‘That’s it, I’m never playing with you again,’ Anna said, ‘not for money anyway.’
We got off the train in Milan, in a vast, arched building which echoed with the sounds of people, trains coming and going, and a couple of dogs barking.
‘We have just under an hour before our train leaves,’ Harriet said, now fully back in charge and much refreshed by her sleep. ‘Let’s have a look around. There is supposed to be a lot to see here.’
There certainly was. It was a huge place, like nothing I had ever seen before, and certainly not in a railway station. It was like a compact, very clean town.
It was far more like the sort of station I had imagined when we got to the south of France. There were high marble columns, impossibly lofty ceilings and wide staircases. Beautiful painted frescoes, long, sloping travelators and even some designer shops. There were cafés and restaurants, fast food places and street food trucks.
There was free Wi-Fi, huge advertising hoardings for designer clothes stretching up into the roof, plenty of places to sit down and a very impressive food court filled with local produce. There were lots of information boards, for trains going to Bologna, Turin, Livorno, Geneva and all sorts of other fabulous-sounding places.
At last, we agreed on a café and sat down to enjoy a glass of wine. And for a moment I wondered where Jack was. If he was going to Venice too he must be around somewhere, but there were so many people wandering about, standing looking up at information boards and rushing to catch their trains, that he would be impossible to find.
Still, in a way it was nice to know that he was here too. Perhaps he was taking pictures or making notes. Working on his next bit of reporting. Perhaps he had a different take on this sort of journey if he had to write sensibly about it and not just meander about as we had, reading menus and gossiping.
He would have to report back on the efficiency of the booking system, train seats and cleanliness, information boards, loos and ticket machines, the sort of mundane things that most people took for granted but which could ruin a journey if things went wrong.
I felt a sudden rush of respect and affection for Harriet, dealing with all the finer points of our trip so successfully. It must have been a difficult and time-consuming thing to accomplish.
We spent a few minutes sending emails and photographs to our families while we enjoyed a very nice glass of cold white soave wine which the charming waiter assured us was locally produced.
For a few minutes, holiday food brain almost kicked in, and we hesitated about having something to eat, but then I pointed out that we had done nothing but eat snack foods ever since we woke up this morning – I had incipient heartburn to prove it – and as we would undoubtedly be getting a meal that evening when we the boarded the boat, perhaps we should show a bit of restraint.
Yet another text from Ben arrived. This was the most he had messaged me in years.
Ben
I took the kittens to see Jenna again this morning. I left Mrs Fluffy at home eating tinned tuna – I found some in the cupboard. Jenna thinks Darth is much better already. She said they are probably about 8 weeks old and very healthy but I should take them back tomorrow for another appointment so she can give them their injections. And check a few things out. I’m not sure what.
Me
That’s going to cost a fortune.
Ben
She didn’t say.
What was going on there? Since when did a vet do that sort of thing and not charge anything? Or was I going to be presented with a massive bill when I got home? I decided to clarify the matter.
Me
Well brace yourself!
Ben
It’s fine Mum.
This was accompanied by a picture of Ben with the kittens sitting in my sitting room, on my sofa on one of my cardigans, and after a moment I wondered exactly who had taken the picture in the first place.
Then I explained to the others what had been going on and showed them the picture.
They both cooed and agreed the kittens were absolutely gorgeous.
‘And your son is a nice-looking chap, isn’t he?’ Anna said. ‘It’s funny, I’ve seen a lot of things on social media of men with their cats recently, and without exception they are all handsome and charming. Do attractive men like cats or does liking them make them more good-looking?’
‘It’s more likely that mostly good-looking men go on social media. I suppose when I get home I will have to take them to the cat rescue place,’ I said, feeling rather troubled, ‘Ben is getting far too attached to them. But then I like cats, and I’ve been thinking about getting one for a while. I don’t know what’s the right thing to do. What do you think?’
‘Oh, come on, you always were so sensible,’ Anna said, ‘you always made the right decisions.’
