Chapter Eight
Holly was meeting me for breakfast. We’d already had one of our marathon catch-up sessions and spent all afternoon in the pool, but I wanted to make the most of our time out here together. The bathroom was tiled wall-to-ceiling in a turquoise mosaic, and the shower was big enough for two as I stepped in, already feeling like a new woman after ten hours sleep in my cloud-pillow of a bed. I decided on a pink dress with off-the-shoulder puffed sleeves; it felt nice to get out of my London black and wear something colourful for once.
The sun was already up – so that was one sunrise I wouldn’t see – and the morning light snuck in through the elaborate balcony doors, in tiny pinpricks, speckled across the walls. I threw them open and stepped outside for a moment, to take in the view. Every shade of green you could imagine, for miles. Fields of vines in regimented lines, surrounded by dusty, olive trees. In the far distance, a smattering of buildings with clay rooftops led up the hill to the town, increasing in number as they got closer to the towers. Jasmine filled the air from the patio below, and Holly was already down there waiting for me, with an orange juice on the go. She spied me from her seat.
‘Buongiorno, Abi,’ she called, holding up her glass, as I leant over the balcony and waved.
‘Wherefore art thou Romeo?’ I called down.
‘Can’t help you with a Romeo, I’m afraid, but there art some delicious breakfast cakes here, if you fancy eating your feelings instead?’
‘Definitely not,’ I said. ‘Cake is never a good move first thing in the morning.’
‘I think you’ll find cake is a good move any time of day,’ she said, putting a big chunk of lemon drizzle in her mouth.
I shut the balcony doors and made my way downstairs. The farmhouse had a fresh feel about it, despite its shabby-chic appearance. The plaster on the walls was peeling in places, but there were modern paintings on canvas, tacked up on nails throughout the house. My spidey-artist-senses started to tingle, as Paolo appeared alongside me with a tray full of watermelon.
‘Buongiorno, Abi. You slept well?’
‘Very well,’ I replied.
‘Perfetto.’ He looked relieved. ‘And the shower, it was OK?’
‘Five stars,’ I said. ‘Hot water, hand-made Italian soaps, and big fluffy towels. What more could a girl ask for?’
‘I’ll bring you some coffee,’ he said, beaming in delight.
Holly was polishing off her cake and pulled out the chair next to her.
‘You’re up early,’ I said, sliding my sunglasses onto my head and looking out across the pool. It was another scorcher of a day and the grasshoppers chirruped loudly from the sidelines, welcoming in the sun. A light breeze skittered across the water and ruffled through the trees, and I took a big, calming breath.
‘That’s because I want to see as much of you as possible while you’re here.’
‘Same,’ I replied, as Paolo reappeared with my coffee.
‘Good! We already have plans for you on Friday, don’t we, Paolo?’ Holly said.
He held up a jug of milk to pour and nodded vigorously. ‘Si. Yes, for the opera.’
‘La Traviata is on in the square, and the whole town will be there. The singers perform a cappella by candlelight, and it is so beautiful. Honestly, Abs, it’s a real treat – you are going to love it.’
‘Sounds amazing!’ I said, delighted. ‘I was hoping to go to the opera while I was out here, so that’ll tick one thing off my list.’
‘I know you love a list,’ Holly said, rolling her eyes.
‘I sure do. Speaking of which…’ I pulled out my iPad and put it on the table, bringing up my Tuscany-To-Do List.
‘What’s that?’ Holly asked, grabbing it off me.
‘It’s my list of to-dos and try-to-dos while I’m out here,’ I said, proudly. ‘I spent the last couple of days researching all the must-sees in the area, so I’m pretttty sure I’ve got everything, but I’d appreciate you giving it the once-over, as a pseudo-local, in case I’ve missed anything.’
Holly zoomed in on the first page and squinted as she read it out loud.
‘Doing Italy right; top priority activities, nice to haves, and if there’s time:
1: Visit the historic centre of San Gimignano.
2: Climb the Torre Grossa.
3: Go to mass at the cathedral and take photos of the frescos.
4: Do the walking tour of the towers.
5: One, two… five different wine tasting sessions.
6: Visit the Uffizi in Florence…’
Holly stopped. ‘Abs! This list is ridiculous! It’ll take you six months to get it all done!’
