Day of the Dead party at university, where we’d won dinner at Nando’s and a bottle of vodka for our costumes, and I was a hero in our student house for a month. It made me happy to make people happy. Spreading joy and wonder through make-up was something that had fascinated me ever since Mum and Dad had first taken me to the theatre to see The Lion King. The craft and imagination to create the animals – a visual spectacle of make-believe, taking audiences on safari for a few hours each night, without them ever having to leave their seats.

After applying for every make-up job in London and being rejected, I finally got a job assisting the assistant make-up artist on The Phantom of the Opera. I always knew it would happen eventually. Make-up was the only thing I’d ever wanted to do. Bringing out the best in people – or their darkest side, depending on the brief. And once I was in, I was in. The theatre world was a tight-knit community and we all looked out for each other.

‘Hey, Margot,’ I called, as I walked into the restaurant. It was unusually quiet, with only two tables of two, chowing down in different corners. The sun was shining, and it was a relief to get into the cool of the restaurant, the wood somehow absorbing the heat in the air.

‘Abi! Salut! ?a va?’ She gave me a double kiss, then stood back to look at me. ‘I haven’t seen you for a while. You have been busy, non? Always so busy.’

‘Non-stop,’ I said, with a smile. ‘But finally, a day off, and I couldn’t wait to come over. You know I get withdrawal symptoms from your cooking.’

‘Well, it is wonderful to see you,’ she said, leading me over to a table.

‘Can I eat at the bar?’ I didn’t much fancy a table for one.

‘Of course!’ she said, changing direction. ‘Now, where are we? Wednesday. But Wednesday is your double show though, non? Isn’t it the matinee?’ Margot was nonchalant, but she didn’t miss a trick. And to be fair, it was pretty unusual for me to rock up in the middle of the week, in the middle of the day. I hesitated, not sure how much I wanted to share. I didn’t want it to sound like… I’d been sacked.

‘I’m not at the theatre anymore, Margot. I started a new job this week on a movie,’ I replied, choosing my words carefully. ‘But there was a mix-up with the team, and I was double-booked.’

Margot nodded, a small frown wrinkling her brow.

‘So, I’ve been released,’ I finished.

‘Released? How curious. You’d think these films would be run like a very tight ship.’

‘Well, it’s my first one, so I’ve no idea. They seem to have plenty of money sloshing around at least – they’ve paid me my full fee for the month.’

‘I should hope so! The very least they can do,’ Margot said, shaking her head. I picked up the wine list and scanned the blackboard for the specials. Not that I really had a clue.

‘What would you recommend on the wine front? Something very cold and very dry. I can never remember which is which – you know how hopeless I am.’

Margot stopped to think, clicking her tongue. ‘Ah. I know it. I have just the thing.’ She leant into the fridge and clanked around with the bottles. ‘A delicious Vernaccia from San Gimignano that I know you will love.’

‘Sounds fab,’ I said, trying to see.

‘Holly sent me a case last month and it is—’ she made a chef’s kiss gesture ‘—beautifully crisp and full-bodied. Very drinkable. Too drinkable.’ She poured us both a glass, as I hopped onto one of the bar stools.

‘Lovely, thank you. I spoke to Holly this morning actually. She was trying to convince me to go out and visit.’

‘How wonderful!’ Margot said. ‘I can’t remember the last time you had a holiday.’

‘Neither can I. Too much time out of the city makes me edgy. The last time I went on a relaxing girly weekend, I only got two hours’ sleep and came back exhausted. I struggle to sleep at the best of times, so without my weighted blanket, the fan and the blackout blinds, there was no hope of me dropping off.’

Margot raised a concerned eyebrow. ‘It’s a terrible thing not to sleep. Have you tried lavender oil?’

‘Everything. Pillow spray, pressure point roller, meditation, waves, whale noises – the lot! I even pop a couple of melatonin if I’ve had a particularly stressful day.’

‘That’s quite the night-time routine,’ Margot said in alarm.

‘It is. And you know what it’s like when you go abroad. On top of no sleep there’ll be no soya milk, no parks to run around, no London legs to get my steps in, hour after hour of doing nothing, I’ll be bored out of my brain.’

‘What do you mean? There are parks to run around wherever you go. And my Paris legs would beat your London version anytime. You can adapt your routine for a few weeks. Go and see Holly! It will do you good.’

‘I’m thinking about it but I’m not sure la dolce vita is for me. In fact, it’s the total opposite of me,’ I said, taking a sip of wine and revelling in the flavours. ‘Apart from the food of course, which I know I’d love. Speaking of which…’

‘Yes! Let’s get you some food. What would you like?’

‘The usual, please, Margot. A small charcuterie – heavy on the cornichons – with a tomato salad and a side of asparagus.’ I didn’t need a menu.

