Page 3 of The Cloud Catcher

‘I’m sure my future husband is looking for me too, Mrs Cabinari.’ Zara smiled from her romantic, loving heart then turned and glided through the cabin.

‘Would you like some more coffee?’ she asked a young couple, who were eagerly conversing in a blend of French and Spanish, their hands interlaced atop a well-worn travel guide.

‘No, gracias, we’re simply too excited to see Amalfi to have any more caffeine,’ the man explained with a grin, his wide-eyed gaze alight with dreams yet to unfold.

‘Ah, the beauty of Amalfi will stay with you forever,’ Zara assured them, her voice filled with a gentle sense of knowing. ‘And make sure you try and see Venice, too, if you have the time, it’s absolutely stunning.’

‘Oui,’ the woman with heavily accented French exclaimed. ‘It’s on our list.’

‘Perfect,’ Zara replied with a smile.

As the plane banked gently, revealing the craggy coastline below, Zara’s own anticipation swelled within her chest. Another stopover, another adventure — each landing a gateway to the big wide wonderful world. As a young girl, and especially through the years spent in one foster home after another, she’d never have believed her wish to become an air hostess would be fulfilled, but yet here she was, kicking goals.

‘Excited about this layover?’ whispered a voice. Suzanne, Zara’s colleague, best friend and keeper of secrets, was also peering out the window at the rapidly approaching landscape.

‘Always,’ Zara replied, her smile unwavering. ‘Each place has its own magic, its own love story to tell, don’t you think?’

‘Hmm, I’m not too sure about that.’ Suzanne nudged her friend gently. ‘Only you, my darling friend, would find romance in every corner of the earth,’ she teased, shaking her head affectionately.

‘Perhaps,’ Zara mused playfully, her laughter blending seamlessly with the hum of the turbo engines. ‘But isn’t that what life is for, Miss Jenkins? To seek, to find, and to cherish every drop of wonder this world has to offer?’

‘Oh, how I love your glorious spirit, my daydreaming forever friend.’ Suzanne’s smile made her bright green eyes squint, then she paused when the pilot announced they were almost there. ‘We better get this plane ready for landing, Zaza,’ she said, quietly.

With a nod, Zara continued her graceful movements through the aisles, her interactions with the passengers buoying her already soaring heart higher still. Each shared word, each smile, was a vow to never let go of the thrill that came with chasing horizons. Once she was satisfied that all passengers were safe and ready to land, she took her seat beside Suzanne and both women buckled up. It wasn’t long before the wheels of the aircraft gently kissed the Italian tarmac and, with a slight jolt, her heart leapt in unison. For her, every landing was an opportunity to embrace destiny, and every destination a love letter crafted by the world. She’d long been a drifter, a soul searching for her roots, and right now she relished that search as she pressed her forehead against the cool window, her eyes feasting on the undulating terrain of the Amalfi Coast lit by mid-morning sunshine. The shoreline was a sight to behold, with homes perched precariously on cliffs like barnacles clinging to a whale’s majestic body. The Mediterranean Sea glistened, its surface a sheet of shimmering blue satin, rippling beneath the sun’s warm, golden fingers.

‘Che spettacolo,’ she whispered to herself, her words a gentle caress to the beauty unfolding before her. This land, this life, her free spirit revelled in it all.

The commotion of disembarking was merely background noise as she waited until every passenger had alighted then, alongside Suzanne, she finally made the familiar trek, stepping out of the airport and onto Mediterranean soil. They were out of the airport in a jiffy, and into a lengthy, hazardous taxi ride with an impassioned driver who cursed every car and person within five feet of his car, and then they were finally in the hearty hub of Italian life with their hearts beating fast. Stepping out and onto the bustling street around the corner from their hotel, Zara felt her senses becoming intoxicated by the symphony of sights and sounds as the Amalfi Coast welcomed her with open arms. Couples strolled hand in hand, their laughter blending with the call of seabirds soaring above. Sharply dressed waiters weaved between tables, expertly balancing plates of frutti di mare and seafood pasta. Gelato vendors deftly scooped cold, creamy dreams into cups and cones while vino flowed like rivers of ruby and gold.

Hooking her arm into Zara’s, Suzanne snapped her from her reveries. ‘Come on, Zaza, after flying for forever, I need a hot shower like the desert needs the rain.’

‘Me too,’ Zara agreed.

Striding into the lobby, they headed to the counter and after a quick conversation, grabbed their room keys. ‘I’ll catch you a bit later on, for an Italian feast fit for Romeo and Juliet,’ Suzanne said while stifling a yawn. ‘After a freshen-up, that is, because I seriously need some shut-eye before I can tackle la dolce vita.’

‘Sounds like a plan, lovely,’ Zara replied as they stepped out of the lift. ‘As for me, though, I’m too excited to sleep, so after a shower I’ll go for a wander and come back here to grab you for dinner.’

‘Wow, you’re a powerhouse, I honestly don’t know where you get your oomph from.’ Clutching the handle of her carry-on bag, Suzanne turned in the opposite direction. ‘How about we go to our usual trattoria, down by the sea,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘So we can perve on the handsome waiters again.’

‘Perfect,’ Zara called back with a giggle. ‘Sweet dreams.’

Later that afternoon, after freshening up and donning her long flowy yellow dress and sandals, Zara welcomed the dolce vita as she moved through the bustling crowds. Her heart beat in time with the rhythm of melodic chatter, the clip-clop of shoes on cobblestones, and the harmonious buzz of Italian life. With a pistachio and white chocolate gelato in hand, she slowly wandered the streets in awe, taking in every single detail and storing it away as a keepsake for later in life. She knew all too well how quickly things could change, without a hint of warning, so she never wanted to become complacent and take things for granted. Living in the moment was her mantra, her motto, her everyday objective. And so far, so good.

After turning a little corner and heading down a pedestrian-only path, she noticed, amid the kaleidoscope of colours and scents, a charming ceramics shop. Pausing, she gazed through the windows at shelves brimming with artisanal treasures in every hue, feeling a peculiar pull to step inside. She usually only window-shopped — her nomadic lifestyle didn’t allow for many material things — but this time she simply couldn’t walk on by. After finishing the last of her delicious treat, she stepped through the doors, drawn like a bee to honey by the pretty, painted porcelain. Her fingertips roamed over the delicate glazes and intricate forms as she lost herself in the world of exquisite creativity. But just as she reached for a piece that had caught her eye, feeling a sudden need to take it home with her, an accidental nudge with her elbow knocked it off its perch. She watched as the plate flipped through the air in what felt like slow motion then shattered on impact, breaking her wide-eyed spell.

She gasped. ‘Mi dispiace tanto!’ Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she dropped to her knees and carefully tried to gather the broken pieces.

‘Please, allow me.’ The voice that spoke was deeply warm and filled with kindness.

When she looked up from the floor and into eyes that reflected the depth of the blue sea outside, time seemed to stand still.

‘Really, I can …’ Zara began, but the impossibly handsome man raised a hand while a charismatic smile played on his lips.

‘Consider it a sign of serendipity,’ he insisted, his charm wrapping around her like a cosy shawl as he knelt from his towering height to gather the shards of broken pottery. ‘Here, let me help you.’ His big, strong hands were careful and precise as he picked the shards up, as if piecing together not just fragments of porcelain but moments of fate.

‘Serendipity?’ Zara laughed lightly at his use of one of her favourite words, feeling oddly unburdened and at ease in his presence. ‘I suppose we could call it that, if you insist.’

‘Oh, I insist,’ he replied affirmingly, meeting her gaze almost protectively. ‘Because now I’ve met you, it feels like a very fitting word.’