‘No, it won’t! It just needs some focus, that’s all. I can whip round most of the top priority activities today if I get a wriggle on.’
Holly looked at me, incredulous. ‘Today? But it’s already 10am!’
‘9 a.m. in London,’ I shot back. ‘Don’t worry, Hols, this is where my super-efficiency comes into its own. I am nothing if not a get-on-and-do-it-er. I just need to start.’
‘You haven’t even had any breakfast?’
‘I’ve got fifteen minutes in the schedule for breakfast. I’ll have some fruit and yoghurt and be on my way.’ I finished my coffee and wandered over to the buffet table, which was awash with colour. Platters of juicy apricots, larger-than-life grapes and chunks of watermelon sat alongside delicious-looking slabs of Italian cake and custard pastries. I ignored the selection of cereals and put a mini fruit plate together with a dollop of Greek yoghurt and a drizzle of honey. It looked too good to rush, but I didn’t have time to hang around.
‘OK then, talk me through your plan,’ Holly said, tucking into a slice of vanilla sponge.
‘I’ll get the bus into San Gimignano, start smashing through those first few to-dos and go from there,’ I said. ‘The only way to do it, is to do it – right?’
‘I’d offer you a lift, but I’m riding a Vespa these days, which I know isn’t your bag,’ Holly said. We exchanged a look, but nothing else was said. I bit into an apricot and looked around the restaurant. There was a blonde woman, with a little girl, both chomping on pineapple opposite us, and an elderly couple on the table next to them. The little girl waved.
‘My dress is pink,’ she said, holding up her skirt to show me. ‘Is it your favourite colour too?’
‘Yes!’ I enthused. It wasn’t, but I didn’t like to let her down.
Her mother looked up. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Ellie, don’t bother people while they’re eating.’
‘That’s OK,’ I said. ‘I’m Abi.’
‘Dawn,’ she said, and went back to her breakfast.
I got a double wave from the couple over her head.
‘Mornin’,’ one of them called, in a strong Scottish accent. ‘I’m Ian, and this is Cathy.’
‘Holly and Abi,’ I said. That was all of us then. Five fresh guinea pigs and no single men. Play would have to resume when I got back to London.
‘Day one breakfast seems to be going well,’ I said, watching Mia and Paolo running back and forth to the kitchen. Holly was still reading through my list and had spread my pop-up map across the table.
‘Mm-hmm…’ She was tracing the map with her finger. ‘You do realise that some of these places are completely off-road, don’t you? You can’t reach them by public transport.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ I said, pulling a folder from my bag. ‘I’ve got a whole load of advice on the quickest way to get it all done. I’ll just Uber if I’m stuck.’
Holly looked up, puzzled. ‘You’ll what?’
‘The bus goes to San Gimignano at 10.45 a.m.,’ I said, checking my itinerary. ‘And the bus stop is just over the road.’
‘I wouldn’t rely on…’ Holly started.
There was a scream of delight from Ellie, as Nero ran into the restaurant, his floppy ears flapping as he tumbled along. He snuffled his way under our table, where Holly had dropped a few cake crumbs and Ellie crawled in after him.
‘Sorry, sorry!’ Mia dashed over, and I felt a tiny lick on my ankle just before she scooped him up, kissing his furry head. ‘He is too quick!’ she said, clearly startled. He licked his lips then yawned, defeated, and buried his nose in her elbow.
‘Please can I hold him?’ Ellie asked, politely, an inch away from his face.
‘No, Ellie, dogs aren’t safe abroad.’ Dawn beckoned her back to the table, sternly.
‘Nero is very safe,’ Mia said, put out at the accusation. ‘He is only a baby.’
‘I’ll hold him,’ I said, to help her out and prove it. She smiled and placed the tiny puppy in my arms. I could feel the frenetic thud of his little heart slowly calming down, as he closed his eyes and went to sleep. He was so soft and sweet, his fluffy curls absorbing the sun, like a miniature hot water bottle. He started to snooze, and Holly took a photo.
‘No paparazzi please. We just want to live a normal life,’ I said, covering my face with a slice of watermelon.
‘Too late,’ she said. ‘I got a good one. He is too cute, isn’t he?’
I looked down and nodded. He was pretty adorable.