‘Bien,’ Margot said, writing it all down. ‘Let me speak with Chef.’ She walked through to the kitchen, leaving me to contemplate my wine. There was something very moreish in the Tuscan soil – that was for sure. A lightness of touch, and a rich, heady taste. It was a delicate balance, but this wine absolutely had it.

‘Alors!’ Margot came swinging back through the doors, my order now being prepared. ‘You have some time to fill, but living la dolce vita isn’t the only way to fill it. Italy is a wonderful place and there is plenty to do – the architecture, the food, the fashion – maybe even too much to fit into a few weeks.’ She picked up her wine and gave it a good sniff, closing her eyes to fully immerse herself in the aroma. Margot had a point. Italy was a very long to-do list, waiting to be done. It might be just the distraction I needed to while away the time, while everyone else was at work. I could throw myself into the Italian lifestyle and culture, take in a few walking tours and visit the sights.

‘Hmm, Holly said the same. It does sound full on – which I would like,’ I said. ‘Can’t be resting on my laurels, Margot. I am the queen of endeavour, after all.’

‘Like the proverbial ’amster on a wheel, Abi, running so fast. But what is it that you’re chasing?’ Margot fixed me with her kind brown eyes, her pixie curls pinned back, one hand on her hip. ‘Or is it that you’re running away?’

‘Not at all,’ I said, defensively. ‘I just like to stay busy; you know me.’

‘I do. But this sounds like a chance to be a different kind of busy. You haven’t seen Holly since Christmas – and the pair of you used to be joined at the hip. Go and meet her new man and see where she lives. Visit Florence and Siena, and the vineyards and all the beautiful art galleries. You will have a fantastic time together.’

‘I know. I’m just worried I’ll be overlooked if I’m not ready to jump on the tube at a moment’s notice. That the dream gig will come along while I’m lazing around in Italy.’ The smell of asparagus, frying in butter, wafted through from the kitchen and my stomach rumbled.

‘Taking a break isn’t lazing around, Abi,’ Margot said, swirling her wine. ‘It is just as important to rest as it is to work. And rest doesn’t need to be lazy, burning in the sun. You can rest however you like. In whatever way refreshes you.’

‘I suppose,’ I said, thinking about my love of Botticelli and the sculpture of David I’d only ever seen in photos. The country where Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and countless other amazing artists had been born, and produced their best work. The art alone was worth going for. And then there was the food. But most of all, I wanted to see Holly. I needed one of our four-hour chats, putting the world to rights, and to reconnect. We’d always been like twins, almost telepathic in our communication. I’d sense if she was about to phone, or had news, or something was wrong, and she was the same with me. But recently this had started to change. I’d noticed she’d cut her hair into a crop and posted a photo on Instagram at the weekend. We would never have made such a crucial life-changing decision in the past, without discussing it from all angles.

‘And if the gig of a lifetime comes along, then you simply… fly back,’ Margot said, making a lot of sense. ‘It’s only a few hours on the plane. You’re not going to the other side of the world.’

‘That’s true. Maybe I could go out for a couple of weeks. You’re right, I do miss Holly being around and I’ve met Xavier on the phone, but it’s not the same. I want to get to know him properly.’

‘Of course it’s not the same to meet on the phone,’ Margot said, shaking her head. ‘It’s only natural you want to see them both. You and Holly are like sisters.’

‘And yet she has this whole new life that I’m not part of and hardly know anything about,’ I replied, wistfully. ‘A new home, new restaurant, new man… new haircut. Who knows what else?’

‘Well go and find out about it then,’ Margot exclaimed. ‘Friendships don’t just stay as they were forever, you know. You have to look after them and invest in them. Friends are like flowers – they need attention and love, watering and pruning. Holly will be having lots of new experiences, just as you are with your new film career, but you can still stay connected if you both make the effort. Why not buy a one-way ticket? And then you can come back whenever you like. You’re not locked in. You don’t have to commit.’ She knew me too well.

‘I’m not scared of going or anything – although I haven’t been on a plane for a while. I’ve just got a few things to sort out at home first,’ I said, thinking about the next iteration of my to-do list.

‘You need to start having adventures again, Abi. I know it is painful to think it, but Josh isn’t coming back. Isn’t it time to get on with your life?’

‘What do you mean? I have a great life! Lovely friends, lovely family – working in my dream job. I’ve been a bridesmaid six times, so I must be doing something right.’

Margot tutted. ‘I’m talking about your life, Abi. Not helping everyone else with theirs. Life isn’t about constantly lining up the next list of jobs to do.’ A bell tinkled, and she gave me a look, then left me to stare at my reflection across the bar. I was living, wasn’t I? And doing all the right things. A thirty-year-old with a slightly unhealthy obsession with staying healthy, who worked hard at her job and looked after those closest to her. What was wrong with that? Margot reappeared with an armful of food, and my mouth watered at the juicy tomatoes, sprinkled in sea salt and swimming in balsamic dressing. The chargrilled asparagus and the selection of meats, perfectly portioned and ready to eat.

