Chapter 4
4
We went and joined in an Aquarobics class where we jostled for space with some other ladies and boogied along, up to our waists in water, to The Jackson 5. We caused a bit of a stir when ‘Thriller’ came on the sound system, and the two of us tried to do the zombie moves and I fell over and came up spluttering.
I had some cheerful congratulatory texts wishing me a happy birthday from Jess and Kat, a GIF of a zebra dancing from Alex, and an adorable video of my four-year-old granddaughter Violet singing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ .
After a light lunch we had our facials in the spa when a sweet young thing called Gracie plastered my face and neck with unguents, and I went to sleep. Then we had Mixology with Tim later that afternoon.
Tim – who looked about fourteen – measured the ingredients for the cocktails into the shaker and rattled it above his head while we sat watching. He was then prone to muttering, ‘Well, the bottle’s nearly empty, might as well , ’ and adding a bit more, so by the time we had finished our session, we were feeling very relaxed from the massage, decidedly giddy from the alcohol and had to go back to our rooms for a little rest before dinner.
I had a nice snooze for an hour, before I was woken up by a text from Alex asking if I had any white spirit as he had spilled something on the carpet. Nothing to worry about, just a splash of curry sauce. And a tiny bit of red wine.
I wondered which carpet and how much wine?
Just as I was about to ring him to find out what the damage was, he sent me a second text to tell me it was all sorted and wishing me a happy birthday again. This time without the zebra.
* * *
After we had enjoyed some under-seasoned minestrone soup and steak and kidney pie for dinner, we were thinking about our desserts and whether to have apple tart or lemon posset, when Kyle triumphantly brought in a birthday cake shaped like a volcano with a lot of candles already lit, and the whole dining room sang happy birthday to me and waved their napkins, which was lovely, but slightly embarrassing.
Two old gents in tartan cardigans came over and insisted on kissing my cheek while their wives took pictures and talked about putting it up ‘on the inter faceweb thing’. Or possibly sending it into Great British Bake Off to show the joy a cake could bring.
‘That’s it,’ I said, laughing and handing out slices of cake, which looked as though it had been constructed from bits of other cake and covered with a lot of brown buttercream, ‘no more birthday stuff. Now we need to think about Capri. Which is much more exciting!’
And the more I thought about it, the more I realised it was true. I wasn’t going to make any more excuses. I was going to go for it.
* * *
‘That place you went to sounds absolutely just the thing,’ Juliette said a few days later when she came over for coffee, ‘and a lot of fun. I shall get a brochure and leave it lying around for Matthew to see. Perhaps I will ring the place in red pen just to make sure.’
‘And while we were there we had an invitation to Capri in October,’ I said.
Juliette gasped and then sighed with pleasure.
‘How marvellous. Somewhere I’ve always wanted to go. I went on a school trip to the Amalfi coast once and we were due to go to Capri, but at the last minute the teachers called it off. They said it was too foggy, which was an absolute lie. I think they were all hungover.’
‘It’s for a friend’s memorial service. We were friends for decades. Ellen married another friend, Paulo, and his family owned a hotel there.’
‘That’s very sad, but on the other hand I wish I had friends like that, and Italian boys are so glorious, aren’t they? Wonderful olive skin, dark eyes, absolutely charming. On our school trip we had loads of them following our bus around in little Fiat 500s. Was Paulo like that?’
‘Oh yes, I suppose so, in a way. I really can’t remember,’ I said with a laugh.
Juliette wasn’t fooled for a moment.
‘You’re blushing! Ah, so you had a crush on him, did you? I can see it in your eyes.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ I said.
‘Yes, you did. I can tell. You looked all wistful for a moment, and you’ve gone pink.’
‘Don’t be daft. It was so long ago.’
‘Yes, but there is always something special about first love, isn’t there? I was madly in love with a chap when I was at university, Russell Ham. Can you imagine the jokes if I had married him? Juliette Ham. No one would have believed me. He was a percussionist, in the same orchestra as me. He used to wash his drum kit in my bath. And dry his cymbals on my clean tea towels.’
