The hat immediately gets knocked off her head as the very wide brim catches on the doorway when she gets out.
I nod gravely. ‘Practical.’
‘Shut up.’ She grins at me. God, I ampathetic. Every single time she smiles at me my heart lurches.
‘So what’s your usual art gallery policy?’ Emma asks as we stroll along the Via de’ Guicciardini. ‘Ages absorbing one amazingpicture and a few others by that artist or zip round the whole place saying “Lovely” a lot, or somewhere in between?’
‘Erm.’ I can’t really remember the last time I went to a gallery for pure pleasure. In my defence, I do have a very busy life. ‘I think… somewhere in between.However, if you’re keen to go for History-of-Art-degree-level knowledge I’m with you. And if you’d rather sprint round for a two-second nod at every single painting, I’m also with you.’
I’d be with her anywhere.
‘There’s one painting I’d really like to see,The Birth of Venusby Botticelli. And his other works. And then I’d like to zip. How’s that?’
‘Well, that sounds perfect.’
And we share another very soppy grin.
What. Am. I. Doing?
We do of course have a great time. Within twenty minutes of being in there, I’m immersed in the ‘I adore art’ feeling that you get in those places if you’re with someone whose company you enjoy and who’s also enjoying it, and am genuinely feeling culturally enriched.
We spend a long time in there, and it’s only when we finally leave, arguing about whetherThe Birth of Venusor Botticelli’sPrimaverais better in our opinion, that I remember that this is eating into our travel time.
And I really don’t care about the time. I’m just enjoying myself.
‘You’re wrong,’ Emma concludes our argument.
‘Always,’ I say, rolling my eyes but smiling. ‘Wow.’ We’re both blinking. ‘That sun is bright. And hot.’
Emma slaps her hat on her head. ‘Should we go and find some department store aircon?’
She’s anexcellentshopper. Very decisive and very opinionated. I come away with slightly more clothing than I had expected to buy and it’s all slightly more daring than I had expected it would be.
Crossing back over the Ponte Vecchio on our way to the restaurant Tripadvisor recommended to me for lunch (I persuaded Emma to let me take her somewhere nice on the grounds that dinner might well be at a service station), we pass a street vendor selling novelty socks.
‘Oh my goodness.’ Emma pulls me into the kiosk. ‘Ilovethese ones.’ They are literally a picture of a bridge on a sock. The bridge is bright blue and the background is bright, bright pink. They are one of the most tasteless items of clothing I’ve ever seen. ‘Let me buy them for you. You can’t have too many socks. What if we get delayed again?’
‘Thank you. I think you’re right.’ They’re a complete eyesore; I already know that they’re going to be my favourite socks forever more.
‘Will you be wearing them to your next important work meeting?’ she checks.
‘Certainly.’
Lunch is of course perfect.
Driving from Florence with a stop at a service station that is definitely not the nicest I’ve ever visited is perfect.
Doing a whistle-stop early evening tour of a couple of the Cinque Terre villages is perfect.
Arriving at the campsite Emma’s booked for the night is perfect. And that’s saying a lot, because we have a static caravan each and they make the service station we stopped in for stale paninis and limp salad before using the very smelly toilets seem pretty upmarket by comparison.
And taking a moonlit stroll along the beach with Emma is… perfect.
We haven’t held hands all day. We’ve bumped arms more than we should have done as we’ve walked. We’ve brushed fingers as we’ve shared food. We’ve nudged shoulders when sitting next to each other bantering.
I’ve been rubbish if I’m honest. I’m supposed to be making it very clear that nothing else is going to happen between us.
But to be fair to me it’s all been quite under-the-radar-y and it could kind of pass for close friendship, plus it’sreallyhard to have that conversation with someone you’re going to be sitting in a van with for the next few days. And it’s very, very hard to resist the temptation of enjoying these stolen moments with Emma.
