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Bridget looked around. ‘This balcony has got something of the Romeo and Juliet about it, don’t you think?’
'That was Verona,’ said Lucy.
‘I know that.’ Bridget tried to look convincing. ‘I just mean you can imagine it happening here. Like, that scene couldn’t happen anywhere but on a balcony in Italy.’
‘Well, it worked pretty well on a fire escape in New York City for Tony and Maria,’ said Stella, reaching for an olive.
‘I loathed that film,’ said Bridget.
‘How can you say that?’ said Sarah, exasperated.
‘Easily. You invest in the characters, totally fall in love with Tony and Maria and then he dies! And there’s not even a glimpse of a happy ending, nothing! After more than two hours! It still makes me cross thinking about it.’ Bridget took a sip of her wine.
‘Well, life’s not a fucking fairy tale…’ said Stella. They all looked at her, not quite knowing what to say in the short silence that followed. ‘Although, I have to say, I hated that film too.’ She shrugged her shoulders, laughing as she did.
Bridget laughed and raised her glass to Stella. ‘Then I’m glad it’s not just me.’
When they’d finished off the last of their wine, the friends left money on the table and headed downstairs and across the square. Tiny lights danced above them in the trees, the noise of talking and laughing filling the warm air. Stella took it all in and thought of her own storyline, knowing, deep down, that it was up to her to determine what happened next. But, for now, she resolved to think of nothing but Florence, her friends and the evening ahead.
16
The friends were greeted at the restaurant like long-lost relatives by the owner and quickly shown to a table halfway along one side of the crowded room. The walls were painted a deep red, dotted with old paintings and pictures. Low lights hung above the wooden tables and a mirrored bar at one end seemed to house a bottle of every spirit ever invented, jostling for space across three small shelves. The whole place felt like a beautiful Tuscan secret – and they were lucky enough to be in on it.
They were swiftly brought menus and between them they ordered a mix of bruschetta and crostini to start with, followed by a couple of Fiorentina steaks with garlic and rosemary-flecked roast potatoes to share. The waiter brought a carafe of red wine to the table, a cherry-scented Chianti Classico recommended by the owner when he’d taken their order, and before long the table was covered with the most delicious-looking food. They ate and talked, wiping up the juices from their plates with the saltless bread on the table. After the main course, the waiter placed a plate with a selection of local cheeses in the middle of the table, then small bowls of tiramisu, impossibly light and moreish. They finished with a small glass of vin santo and cantucci biscuits, followed by short, sharp coffees and a small glass of grappa on the house, which they simply couldn’t refuse.
‘I honestly think I’m going to burst,’ said Bridget, loosening the top button of her trousers.
‘That was so delicious, but I know this,’ Sarah picked up her glass of grappa, ‘is going to make me feel horrible tomorrow.’ Regardless, she knocked the rest of it back, then shook her head and shivered as the liquid went down her throat and made its way around her body, coursing through her veins.
‘I can’t remember the last time I had grappa.’ Stella laughed as she put the empty glass on the table, shaking her head just as Sarah had done.
‘God, I can,’ said Bridget, grimacing. ‘Disastrous holiday with Neil last year. We had dinner in a little restaurant, drank grappa and had a row on the way home.’
‘What about?’ Lucy lifted her glass to her mouth, screwing up her nose at the smell of the drink.
‘The usual. I raised the question of more IVF, he got cross, then we argued.’ Bridget shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s easier to just not bring it up now.’
‘You know you shouldn’t be made to feel like that.’ Sarah gently placed her hand over her friend’s hand across the table. ‘He really doesn’t know how lucky he is to have you.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Lucy, nodding.
‘You know, I’m not just saying this, but there are many, many upsides to being single.’ Sarah’s eyes glinted.
‘Like?’ Bridget sat back in her chair.
‘Well, for starters, you can do what you want, when you want. You can eat what you want, when you want. You don’t have to sit through anything rubbish on telly. Or put up with anyone stealing the duvet.’ She picked up a biscuit. ‘Stuart used to take up the whole bed. No snoring, or leaving hairs in the sink in the bathroom. But,’ she raised her finger, ‘it’s not just the freedom of doing whatever you want. It’s more than that. It’s not having to please anyone else. I had two years, maybe three, of feeling like utter shit most of the time. But then I realised there are so many good bits about being on my own, as in not half of a couple. To be honest, I stayed for so long because I feared what life might be like without him. I know it’s not the same as you, Stella, and believe me I’d do anything for you not to be hurting like you are now, but I promise you, life will get easier. In time, that is. Being on your own is terrifying, but it also means, eventually…’ she looked up and took a breath, ‘complete bloody freedom.’ Sarah smiled and took a bite of the biscuit in her hand. ‘And I tell you, once you’ve had a taste of that freedom, you won’t want to give it up easily. Certainly not for anyone who puts a sock on their willy, that’s for sure.’
The four of them laughed until tears rolled down their faces.
* * *
Lingering over the last of their wine, the friends carried on chatting. It was only when the waiter began mopping the floor around them, they realised they were the last ones there. Having gathered their belongings and thanked the owner and his staff for a wonderful dinner, they stood for a moment in the square, lights still twinkling in the trees. The tables outside were still surrounded by groups talking and laughing.
‘How about we walk to the bridge and back before we go back to the hotel, take in the view at night?’
‘Good idea,’ said Sarah. ‘I need to walk some of this off.’ She patted her stomach.
Bridget did up her trousers. ‘I’m definitely up for a walk, I’ll never get to sleep feeling this full.’
