Chapter 38
“What do you think, gang?”
We’ve just entered Pisa’s Piazza dei Miracoli and are standing with the Cathedral and Baptistry on our left, the Leaning Tower directly ahead.
All the buildings are constructed from the same white marble; every inch of the lawn around them is almost impossibly green, the expanse of sky above uniformly blue.
Together, the three elements form a spectacular sight.
But the center of attention, drawing crowds of tourists from every direction, is undoubtedly the Tower.
And it may be smaller than I expected, but it’s much prettier and its lean more pronounced.
“Oh my god,” says Mabel. “How does it not fall down?”
“I know,” coos Callum. “It’s sick.”
“So you’re glad you came?” Theo teases him.
Callum smiles. “Yeah, I’m glad I came.”
Initially, Callum had resisted the idea of spending the day sightseeing, possibly because last night’s date with Lina went well and he wanted to see her again.
But Giuseppe and the builders told us they’d be fitting the new lights and plug sockets and would need to switch off the electricity.
Theo suggested leaving the house and had the idea of visiting Pisa, as it’s the only city in the area we haven’t seen—and went online to book us tickets for the Leaning Tower.
Walking towards it, we have to weave in and out of tourists chattering away in countless languages, some of them holding up umbrellas to shield their faces from the sun.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen so many people packed so tightly together, and everyone seems so loud, with little awareness of the others around them. I take hold of Archie’s hand.
“Let’s stick together,” I say. “Callum, Mabel, stay close to your dad.”
All along the edge of the lawn, tourists are pointing phones and directing friends and family members to interact with the Tower so they can take pictures of them pretending to prop it up, or licking it like an ice cream.
“Can we stop for a minute?” asks Mabel. “I want to take some pics.”
“We should probably go inside first,” answers Theo. “Our slot’s in ten minutes. But don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time to do that later.”
As we get closer, I notice a group of young men sitting on a section of the marble walkway that curves around the cathedral, so that the Tower rises up like a hard penis between their legs.
I remember my sisters joking about Dom’s Leaning Tower and think that if they were here, that’s exactly what they’d be doing.
Although I miss them, it no longer makes my insides drag.
In any case, now isn’t the time for grown-up humor: today is about the kids. I gesture to the Tower, before any of them spot the men and their penis.
“Get a load of it in close-up,” I say. “It’s even more amazing.”
“But why does it lean?” asks Archie, tilting back so he can take in the length of it.
“I think it’s a mistake, squirt,” Theo responds, lifting off his Panama and wiping the sweat from his brow. “I read somewhere it was built on soft ground that couldn’t take the weight of the marble.”
“So it happened naturally?” asks Mabel.
“I think so,” says Theo, putting his hat back on.
“Then how can it be a mistake?” Mabel counters.
Theo cocks his head. “Good point.”
“And it’s proper famous,” adds Callum. “If it was straight, nobody would bother coming to see it.”
“So maybe it isn’t a mistake,” I suggest. “More a happy accident.”
Everyone nods, satisfied with that assessment.
“What do you think?” says Theo. “Shall we go in?”
On the way back, we call at Viareggio. Theo had the idea of playing a game of football on the beach—mainly to persuade Callum to come on board for the sightseeing—and packed a ball, beach towels and bags for life to use as goal posts.
“It’s alright,” he says to me, “you just sit at the side and enjoy the sun. Nobody expects you to play.”
A few days ago, I told Theo how I feel about football. He was understanding and apologized for trying to persuade me to play on the pitch in Camaiore. I’ve no idea what he’s told the kids, but this time I don’t feel any sense of dread.
As it’s nearly five o’clock, most people who’ve spent the day on the beach are leaving and we’re able to park the car in one of the side streets just off the front.
We find a stretch of sand, Theo sets up the pitch and I make sure everyone’s wearing suncream—especially Callum, who’s stripped off his shirt.
I can’t help noticing that the exercise program Dom gave him has started to pay off, and he’s filled out ever so slightly—and this has made a big difference to the way he holds himself.
I take the bag, spread out my towel and sit down. But as the kids start discussing teams, I’m surprised to find myself wishing I could join in.