‘Mustard? Chutney? Black pepper?’ Margot asked, knowing my answer would be no.

‘This is just right as it is,’ I said, desperate to tuck in.

‘I have a mango and chilli sauce that goes perfectly with the asparagus. Let me get you some to try,’ Margot said, disappearing into the kitchen before I could argue. ‘Here we are…’ She popped open a jar and scooped out a teaspoon of fluorescent orange sauce while my mouth was full of tomatoes.

I shook my head to stop her, chewing frantically. ‘Not for me, Margot,’ I mumbled, holding my hand up to cover my mouth.

‘Just a little? It is my best yet and tastes delicious. Try something new – what have you got to lose? You always have the same dishes. I promise this will go well with the asparagus.’

I gave a resigned little nod and she spooned a small amount onto my plate and hovered, waiting for me to try it. There was no way out. I dipped one of the asparagus spears in the sauce and put it in my mouth, fully expecting to hate it. I chewed and nodded with a fake smile, but then the taste came through and genuinely blew me away. It was sweet and spicy and tingled through my taste buds. My face changed and I nodded more convincingly. It was good. It was very good. I’d always been so convinced of the combination of tastes on my standard platter, I didn’t think it could get any better, so this was a nice surprise. Maybe Margot had a point; maybe the old way wasn’t always the best way after all. A bit of experimentation and mixing it up might be the way to do it.

‘Bien. Enjoy,’ Margot said, clearly delighted to have caught me unawares. She topped up my wine and left me to check on her other customers. I forked in another mouthful of asparagus and pulled out my phone for company, where two messages sat on the locked screen.

Holly:Get yourself booked on a plane right now! Be spontaneous!

Pete:Sorry to hear you’ve left. Still keen to catch up if you are?

*

It didn’t feel right to start on the photos so late at night, but I wasn’t sure what else to do. Not even just tonight, but for a whole month. I wasn’t convinced I could fill all this time – it would just be me sitting around with endless hours to think. I felt that empty, panicked feeling coming to the surface again, so I flipped open my laptop and logged into the Cloud to get the measure of the task ahead of me. Thousands and thousands of photos; my whole life in pictures. This would keep me busy for a while.

I scrolled all the way to the top and took myself back twelve years. So many photos and videos. A-level results day and forty photos of me and Holly screaming with delight at our three Bs to get into Leeds uni. Photos of Freshers’ Week, our student accommodation, my first date with Josh and then a speed-through of our relationship. Glastonbury, camping in Snowdonia, travelling through New Zealand, Josh’s twenty-first birthday sat on his Harley-Davidson, the two of us hooning through Berlin on our way to Oktoberfest. I zoomed in on my face and barely recognised myself. Tanned and strong, with my arms in the air. We had done so much together; both so impulsive and carefree – always travelling and looking for the next adventure. Strange to think of the hours we’d spent on planes, travelling all over the world with a couple of ripped rucksacks and a maxed-out credit card, and now the thought of a two-hour flight filled me with dread.

The dingy studio flat we’d shared in Leeds. We’d taken photos of the mould to show the landlord. Our first Christmas tree, Josh putting the star on the top, the two of us holding a bottle of Baileys each as we beamed into the camera. So many amazing memories. I loved my little Islington bolthole, but there was nothing I wouldn’t have given to go back in time. Now I had a mould-free flat, lots of friends and an exciting career, but I didn’t have him. My one big love had gone. I carried on scrolling as the photos changed from sunny to grey. From Europe to London. From the two of us to just me. Make-up, theatre shows, exhibitions, birthday after birthday and Christmas on repeat. Witnessing other people’s lives – weddings, christenings, anniversaries – instead of living my own. It had been so long since I’d thrown caution to the wind, I couldn’t remember how to do it.

My phoned pinged with another message from Blake who was still in my phone as Pete, soon to be changed to DO NOT ANSWER.

Pete:What do you think? Not still playing hard to get, are you?

What did I think? The thought of bumping into Pete/Blake in London, however small the chance, was enough to get me onto Skyscanner, casually perusing the options. I mean, the flight was a bargain. It was cheaper to fly to Pisa, than to get the train to Liverpool. I could leave on Sunday and come back whenever I liked. It was totally up to me. Margot was right – if I hated it, I’d simply book the next flight home. They went three times a day, every other day. Some shopping and dinner with Holly, a couple more bottles of that amazing Vernaccia and a gallery or two and I’d be back before I knew it. Two weeks would be more than plenty. I typed my details in and picked a window seat. Proceed to payment? Oh God, what was I doing? Tap, tap, tap and I was booked to go. Something new to add to my list. Pack bags for Tuscany. I was off to Pisa. The land of the Leaning Tower.

Me:I’ll be there on Sunday. See? I CAN be spontaneous. Can’t wait to see you! Xxx

Holly:What? Really? Yayyyyyyyy xxx