‘Right. Good.’ Callum pulls his phone out.
‘Wow,’ he says when he gets off the line. ‘The price.’
‘Eek. What?’ I’m imagining thousands and thousands. And I’ll be honour-bound to pay half and be bankrupted but at least we’ll have a lovely bathroom and Callum will hopefully have a lovely sofa to sleep on.
‘Twenty-two euros,’ he says.
‘Oh wow.’ My not-that-nice hotel in Rome was nearly eighty euros a night and we aren’t that far outside the city. ‘Well, on the upside I don’t feel guilty any more that you’re paying.’
By unspoken agreement we take it in turns to get our overnight bags out of the van. I don’t want to get mine at the same time that Callum gets his, because I don’t want to inadvertently touch him, and from the wide berth he’s giving me I’m guessing that he feels the same way.
‘Should you lock the van?’ Callum asks when we’re at the edge of the clearing with our bags.
‘I was just about to,’ I lie, and then go back and do it. It’s hard to remember everything when your whole day’s gone so spectacularly tits up.
And then I go back to the edge of the clearing and take the handle of my wheelie bag and we stride out into the driving rain to begin the utter farce that is a three-mile walk towards one very, very cheap hotel room to be shared with the ex love of your life.
5
CALLUM
The great news about the way the heavens are emptying their guts onto us is that the crashingly loud rain prevents us from hearing each other speak, so we just can’t talk.
As I take the occasional glance at Emma squelching along next to me, I can’t decide how I feel. Angry? Nostalgic? Bereft all over again? Impressed that Emma had an umbrella and has managed to keep it from blowing inside out the whole time and that her flip-flops are clearly in fact the right footwear for this because it’s like we’re wading through a stream?
I do know that I’m incredulous. As in, how can we – I – possibly be in this ridiculous situation?
Emma stops and says something that I can’t hear, and then points left down an even smaller lane than the one we’re on. She’s been guiding us the whole way via Google Maps from under her umbrella and I just have to hope that she’s good with directions. I try to remember whether or not she used to be when we were together and realise that I just don’t know; we didn’t really do a lot of wholesome activities like country hiking.
After a few more turns it becomes apparent that Emma can indeed read a map on her phone correctly, because we’re standing outside the hotel.
We follow signs to the reception through an archway into a courtyard with a sheltered passageway all round the outside.
‘This is like cloisters when you visit an abbey or cathedral,’ Emma says.
‘I think thisisan old abbey.’ I point to all the intricate stone carvings on the pillars around us, and the church-like building opposite.
We come to the reception and I say, ‘Maybe I should wait out here.’ I can’t politely go inside anywhere when I’m as wet as this.
Emma looks at me and clamps her lips hard together as though she’s trying not to laugh, and then after a couple of moments says, ‘Yes, maybe that’s best.’ She definitely laughs as she goes inside without me, and fair enough.
The door to the reception is a huge, ancient-looking, solid oak one, but I can just about see her through a little window to the side, and she’s doing a lot of gesticulating and nodding. She checks something on her phone and my own phone vibrates very shortly afterwards.
I extract it with difficulty from my sodden pocket and discover that Emma has sent me a message. It says:
FYI: I had to say we’re married. Don’t think sleeping in the communal area is a goer.
I’m about to reply with a lot of question marks when the door opens and Emma emerges, followed by a monk.
‘Hello… darling.’ Emma does some absolutely ridiculous grimacing and eye-rolling at me with her back to the monk. ‘This is actually a monastery and the very kind monks very kindlyallow guests to stay in some of their rooms, the last one of which you booked, and this lovely man, Father Davide, speaks English.’
‘Please don’t worry about dripping on the floors; they are all stone. We are delighted to welcome you,’ Father Davide tells us in excellent English as we walk along the far side of the cloisters from where we arrived. ‘I hope you’re enjoying your honeymoon.’
Honeymoon? I look at Emma.
‘Yes, we are,’ she says. ‘I was just explaining to Father Davide, darling, that the reason I don’t have a wedding ring is that it didn’t actually fit very well because you got it as a surprise for our wedding and it’s at the jeweller’s being resized but I’ll be wearing it every day as soon as we get back to London.’
‘Exactly,’ I confirm politely, giving her as much side-eye as I can without Father Davide seeing. Presumably he said he could only host a married couple in the same bedroom, but even so.