‘And he likes you!’ Holly said, dewy-eyed. ‘You must have good vibes. A calming, inner zen, despite your outer… whatever it is.’
‘Fabulousness?’ I offered.
‘Yes, that’s it.’ She nodded. ‘You should get a dog, you know. You’d be a good dog-mum and it would keep you company in the flat.’
‘No chance. I’m never home! I’d end up needing a second dog to keep the first one company.’
‘Well, you know what they say,’ Holly said, with a knowing look. ‘Two dogs are better than one and one is better than none.’
I laughed. ‘No one has ever said that, and you know it.’ Nero’s eyes flickered open as I gave him back to Mia, then he yawned and settled back down. I missed his little body as soon as I’d handed him over, but there was no time for that, I had to get on.
‘I’ll probably need an early night after all this,’ I said, pointing at my iPad. ‘So shall I see you tomorrow for dinner?’
‘Yes, come over to the restaurant. I want to give you the full tour, and Xavier is desperate to impress you with his dishes.’
‘Can’t wait. I’m impressed already and he hasn’t done anything yet!’
‘Have fun in San Gimignano and call me if you get lost or need anything.’
Holly gave me a hug and I left her to finish her juice. The bus stop was directly opposite the vineyard entrance, but it took a good ten minutes to walk down to the road. I’d have to borrow one of the bikes Mia mentioned next time. That might be a good way to get my exercise in; I didn’t fancy running in thirty-five-degree heat each morning. The road was empty as I arrived at the bus stop and sat on an old wooden bench. It was 10.42 a.m. so the bus would be along in three minutes. I opened Tinder to amuse myself while I waited and the Italian selection was pretty impressive. Franco 34, Teacher; Sebastiano 32, Curator; Matteo 31, Chef. There was definitely a local look – dark hair, brown eyes and designer stubble. I sent out a few Ciaos for fun and updated my profile to say I was in Tuscany for the foreseeable. A couple of dates with Italian stallions wouldn’t go amiss. Holly wouldn’t be around to entertain me every night.
Three minutes turned into twenty and I was still sat in the sunshine waiting for the bus. There wasn’t any shade, and I was getting hot and sweaty. It was 11.07 a.m. when Holly chugged down the driveway on her Vespa, and I shuddered as she pulled up alongside me and lifted her visor.
‘The buses aren’t very reliable around here, Abs,’ she called. ‘It’ll only take me ten minutes to drop you into town.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m fine waiting. The bus is bound to turn up any second.’
‘Honestly, these Vespas are like bikes with batteries. It’s not like being on a proper motorbike.’
‘No thanks, I’ll wait. It won’t be long,’ I said, optimistically. I put my hands on her helmet and waggled it about, checking it was nice and secure.
‘OK then. See you tomorrow!’ she said, bibbing her horn and flying off down the road.
‘Be careful!’ I shouted after her. She put one hand up to wave, and my heart flipped. You’d never catch me on one of those things. I liked the bus. Nice and safe. I waited another half an hour, Ciao-ing away my time on Tinder, having the same chat with three different Italians, and eventually the bus came chuffing along. Smoky and knackered as it groaned to a stop, and the doors sighed open.
‘One for San Gimignano, please,’ I said, climbing up the steps. The driver looked at me blankly. ‘Er… una biglietto?’ I held out my phone to tap. The driver pressed a button and pointed to the screen, which said 2,50 Euros. I waved my phone at him and immediately realised I needed cash. Bollocks.
‘Can I pay with a card?’ I asked, knowing full well now that I couldn’t. He shook his head and closed the doors, waving me onto the bus, as he drove on. I took that to mean I could get on for free. I was not off to a good start. We zoomed up the hill towards the town and the bus lurched to a stop twelve minutes later. If I’d known it was going to be so late, I’d have walked.
Anyway. I’d made it into the historic centre of San Gimignano. Tick. Next up, the Bell Tower. I walked through the streets as the sun reached its highest point. The clock clanged twelve times in a row, and people wandered past on all sides, chatting, laughing, and taking photos. The cobbled pavements were shiny with the heat and I jumped from shadow to shadow to try and stay cool, arriving at the Bell Tower just as the door was being locked.
‘Chiusa,’ the old man said, then pretended to eat his hand. ‘Pranzo.’ Closed for lunch. He held two fingers up – in the polite way – which I assumed meant it would reopen at 2 p.m.
