Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
‘T hat’s not how I want it,’ Lulu complains. I’m almost sure she’s going to stomp her foot. ‘It’s just not right.’
We’re both staring at the hanging bunting, which looks a little sad and withered, the individual triangles curling on themselves. We are inside the old oil mill, which has been elaborately set up for Lulu’s dinner. Looking around I can tell Dad has spared no expense. There are tea light candles on top of tea light candles, and everything is lace and pink, with a soft pink runner lying down the middle of the long table, topped with large blush pink peonies held in intricate white vases, and looked over by ancient candelabras that had been shipped in from Rome – or so Lulu told me – along with some bird cages with real doves.
‘Hmm, well … I’m not sure what we can do? Blanket the sun? Put up blackout curtains?’ I was joking but Lulu stares at me as though it was an actual option, so I quickly add, ‘Kidding.’
Outside is hellishly hot already. The Tuscan sun is streaming down in yellow blazes across the terracotta rooftops, and standing outside feels like a blast furnace, or a hair dryer on high aimed at my face, it’s a sucking dry heat, making my skin feel zapped of moisture. The fountain outside gurgles, and the pool where half the wedding party are splashing around sounds like a party with a backing track of loud music and the delight of guests gorging morning mimosas. I imagine myself sliding into the cool water, lying on a lilo with a never-ending glass of bubbles, maybe even having a nap. My idea of heaven.
My stomach growls, bringing me out of my daydream. At breakfast, I’d only eaten one bite of a delicious brioche before she dragged me into the tea room, pointed at the ceiling and almost started howling. I was already zonked from being jetlagged, so it took me a while to figure out she meant the bunting.
‘Honestly, I don’t think anyone will notice,’ I say gently. ‘They’ll all be looking at how beautiful you are.’
‘Oh Gemma.’ Lulu turns to look at me, her eyes misting up. ‘Do you think so?’ She pauses. ‘Were you always so nice?’
There , bunting crisis averted . Was this a moment? I’m not sure because we’ve never been close and this feels strange. I give her a hopeful smile.
‘So, will you go and get more bunting from the store?’ Lulu is saying in her innocent voice, reaching into her bag and pulling out a piece of paper. ‘Here’s the address. And here are the keys to a rental. Chip organised it, just in case. He’s so thoughtful . I think it needs some petrol. Would you mind?’
I quickly realise we weren’t having a moment; this is just Lulu trying to get what she wants.
‘I don’t know how to drive in Italy,’ I say, staring at the keys in my hand. Don’t they drive on the other side here? And fast? The entire idea is farcical.
Lulu almost starts whimpering and I swallow back my uncertainty. ‘But I guess I could figure it out.’
‘Perfect!’ Lulu quicky smiles. ‘I knew you wouldn’t mind missing out on the silly girlie stuff like manis and pedis. You never liked that stuff anyway. You’d better get going.’ Lulu taps her rose-gold watch before waving for Chip, who seems to just be waiting in the hall ready to be called on, and they descend down the stairs, probably back to hell – their hot, burning home.
Honestly, I could do with someone tending to my nails, and massaging my calves – it sounds like bliss after thirty-something hours on a plane. Plus, I’m overdue for a buff and polish; after too many long nights at work my nails are sad and jagged. And how does she know what I like?
But maybe this was better. This way I can explore my Italy, my way. A little road trip down some cute Italian farm laneways. Maybe I could stop off and try some cheese? A little vino? Maybe I could meet a wonderful, delicious Italian man, who would happily take over as Adam, and Weasel could pack his bags, and leave Italy for good.
It isn’t like I imagined at all. Firstly, the little yellow car is about a quarter the size of a regular car. Literally, my push bike would have been bigger. I’m practically sitting in the back seat and on top of the steering wheel all at once. My knees are so cramped they hit the steering wheel, and I need to move them every time I turned the wheel, which was a lot. The streets here – if you can call them streets – are more like gravel pits with large potholes, and constantly winding. I have the perfect view, what you think of when you imagine quintessential Tuscany: undulating hills, groves of olive trees, and the tell-tale row of cypresses marking the road like a guide. I roll down the window and breathe in the heat, the dust, the scent of roses somewhere, soft and sweet. I can’t help but smile; Tuscany is for lovers. If only I was with Adam. If only we had a glass of Chianti, if only we could just park somewhere and sit under a tree, and listen to the cicadas pulse.
Within the next few minutes my mood dramatically changes. Squished into this car my back starts aching, and then my knees grind into my own bones . Everything hurts when you’re so low to the ground, you’re practically Fred Flintstone-ing it, and using your feet to move about.
Using my feet might have been quicker, because when Lulu said there was no petrol, she really wasn’t joking. About two kilometres down a very thin, curvy road, the car chugs a little, coughs and then dies. Panicked, I pull on the handbrake in the middle of the road. My fear is of rolling off the hill and into the valley below. I take a deep breath, and think, Well, Gemma, let’s get out of this situation and quickly , because if another car comes along I’m blocking most of the narrow road.
My phone, with zero signal, is of utterly no help. Time for old school. I get out the map shoved under the passenger seat, and unfold it along the bonnet of the car, trying to figure out where I am, and in which direction I should walk to get petrol. It’s extremely hot, and I can feel the sweat running off my face and making little pools of water under my arms and in my bra. Thankfully the map is in English, but I still can’t quite figure where I am.
