According to the excursion information provided, this trip requires a large amount of walking and some uneven surfaces. Pfft, I thought, I live in London. I’m an expert at walking and I have Fitbit badges to prove it. As for uneven surfaces, there isn’t a pothole or wonky pavement that I haven’t battled and conquered.
I shouldn’t have been so cocky.
‘Good Lord,’ I mumble as both Ellis and I stop in our tracks. ‘Do they hand out water and orange slices halfway?’
He sighs. ‘Maybe this is why I haven’t visited before.’
There’s a restaurant overlooking the entrance, which seems to be packed and I assume always is. Walking up and down those stairs requires water, sustenance and a medal. The aroma follows me, and I’m almost tempted just to ditch the cathedral tour and launch myself face first into a plate of frutti di mare linguine for breakfast.
As we climb up to begin our one-hour tour, I notice several people sitting on the steps. I’m not sure if they’re just taking in the scenery or they’re about to go into cardiac arrest. Some are redder and sweatier than others. I’m heartened to know that passing out is an option on the way back down.
We reach the huge bronze doors, where Camilla stops us. ‘For centuries, the Duomo has been very important to the people of Amalfi. These doors were cast in Constantinople, now Istanbul, and date from around the eleventh century. If you look, you’ll see four figures: Christ, Virgin Mary, Sant’Andrea and San Pietro.’
Inside the cathedral, it’s hard not to just stop and gawp. I feel so small. I’m not religious but I can appreciate how humbling and awe-inspiring a building like this can make you feel. Ellis and I explore the cloister gardens, set between white Arabic columns, the grand chapels and the crypt, which is majestic and nothing like theHammer House of Horrorset-up I’d expected. When it’s time to leave, I feel like I could easily have spent the whole day here.
‘One-hour, ladies and gentlemen,’ Camilla reminds us when we meet outside. ‘Then we meet back at the coach for Pompeii.’
‘I need a drink,’ Ellis says as we trudge back down the stairs. ‘And some oxygen. Maybe a quick bite to eat. Fancy it?’
‘Absolutely,’ I reply. ‘I could eat. Also, I heard somewhere that they make limoncello here.’
Chapter 32
We mosey on over to the bistro, which is jam-packed with tourists who don’t look like they’re in any hurry to leave. I surreptitiously inspect the dishes being eaten at nearby tables. I try to avoid interrupting people’s meals to ask what they’re having, is it delicious, and can I have some.
‘Let me check what the wait time is,’ Ellis suggests, before darting off inside. I take out my camera, determined to capture some memories that don’t just centre around the beach. I want to prove to Naomi that I’m capable of doing more than slothing around, even though I feel that slothing around is highly underrated.
As I turn to snap my third photo of the cathedral, I hear a high-pitched laugh which cuts through the hum of the surrounding chatter. It stops me in my tracks. I recognise that laugh. How could I not? It’s been ringing in my ears for the past forty-five years. My head spins around so fast, I almost get whiplash and see the back of a very blonde head.
I almost rub my eyes in disbelief, like a cartoon character. It can’t be. Surely not?
She laughs again. It absolutely is. How can this be happening? I’m a thousand miles from Whitby. I slowly walk towards her, hoping that I just have sunstroke and I’m imaging the whole thing.
‘Mum?’
Her head turns and her jaw drops. She’s just as surprised as I am. If she didn’t have such a claw-like grip on her wine glass, she might have spilled it.
‘Soapy?’ Her eyes widen but then immediately narrow. ‘I can’t believe it. What are you doing here?’
‘Me?’ I exclaim. ‘What areyoudoing here?’ She’s wearing a white summer dress, with a poppy print shawl around her shoulders. She looks beautiful.
‘We’re on holiday!’ she replies. ‘Remember, the cruise I told you about? This is our last day, we fly back tomorrow.’
The man beside her puts down his drink, his eyes darting between us, waiting for an introduction. He looks like the photo I found on Facebook. At least that’s a start.
‘Paul. This is my Sophie!’
‘You’re kidding!’ he replies. ‘What a wonderful surprise! Please, sit with us!’
Still stunned, I pull a chair over from the opposite table, not checking whether it belongs to anyone. Right now my need to sit is more important.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Paul says, gesturing to the waiter for another glass. ‘Good to finally put a face to the name. Are you on holiday too?’
‘I am,’ I reply. ‘I’m—’
‘You never said you were going on holiday.’ Mum looks at me with a hint of scepticism, like I’d purposefully not revealed my plans. The whole thing was so impulsive, it never crossed my mind to tell her. ‘You’re not here to keep an eye on me, are you?’
She gives Paul a little nudge. ‘She’s very suspicious of your name, you know.’