‘Grazie.’ I smiled and nodded. Then moved on to number 3 on my list. I probably couldn’t go to mass, but I could pop into a church or two and light a candle. They were never closed. Which wasn’t a bad switch-around in terms of the itinerary anyway – I could have a nice cool-down and some gentle quiet for an hour, and then climb the tower after lunch. I walked across the square to one of the smaller churches, nestled among the buildings, and pushed the door open. A nun came rushing over and pointed at my shoulders.
‘No, no, no,’ she said, taking her shawl off and waving it at me.
Got it. I’d have to buy a sarong from somewhere and wrap myself up, my puffed sleeves would keep slinking off if I tried to force them onto my shoulders. I smiled at the nun, left the church, and made my way over to one of the touristy clothes shops, just as the door swung shut and the ‘open / aprire’ sign was flipped to ‘closed / chiusa’. All around me shop doors were slamming. I’d been here nearly half an hour and hadn’t really done anything. The only places still open were the cafés and restaurants. There was nothing else for it, so I took a seat at a shaded table opposite the church and ordered an Aperol Spritz and a lasagne. I’d have some lunch and wait until everything was open again. I snapped a couple of photos and put them on Instagram, then pinged out a few messages to my theatre contacts to let them know where I was and what I was doing – it wouldn’t hurt to put the feelers out.
Me:Hi Phoebs, I’m in Tuscany for a couple of weeks, but keep me updated on any job ops. A month will fly by, and I’d feel better knowing I had a gig lined up.
Me:Hi Jackie, how are things? Bit of a mix-up on my Moonmen booking, so I’m available for work from 1st Sept if you hear of anything?
Me:Hi Stella, how are things? Bit of a mix-up on my Moonmen booking, so I’m available for work from 1st Sept if you hear of anything?
I sent the same message to three more contacts and left it at that. Firing my arrows out into the world. Between Phoebe and the theatre girls, something would come up, but being ‘between jobs’ was a new experience entirely for me and it felt very uncomfortable. I’d never left a job without something else to go to before, and I’d been working since I was fifteen. The sun was smiling down on the town, a reminder that it was the hottest part of the day, as the waiter returned with my drink.
‘Grazie mille,’ I said, as he placed an enormous glass of Aperol Spritz down in front of me.
‘Prego.’ He nodded, with clipped efficiency, clearing the empty glasses on the next table and spinning back off inside.
I took a long slurp and closed my eyes to savour the taste. Ice cold and refreshing, it was so much more orangey and alcoholic than in London. Delicious. It had been quite the day already and I’d achieved absolutely nothing. I had to crack on. I looked up the walking tour of the towers to make myself feel better. If I could at least do that, then the day wouldn’t be completely wasted. I checked three different websites, but all the slots were filled until Thursday. Gah! What was I supposed to do with myself? Eating and drinking were the only options available. The waiter popped my lasagne in front of me, the simplest of dishes, but it was a meaty, cheesy, tomatoey delight. Each mouthful tasted better than the last. Maybe I could make this for my next Come Dine with Me extravaganza – it was so moreish. I sat quietly and ate, looking around the square. San Gimignano was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. It was like stepping back in time. A piece of medieval history hidden away in the Tuscan hills. Tall, sandy buildings, with church windows and turrets, tiny shops built into the ancient walls, a town full of castle-like grandeur. I could see why Holly and Xavier loved it so much.
It got to 1.30 p.m., and I decided to do my own walking tour with good old Google Maps. I couldn’t just sit around all day, waiting for Italy to open. I paid my bill and walked through the town to the first tower, holding my phone out, like a single dousing rod, to show me the way. A quick photo and then on to the next one, snapping my way through a tower treasure hunt of the town. By the time I’d finished, the shops were back open, so I bought an ‘I heart Tuscany’ T-shirt to cover up my shoulders and made my way back to the church.
I always lit a candle for Josh, whenever I could. Eight years without him, but the pain still hit hard. I watched the flame flicker, as the silence of the church connected me to my thoughts. Would this feeling of loss ever go away? The deep sadness of a life not lived; our future together cut so tragically short. Four years married and eight years gone. I kissed my finger and tapped the diamond in the middle of my gold necklace three times. Once for him and twice for me.