‘I’ll have you know that I took A level geography,’ I inform him. ‘I know mountains.’
(I know four mountains.)
‘What else did you study in school?’ he asks.
‘As well as geography I took maths, English, drama, biology. All grade As.’
‘Good to know,’ he replies. ‘Did you get extra credits for being a smart-arse?’
‘Signore e signori, from your information pack, you will see that there is a lot to discover in the city. We have a tour with an archaeologist scheduled but for those who wish to be alone, please return to the coach no later than three p.m. If you are late, we will leave without you and so will the ship. Then you live in Italy forever.’
There are giggles as half of the group scramble to go their own way, while the other half, mainly older passengers, stick with Camilla. We choose to leave with the former.
‘Anywhere you want to go first?’ I ask, opening the map. ‘Holy shit, this place is huge.’
Ellis shields his eyes from the sun with his own map. ‘I say we just start walking. I doubt we’ll see everything, you’d need about a week in here.’
We visit the brothels first. Fascinating. Tiny rooms, almost cell-like, stone beds, iron bars on the minuscule windows and erotica painted on the walls. I stare at them closely, tilting my head left and right to observe the parts that aren’t entirely clear on first inspection.
‘You know how every generation thinks they invented sex?’
He steps beside me, his head tilting to match mine. ‘Yeah.’
‘I think these guys might have actually invented sex.’
As we walk around the uneven stone streets, the past is still very much present. From the architecture and archaeological findings to the smell and the sobering sight of the casts made from the unearthed bodies. Men, women, children and animals, their last moments on earth preserved under layers of ash. After almost two thousand years, their story lives on.
‘It’s surreal to think that in two thousand years, people might be looking at our bodies and commenting on how primitive our lives were,’ I say, swigging from my almost empty water bottle.
‘If a volcanic ash cloud suffocated London, we’d all be discovered holding our phones,’ he replies. ‘Half tweeting about it, the other half recording it.’
I laugh. ‘It’s called X now.’
He tuts. ‘Elon’s not the boss of me.’
By the time we get to our last area, the amphitheatre, I feel like I’m going to melt. There are hardly any shaded areas so even my sun hat feels like it might disintegrate. I take my sun cream from my bag and begin to reapply.
‘I noticed you were going pink,’ Ellis comments as I rub the cream vigorously into my arms. ‘Watch you don’t burn.’
‘I’m either going to dissolve or tan for the first time in my life,’ I reply. ‘Probably the former. You want some?’
‘Thanks,’ he replies. ‘I can feel my nose peeling as we speak. No one needs to be subjected to that.’
The grey-bricked amphitheatre is quite imposing from the outside, and gloomy as you walk through the tunnel to reach the middle where it suddenly opens, becoming a bright, open-air arena.
‘You can practically smell the gladiatorial battles here,’ I say, feeling very small as I stand in the middle.
‘That might be me,’ he replies. ‘I’m a big guy. We sweat.’
I laugh. ‘Can you imagine what went on here? It must have been brutal.’
‘Yeah. They hold concerts here now, don’t they? I’m sure Pink Floyd played here.’
‘Fucking Pink Floyd,’ I mutter.
‘Not a fan?’
‘Sorry, an old boyfriend worshipped them. Our musical tastes weren’t exactly aligned.’