Callum runs over and rummages in the bag for a drink of water. “You know if you change your mind, we’d love you to play,” he says. He quickly adds, “But no pressure.”
I crinkle my nose. “Thanks, but I’m really crap.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he says, snapping the lid shut on his water bottle, “I’m sick. So if you come on my team, we’ll balance each other out.” He smiles at me—a wide, uninhibited smile that reveals his braces. And I’m not sure I can resist.
“Go on, then.”
I haul myself onto my feet and Callum punches his fist in the air. “Guess what, everyone? Adam’s playing!”
The other three cheer loudly and I can’t stop a grin spreading across my face. Not for a moment does it occur to me to think back to my schooldays.
“It’s me and Adam V,” Callum announces. “And we’re going to proper batter you!”
“Alright, steady on,” I joke. “Don’t oversell us.”
“Don’t worry,” chips in Mabel. “I’m not that good but I never let it stop me.”
“What’s important is we all have a good time,” Theo says, smiling. “Ads, I’m over the moon you’re playing.”
And there he is—my dad.
But the vision isn’t given time to linger.
“Give me five,” says Archie. He’s holding up his arm and I oblige. “I promise I won’t tackle you,” he says. “But only for the first five minutes.”
I chuckle. “Thanks!”
As the sun’s low in the sky, we all put on our sunglasses, except Archie, who takes off his green glasses and straps on his sports goggles.
As they don’t give him any protection against the sun, we decide his team should play with their backs to it, driving the ball in the opposite direction.
We run and kick around a bit to warm up but I’m holding onto some tension.
Once I’ve hit the ball a few times, I can feel myself relaxing.
“OK, gang,” says Theo. “Shall we kick off?”
Callum quickly takes me to one side to discuss strategy, suggesting that, while we both attack and defend, he should concentrate on driving the ball forward, while I’m the default player to cover goal. I agree but feel a twinge of trepidation.
Like Mabel says, I won’t be stopped by self-doubt.
“Right,” says Theo, “game on!”
He tosses the ball in the air and, before I know it, I’m running up and down the rectangle of sand.
My heart rate rises and the blood starts pumping.
By the time I’ve managed to hit a couple of half-decent crosses to Callum—and even scored my first goal—I’m actually enjoying myself.
Before long, I’ve forgotten I’m a rubbish player—and nobody else seems to notice.
Giggles are released, cheers greet each goal, and the adrenaline surges.
A few hours ago, I’d thought the highlight of our day would be the breathtaking views from the top of the Leaning Tower, but this game of football beats it—easily.
I watch Archie throwing himself around the pitch, crashing into the sand but bouncing straight up again.
Mabel is more authoritative than usual, calling out orders to her dad and brother—and, as she springs around, she doesn’t seem remotely conscious of her boobs.
And I love seeing Callum looking so confident.
When he pulls off a particularly skillful move and his dad compliments him, his face beams with pride. Theo, meanwhile, doesn’t stop beaming.
Once again, I’m back on that holiday with Dad, Debbie and my stepbrothers in northern France.
But this time it doesn’t fill me with negative emotions.
It makes me realize that what I’m feeling with Theo and the kids is probably what Dad was trying to instigate: maybe he knew that if I could just get stuck in, it wouldn’t matter how bad I was and I’d feel like I belonged.
Or maybe he was just in love with Debbie and desperate for his and her sons to bond, the only way he knew how.
After all, he must have been devastated when Mum died.
He probably just wanted to be happy. And didn’t he deserve that?
As the sun slips lower in the sky, I remember something Dad used to say to Mum and me: “Come on, the sun’s at half-mast. You’d better hurry up or you’ll miss it.”
Although he didn’t sit with us to watch the sunset, he’d often be the one to tell us it was about to happen. I wonder if he was ever upset that we didn’t ask him to join us. I wonder if he ever felt excluded.
To my shock, I find myself thinking that I will get in touch with him. Theo’s right: there’s no better time than when I’m relaxed and happy.
But I need to read Julie’s email first. She promised she’d send it soon.
The ball comes hurtling towards me and I remember what I’m doing. I strike out to kick it, propelling it into the air and towards the opposition’s goal.