I laughed and Juliette joined in.
‘But I still remember him. I even googled him a couple of times. He’s played all over the world; I wonder what life would have been like if we had stayed together? Terrible probably, he was a bit OCD when it came to his beaters and lugs. I used his snare drum stand to balance a tea tray on once. He went ballistic and had to wash it all over again.’
I laughed until I had to wipe away the tears at that point. How great if felt to be able to laugh at the past. Perhaps that was what I should do, instead of looking back with such regret. Such guilt.
‘So?’ she said, tilting her head to one side.
‘A bit of a crush I suppose,’ I admitted. ‘Well, yes, a full-blown crush. He was absolutely gorgeous back then, but he had Ellen. I never got a look in.’
‘I expect he will be bad-tempered and sloppy now,’ Juliette said reassuringly. ‘He’ll have food stains down the front of his jumper and terrible shoes that he never polishes, and you’ll wonder what you ever saw in him.’
‘I hope you are right,’ I said, but somehow I knew it wouldn’t be like that. It couldn’t be, could it?
‘You must send me pictures,’ Juliette said, ‘so I can see what all the fuss was about. Now then, I must go and rustle up something for Matthew’s lunch, but before I do, I’d better use your facilities. My mother used to call it a try and see wee, but these days it’s one for the road.’
* * *
On the fourth of October we left Heathrow and flew to Naples, landing just after two o’clock in the afternoon. When we got there, Susie had arranged a taxi to take us to the Molo Beverello ferry port where we and all our luggage boarded for the hydrofoil trip to Capri.
We sat together, me by the window peering out through the salt fogged glass, and she hugged my arm with excitement as the boat left the harbour, past the cruise ships and out into open water.
‘Aren’t we lucky,’ she said, ‘to be here together, instead of having to be with other people , no names mentioned, who would be whingeing about whether the toilet would flush correctly or had I packed proper tea bags.’
I thought back to the first time Greg and I had tried having a holiday together after our children had left home, and he had done exactly that. We’d only gone to Normandy, but to him everything was dangerous or somehow substandard, and above all, foreign.
After three days we had been thoroughly irritated with each other and I couldn’t wait to get home again, which was such a shame because I’d enjoyed everything apart from his company. He probably felt the same way about me if I was honest.
Without the children there as a buffer between us, I began to realise that we probably didn’t like each other much any more. It had been a bit of a wakeup call for me as I watched him, his mouth turned down with dissatisfaction, prodding at the perfectly delicious risotto he had ordered.
It was such a lovely afternoon as our boat ploughed through the calm sea, the sky above the Mediterranean streaked with apricot clouds, and out of the haze above the water we could see the island of Capri coming tantalisingly closer.
Occasionally a speedboat whizzed past us, and a couple of times some bikini-clad girls waved at us. I wondered what they were planning to do with their holiday. Young, attractive and presumably wealthy with some equally eye-catching friends. How lovely. I wondered how they were feeling. Confident? Excited?
Why weren’t they at work? Perhaps this was their work, being influencers.
I wished someone would pay me to influence, although my knowledge gleaned over the years was of less exciting things than yachts and makeup. How to make a pound of mince feed five people. Seating nine people around a dining table built for six. Teaching a class of twenty-seven children to read. Dealing effectively with a furious toddler.
I decided if there was such a thing as reincarnation, I was going to come back as a glamorous redhead. I would be slender and six feet tall with marvellous legs, not five foot five with the suggestion of a varicose vein on one thigh and a tendency towards middle-age spread that was only kept in check with much effort.
And why was it that those days there were so many treats I had been denying myself as I got older? There were loads of things. Smoking – well, obviously that was sensible – doughnuts, cream, alcohol, sugar, fat.