A small car zips around the curve towards me, and breaks heavily. No, no, no. Shit.
The man at the wheel starts yelling at me. I have no idea what he’s saying, but I suppose he wants me to move.
‘ Signor. Ciao! Anglaise? ’ I ask him. ‘I’ve run out of petrol. Can you help me?’
‘ Non anglaise! ’ he yells and starts beeping his horn, which makes the old man from a nearby farm come out to watch what’s happening. I try to ask him too, but he just scoffs and tuts and makes a sound like ‘pfffft’ and continues to watch the irate man beep at me, which is making me hot and flustered.
The guy in the car just seems to like pressing the horn, which is making me feel like a nuisance, but there’s was nothing I can do. I decide that the car is small enough I can probably move it myself, so gingerly I take the handbrake off, and start to try and push it, but it won’t budge a bit. For a small car, it’s not light.
Now the guy is starting to yell some things which sound very much like, cazzo, and some other swear words, and I turn around to him, mortified, and yell out, ‘I’M REALLY SORRY.’ Which is probably the most English thing I’ve ever done because I really should have just told him to do one.
Thankfully, an old three-wheeled truck arrives a few minutes later, dusty and dirty from a nearby farm. When they speak English and have enough petrol to get me to the city, I feel indebted to them, and give them twenty euro, and almost kiss their dirty, sweaty cheeks. Thank goodness . I drive to the nearest petrol station and fill up again, just in case, and then take a breath as I hit the city traffic, my knuckles grabbing the wheel so hard they turn white. Please let me get through this, I pray.
By now, Lulu would have her creamy feet deep in warm suds, but I’m driving around and around a city, trying desperately to find a parking spot that isn’t fit just for an ant. Gosh, the way they park in Italy is crazy, literally on top of one another. And I don’t think I could do that without scraping either my car or someone else’s.
In the end, to be safe, I park at one end of the city and decide to walk the three kilometres to the bunting store marked on my map, which is closing in a few hours, of course, for siesta. Just in case, I jog to the store, enter sweaty and red-faced, grab the yellow bunting, pay an exorbitant price for those little lemon and white plastic triangles, and then trudge the three kilometres back to the car.
By midday I make it back to the hotel, sweaty, hot, exhausted and completely jet-lagged. My black skirt and white T-shirt have streaks of dirt on them from where I attempted to move that damn car. All I want is a hot shower and a quick lie down to decompress and to call Ruby and Adam. I really need to hear a comforting voice. I enter the hotel foyer, praying that no one I know sees me like this. I make it to the lift, where I’m gratefully thinking, Thank you, thank you, thank you, when the lift doors open and Lulu walks out, arm in arm with Weasel.
What are these two doing together? I think, Planning world domination?
‘Oh goodness, Gemma, what’s happened?’ Lulu looks shocked. ‘Have you been robbed?’
Weasel eyes me up and down and tries not to laugh.
‘The car didn’t have much petrol, so it broke down, I had to push it, and then find the bunting.’ I hold up the shopping bags in my hands, expecting Lulu to say a big thank you.
She peers into the bag. ‘No, this is the wrong yellow!’ she exclaims dismally. ‘This is sunshine yellow, and I wanted powdered yellow.’ Her bottom lip almost pouts.
‘This is the only yellow they had,’ I say apologetically.
‘I feel like I’m going to cry,’ she says pouting again and her bottom lip quivers. ‘It feels like this is a bad sign. It’s a curse. It means Chip and I, the wedding…’ Her entire face looks crushed. ‘Are we doomed?’
I can’t help it. As if I were on autopilot, I reach out to her and say, ‘It’s okay, Lulu,’ and before I know it Nelly Nicepants pops out, and I’m opening my mouth and saying, ‘Should I go back and see if they have powder yellow?’
And then Lulu is suddenly clapping her hands and smiling, ‘Oh would you? That would be darling. But please make sure you’re back and ready for the ladies’ afternoon tea. And remember, don’t wear yellow.’
I can feel Weasel’s eyes widen, his stupid little face, eyebrows so high they’re almost catching a ride on his perfect hairline. He stares incredulously at me, then Lulu, then back at me, and I catch the edge of a smirk playing on his lips. I want to bop him on the head and tell him to go away. This , I want to tell him, is what you do for family and friends. Yes, it’s tiring sometimes, but you support people, you help them, you make them feel better, and just hope one day they’ll do the same for you.
‘Right, well, I’d better be going,’ I say, trying to pep myself to take another step forward and not fall asleep right in the middle of the foyer.
‘Do you like my nails?’ She shoves a pink pearly nail in my face.
‘They’re lovely.’ I nod, and reach out for them, but she gives a little snort of disgust looking down at mine, which are covered in Tuscan dirt.
‘You really should shower.’
‘I’d love to,’ I say wryly, thinking that’s exactly what I would be doing if I wasn’t bunting hunting.
‘Oh and this guy is delightful, Gemma,’ Lulu calls out to me as I trudge back towards that little shit of a car, nodding at Weasel. ‘Wherever did you find him?’
‘In a dumpster,’ I mutter.
As I left, I hear Lulu twitter, and say to Weasel, ‘How strange she is sometimes.’