Page 22 of Escape to Tuscany


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I put my phone face down and concentrate determinedly on my laptop. I can’t bear to look at the street – the idea of seeing him, of watching him walk towards me, is excruciating for reasons I don’t really understand and definitely, definitely don’t want to examine. I mean, it’s awkward, isn’t it? Having a drink with your lawyer. Anyone would feel a bit weird about it.

The minutes stretch on and then, quite suddenly, he’s there. He settles into the seat next to mine and kisses me on the cheek, just as if he’s always done it.

‘Oh God,’ he says, ‘was that okay? Sorry – I’m on automatic.’

‘It’s fine,’ I say, going hot. ‘Really.’

‘Phew. I try to remember not to go kissing my Anglo friends but, you know, it’s so normal here.’ He takes off his jacket and I get a whiff of limes and soap and just a hint of fresh sweat. The fluttering starts up again. Fucksake.

‘Busy at work?’ I say, with a kind of strained nonchalance.

‘Every time the BBC mentions No Deal, I get twenty new emails.’

‘Qualcos’altro?’ Gianni, one of the baristas, is gathering my teapot and cup onto a tray.

‘I’ll have a gin and tonic,’ I say, switching into Italian with the minimal grinding of gears. I’m quietly pleased to have managed that in front of Marco.

‘What gin would you like?’ Gianni extends a tattooed arm towards the wall of gin behind the bar.

‘Oh God, that’s too much choice. I’ll have whatever you recommend. I trust you,’ I add, before he can start asking me about botanicals and so on.

‘Sure. And for you, sir?’

‘Double Talisker, thanks,’ Marco says. He looks a bit stunned. ‘Your Italian’s improving fast,’ he says as Gianni walks away. ‘I almost feel silly speaking English.’

‘That’s down to Granny. Whenever we came to Florence, she made me speak Italian the whole time. We weren’t able to make it here for the last few years – it was too hard for me to get away, so I was worried I’d forgotten everything. But it seems to be returning all right.’

‘I’d say so. Your accent is fantastic.’

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I mean, I can make myself understood, and I can understand most things too. But I can’t really have a proper conversation, not like I want to. People are very patient with me but I just know I’m not expressing myself well.’

‘How do you know? Maybe you’re being hard on yourself.’

‘I know because they keep complimenting me. Granny always told me that you’ve only really arrived when people stop telling you how good your Italian is and talk to you normally instead.’ He’s watching me intently. I can feel heat creeping up my neck and around my ears, and I pray I’m not blushing. ‘That’s how it was for her. Everywhere she went, people just… welcomed her.’

Gianni puts the drinks down in front of us. ‘Grazie,’ Marco says, and raises his glass of whisky in my direction. ‘We should toast your grandmother.Cin cin.’

‘Cin cin.’ I take a long sip of my drink. It’s floral and aniseedy and good.

‘You should write about her.’

‘I am. Well, I’m writing about all this – about coming to Florence, but it’s really about her. She’s why I decided to come here, though I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. She taught me to love this city.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ Marco says.

‘Yes. It’s frustrating, though. There’s so much I can’t remember, no matter how much I try.’

Marco’s still watching me. I can’t bring myself to meet his eye, so I look out at the street where a tiny dog, a Chihuahua, is barking at a girl on a Vespa. Its owner scoops it up and puts it into her quilted bucket handbag, where it snarls and bristles like an angry puppet.

‘There was this bar I used to go to with her, years and years ago,’ I say. ‘We went to a lot of places, of course, but I know this one meant something special to her. I’ve been trying to remember it all day – where it was, what it was like – but it was so long ago now. I’ve looked for it, but it seems to have vanished.’

‘Where was it?’

‘Via dei Serragli. Or I suppose it could have been via Romana. It was a long street and it was definitely near here.’

Marco takes out his phone and starts tapping at the screen. ‘Okay, so one of those two. Did it have a name?’

‘It just said BAR over the door.’

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