Just as I was getting on in life and had more time to fill, the list of things I needed to avoid, that might have cheered me up and made my existence bearable, grew longer. If it carried on, I would be existing on a diet of kale and oily fish. So not only might I live longer, but it would jolly well feel like it too.
‘When we get off, Paulo has arranged transport to the hotel,’ Susie said. ‘At least I hope that’s what he said. My Italian isn’t nearly as good as it was. I don’t think he realised that. And he did talk very fast.’
‘I bet it will be fine,’ I said. ‘Better than fine. It will be brilliant.’
Would it?
It wouldn’t be long now, and I would see him again, and I felt odd and slightly queasy at the prospect.
After what Juliette had predicted, I wondered what he would look like, how the years had changed him. Would he be bald and portly with a couple of missing teeth? Would I really wonder what on earth I had ever seen in him? But then, how had the years changed me? Would we look at each other and both be horribly disappointed? And did that even matter?
I smoothed down my new dress, chosen for comfort during the journey. Blue with white polka dots. My birthday scarf tied at a jaunty angle around my throat. White sandals. My toenails painted a defiant red. The warm coat I had needed in England was rolled up and stuffed in my cabin bag.
The boat pulled into the Marina Grande port, which nestled on the coastline beneath towering cliffs above. It might have been nudging into low season but there were still a lot of people about. There were ice cream sellers, little cafés and wine bars, each more appealing than the last. There were stalls with the most luscious fruit displayed under canvas awnings, and warning signs. Non toccare – don’t touch.
We disembarked from the ferry and as promised, there was a man there, holding up a card with Susie’s name on it. He didn’t speak much, just a few encouraging nods and smiles, and he helped us with our cases to the parking area where we found a funny little taxi, part golf cart, part van, with Hotel Massimo painted on the side, and behind it a small trailer for our luggage. Within a few minutes, and with much tooting of his horn, we were out on the road, passing boat repair yards and high stone walls and speeding away from the ferry up a steep, winding road.
As we went higher, the view beneath us widened out into a fabulous panorama of blue sky which met the blue sea in a misty line, scoured with the white wakes of several speedboats. Further out there were a few enormous yachts and a massive cruise ship heading towards Naples.
I felt a huge leap of excitement, to be there, doing something so completely different, and it was made all the better because Susie was there too. Part of the enjoyment of that sort of experience was having someone to share it with, after all. Maybe that was the best part of having fun – laughing about it with someone else.
But then underneath my excitement I was still aware of that terrible anticipation, which still churned away in my gut. People did this all the time, didn’t they? Meet up with someone who had once been important to them. And they coped with it; perhaps they even laughed about it.
Do you recall when…? What a long time ago that was. I can hardly remember, can you?
Then the view was obscured by trees and houses, which gradually thinned out again to reveal the crags of the mountain in front of us, and we went round hairpin bends and negotiated narrow streets, scooters and mopeds and distinctive orange buses. Occasionally there were tall gates at the side of the road, closed against our curious stares. I distracted myself by wondering who lived there, what sort of house was hidden from view. I didn’t remember much of it from my trip all those years ago, but I knew it would be only a few minutes more.
The road grew steeper and even more twisting, one side bordered by a leaning stone cliff face covered in wire mesh, the other giving us yet again that dazzling view over the sea, the horizon shrouded in haze, the houses far beneath us like tiny white boxes. The edge of the road was protected by a low wall and some railings, and below was a dizzying drop to who knew where.
The two of us leaned to the left, drawing away from the possibility that our little taxi might suddenly plunge over the edge.
We passed a sumptuous-looking hotel, half hidden behind trees and fences, and then on past a petrol station, a small supermarket, people walking at the side of the road, a few shops and wine bars.
At last, with a satisfied nod, our driver turned right, through some high iron gates and into a courtyard.
‘ Eccoci qui ,’ he said. Here we are.
We had arrived. Of course, I remembered it now. How could I have forgotten?
I took a deep breath and opened the car door. I wasn’t sure if I was still excited, or whether the fluttering in my stomach would mean I would be sick on the marble steps.
