I don’t have a chance to reply because the café owner’s chatting to her, asking her if she’s on holiday, andobviouslyEmma has a lot to say and I’m drawn into the conversation and soon we’re getting what does sound like very good advice on where we should visit in Florence, with a couple of genuinely funny tourist stories thrown in.
Emma insists on paying, because I paid for the garage work. I accept on condition that she allows me to buy her dinner this evening.
Oh, okay, there we are, it seems that I’m assuming that we’ll spend the evening together.
And, yes, of course we are.
I don’t want to leave her this evening. She’s just so bloody friendly. You don’t analyse stuff a lot when you’re young (and often drunk), but thinking back she was always like this. She just gets talking to people. Anyone. All the time. Most of the time they’re great people, because it’s like she has a natural instinct for niceness, but I’m still astonished that she hasn’t landed herself in trouble on this trip. And it would be ridiculous if, having come this far, something happened to her now, so I’d like to hang out with her in Florence, and stay in the same hotel. It isn’t like we’re going to be in each other’s lives in the future, obviously, but I have a kind of ‘not on my watch’ feeling. Shit, I hope I’m not being patronising. I mean, I wouldn’t ever say any of this out loud but I don’t even want tothinkpatronising things.
‘There’s really no need to buy me dinner,’ Emma says.
‘I’d like to.’ It’s easy to say it sincerely when it’s true.
We do the singalong thing again for the journey from Arezzo to Florence, and it is of course a lot of fun.
‘What hotel did you book in Florence?’ I suddenly remember to ask. ‘If they have a spare room, the easiest thing would obviously be for me to stay in the same place.’
‘I’m nottotallysure that you’d like it,’ Emma sings in place of the words to ‘Mamma Mia’.
‘Because?’ I ask (not singing).
‘I feel like you like fancy places.’ She’s still singing.
‘And that is because?’
Wow, I’m genuinely mildly offended. I never think of myself as thin-skinned. No one says the fancy-place thing as a compliment, though, and does Emma notknowme?
‘Well. The way you dress now.’ Emma’s stopped singing, obviously in response to the tone of my voice. ‘You were staying at one of the most famous hotels in Rome. You just seem… expensive.’
‘I…’ I stop for a moment to think. Idohave quite a fancy job, I suppose. A lot of people would find it boring (I’m a solicitor) but I do actually like it. It pays fairly well so I’m lucky enough to live in quite a nice flat. And when I go away for work I stay in nice hotels, because that’s what they book for me. And when I go on holiday I suppose I do stay in nice places because I work hard and I feel like I need a break.However, I don’thaveto stay in fancy places. I don’t always. I frown. When was the last time Ididn’tstay in a fancyish hotel on holiday? When was the last time I laughed as much as we did earlier when we were singing?
‘That’s just the clothes I’m wearing because I was here on a business trip,’ I say. ‘I’ll be happy in any hotel.’
‘You did love the monastery,’ Emma says, maybe regretting having said the expensive thing.
‘I actually genuinely did.’
‘Apart from the lack of sleep and the bathroom.’
‘Details,’ I say. ‘So what hotel are you staying in? I’ll call now and see if they have a spare room. And if they don’t, I’ll find one nearby.’
Did it sound ridiculous that I felt that I had to make it clear that I would under no circumstances suggest sharing a room again? I think it did. I can’t imagine Emma would offer. Florence is a city with plenty of rooms available, I’m sure, so there would be no need.
The hotel is a small one on the outskirts of Florence and they have two rooms spare. The woman I speak to tells me that one is their best room, with a large double bed and an en-suite, while the other is much smaller with a shared bathroom. Really hoping that Emma can’t hear that I am exactly proving her point, I go for the en-suite one.
I look at her out of the corner of my eye as I end the call. Yep, she heard. She isn’t hiding her smirk very well.
Then I book one of the restaurants the café owner recommended for us, overlooking one of the main squares.
When I’ve finished making my bookings, Emma says, speaking, not singing, ‘Sorry about the expensive comment. That didn’t sound very nice. And I’m sure it isn’t true. I mean, you can’t help where you work and where they book for you and the way you’re expected to dress. Sorry. Very rude and not even right.’
‘Yeah, no, don’t be silly. I mean, I’m sorry about…’ Well. I have a lot more than one ‘expensive’ comment to say sorry for, and I don’t think I ever can, but I don’t think either of us will ever want to go there. ‘I’m sorry about the ongoing flip-flop comments.’
‘If I’m honest I can slightly see where you’re coming from.’ She smiles at me while continuing to look ahead at the road and I’m suddenly reminded of the first time we met.
She took over from me in a summer job in a café and she smiled at me like that while our (very difficult) boss ranted at her. I think I fell in love with her at that moment. And then she resigned on the spot and we went and spent our entire day’s earnings on Cornish pasties and iced tea to celebrate and the rest is history.
I am not going to fall in love with her all over again. I’m a lot older now and very much wiser.