What would it be like to see him again? Was I going to be able to be sensible about this or would I make a complete fool of myself? In the past I had done both.
* * *
Hotel Massimo was a large impressive building, built into the side of a rocky promontory so that most of the rooms were on a lower level than the entrance. We walked through the reception area, which was lofty and cool after the heat of the afternoon. I gave a little shiver, which I was sure was nothing to do with the temperature.
I could vaguely remember it from my visit all those years ago, and yet it was not familiar; things had changed. It looked much brighter than I remembered, the decoration light, sophisticated and classy where once it had been dark and dated with heavy wooden chairs and tapestry curtains.
There were a few people about – two women talking to the receptionist at the desk, a waiter hurrying past with a tray filled with empty glasses.
Susie, whose command of Italian was rusty but still effective, had been sitting behind our driver on the journey and had discovered he was called Umberto. He put our cases onto a trolley and had trundled them after us.
‘ Grazie mille , Umberto,’ she said with a sweet smile, and Umberto looked pleased. Susie had always had this ability to win people over in an instant. It was always very interesting to watch.
‘ Piacere mio ,’ he said, flushing a little. My pleasure.
One of the women in front of us was willowy in cream linen and did not look as though she had been travelling for the last day as I know we did. She sounded American and having finished asking about towels for the pool, she wandered off, talking loudly about finding her husband and a drink. The other slightly older woman trailed after her, clutching at a carrier bag.
As Susie – who by then had been appointed spokesperson – reached the desk, a man came into the hotel from the open doors which I think led to the gardens, and walked towards us, both hands held out in welcome.
And there he was.
It had been so many years since I had seen Paulo; Ellen had always come to visit us without him. She said he found it hard to leave the family hotel for other people to manage, and in a way I had been relieved. But that day, completely demolishing my earlier doubts, he looked almost the same as he ever had to me. Tall, handsome and tanned, he was the very picture of a casually elegant Italian man. For a moment the old attraction I had always felt for him rose up again, and annoyingly I felt my cheeks burning. That was a great start, blushing like a teenager.
‘Welcome,’ he said with a wide smile, which also showed he hadn’t lost any teeth.
Did his gaze rest on me for a fraction longer than it might have? I couldn’t resist sneaking little looks at him to reassure myself that he was still the same attractive and charming man I remembered. Could I recall how I had felt about him? Of course I could. Had he realised? Did he remember?
We did the usual round of hand shaking, polite cheek kissing, and small talk about the superb weather.
‘I can’t believe it’s you. At last,’ he said.
He was still holding my hand in both of his, and for a moment I didn’t want him to let go.
‘It’s been years, hasn’t it,’ I said. ‘Decades, actually.’
‘And how are you?’
How was I? A bit lightheaded if I was honest. I seemed to have lost control of my senses. Did my feet still work? Was I able to talk sensibly any more? Or would I just stand there with my mouth unattractively open, dribbling and prattling a lot of nonsense?
‘Oh, you know, fine,’ I said at last.
‘We have a lot of catching up to do,’ he said, ‘but first let me show you to your rooms.’
The next few minutes were spent with him taking charge and being generally hospitable. All the time I could feel the blood pounding in my ears, my heart thudding.
‘I hope you will be comfortable here,’ he said, escorting me into a fabulous room with a view over the Mediterranean.
‘I’m sure I will,’ I said rather croakily.
‘I will see you later,’ he said, and we looked at one another for a few moments while I fidgeted and wondered if I could think of something sensible to say. I couldn’t.
* * *
I had only visited here once, many years ago. Ellen had urged me to come because Paulo had been away on business, and although that part of it was disappointing, I went, on my own, much to Greg’s annoyance.
I wanted to prove we were still friends, that everything was fine and there were no hard feelings.
On that occasion I had been in a small single room on the top floor and the streets of Capri had been hot and crowded. At this time of year, it was quiet. The wonderful views of the coast stretched on to infinity, and it seemed a splendid place to be. No wonder Ellen had hated to leave it.
This time our rooms had glass doors leading out onto a wide stone terrace, where there were terracotta pots of flowers and purple bougainvillea cascading around the windows. It was marvellous.
After unpacking, the two of us met out there, marvelling at the beauty of the place. How wonderful to live like this.
‘Well, really, Ellen was a lucky girl, wasn’t she?’ Susie said a few minutes later as she leaned on the balustrade. ‘I don’t remember Paulo being quite so attractive, but then I was with Tom back then. And I didn’t have eyes for anyone else. Who knew he was such a bore; it must have been my hormones. No wonder Ellen didn’t like to leave Paulo for long. Isn’t it annoying how men can look better as they age with no apparent effort? While women spend more and more on face creams and potions and talk about cosmetic surgery. And it takes hours and a lot of money to colour our hair, while men can do it in ten minutes while they shave if you believe the ads. Why is that?’
‘The same reason we get cellulite and men don’t. And yes, she was a lucky woman,’ I said, ‘and she thought the world of him. They thought the world of each other.’
I said it firmly, almost to reinforce the fact in my own mind, and at the same time to sort of punish myself for still finding Paulo attractive. What was the point, after all? We hadn’t met for decades; life had moved on for both of us. I needed to remember that.
Susie gave a deep sigh.
‘Latin looks and his own luxury hotel? It’s like something out of a film. My life has been like something out of a film recently, but in my case it was Fatal Attraction . The last secret girlfriend actually stood outside my house crying, with a rock in her hand. And Simon told me she had a Fortnum and Mason hamper in the back of the car too. Which was very weird because it was half past three in the morning, so why would anyone need a Piccadilly Vegan Picnic for Two at that hour? And why did he feel the need to tell me anyway? Simon said she was confused and had got the wrong idea. He went out to talk to her and try and calm her down. Then he came in to get her a cup of tea. Can you believe it? And like a muppet I let him. Then all of a sudden I had a horrible Damascene vision of what the rest of my life with him was going to be like, so while he was out there I packed his bags and slung them out onto the pavement. Then I double-locked the front door. And I threw his Moroccan Neroli shaving oil out of the bathroom window and it smashed on the drive. The last I saw of him, he was getting into her car.’
I put an arm around Susie’s shoulders.
‘His loss,’ I said.
‘I was such a fool,’ Susie said, shaking her head so her hair fell over her face. ‘Never again. He tried to tell me she was just a friend going through a bad time, but then he kept on ringing me and texting me, trying to make it all my fault as usual, so I blocked his number on my phone and I haven’t heard from him for quite a while now. Perhaps he’s got the hint?’
‘No dating sites for you then?’
Susie rolled her eyes. ‘I am never going to talk to a man again. Unless I have to. And only in an emergency. Is Alex really still in your granny flat? I would have thought he would have moved out by now?’
I sighed. ‘He’s on the hunt for a place, now the divorce is almost finalised. Their house should be sold by the end of the month and then the financial settlement will come through. I don’t know what all the delays have been. It seems to have taken forever.’
‘Perhaps he’s too comfortable where he is?’ Susie said with a knowing look. ‘Did you ever get that wine stain out of the stair carpet? Now then, I’m going to freshen up and then change into something a bit more glamorous. Just in case I do meet Joan Collins or Johnny Depp in the bar. And don’t forget, Paulo has invited us to join him for drinks in the garden at six o’clock.’
Ah, yes. This was the time when we would chat and exchange pleasantries and not think about that time when we had been good friends. When we might have been more.
Back then, I had watched him and Ellen, their relationship growing stronger and more exclusive until it had been no real surprise when she had come in one day flashing an excited smile and a gigantic sapphire engagement ring that had apparently been a family heirloom.
We’d had a party that evening, and I had wrestled with being happy for them and despairing that my life would never be like that. I would always be making the wrong choices, allowing myself to be pushed around, and looking back, I’d been right.