She waited.
Her mouth turned as dry as sand.
‘Probably not God,’ she whispered. ‘God wouldn’t knock something over in his own church. Surely he’d know where everything was.’
She began to shake. Her hands and feet felt suddenly cold.
But then she remembered the cat.
Of course! The tabby cat had entered the church before her. Perhaps it had jumped off the altar, knocking a candle or a prayer book to the floor.
‘Puss?’ she hissed. ‘Is that you, kitty?’
She waited, then raised her voice a little. ‘Here, puss, puss, puss.’
‘Meow.’ The soft, warm body pressed against her leg.
Freja collapsed to the floor. She swept the cat into her arms and stroked its fur over and over again, until the jelly in her legs turned back into bone.
Silly, she told herself. Scared by a sweet little cat.
Then, closing her eyes, she did what she had come here to do. She prayed. Quietly. Earnestly. ‘Ciao, God. I hope I haven’t interrupted your sleep. But it’s important. Clementine is sick. Really sick. There’s no use pretending she’s not. She hasn’t written or sent me her beautiful drawings for weeks. I miss her. I want her to get better and come back to me forever.’
‘Mew!’ The cat wriggled from her arms and headed towards the door.
‘Puss! Come back!’ begged Freja. ‘Please don’t leave me.’
But the cat had vanished.
And now the church seemed too dark. Too quiet. Too far from Finnegan and Tobias.
Freja leapt to her feet and ran. Her footsteps echoed across the empty church, sounding like another pair of footsteps behind her. Or maybe there was another set of footsteps behind her! She ran and ran. Not daring to look back. Not stopping. Not even when her cherry-red beanie fell off. She ran straight for the faint crack of light in the wall. Grabbing the edge of the door, she pulled it open and stumbled out into the chilly morning air.
‘Oooh!’ Freja shivered with relief and cold and lingering fear.
Turning back to the door, she yanked it shut. The latch caught with a clunk.
Freja breathed deeply, three times, then strode across the terrace to where the tabby cat was waiting. She looked up into the sky. The dark purple of night was fading to pink. In less than an hour, the sun would pop its head above the crumbling columns, the marble arches and the terracotta roofs of Rome.
‘I’d better dash,’ Freja said to the cat. ‘I have to get home before Tobias and Finnegan realise I’m gone.’ She tightened her scarf and trotted down the stairs. But on reaching the bottom, she remembered one last thing. Turning back to face the church, she closed her eyes, pressed her hands together and whispered, ‘Amen!’
She breathed deeply, allowing herself to feel the pleasure of a job well done.
And then she opened her eyes.
Just in time to see a door closing at the front of the church.
The same little door that she herself had closed just minutes before.
CHAPTER 25
Cheese wheels and little sacks of chocolate
‘CHEESE!’
‘Woof,’ said Finnegan. He leapt off the bed and barrelled out of the room.
‘Cheese?’ whispered Freja. She sat up in bed and blinked at the bright daylight. Her coat and scarf were tangled and twisted around her body. She was still wearing her boots. ‘I must have fallen asleep the moment I got home from the church.’
Freja stumbled into the living room. She leaned against the doorjamb, yawned and straightened her coat.
‘I’m a giant cheese wheel!’ cried Tobias from the kitchen.
Something smashed, Finnegan barked and Tobias somersaulted through the door. He tumbled, head-over-bottom-over-heels-over-head, across the room, arms and legs flapping and flailing, until he collided with the desk. Thud!
Finnegan galloped around his master. He dribbled and drooled. He licked and grinned. He barked and snapped until his fang got caught in the end of Tobias’ scarf.
‘Grrrr!’ Finnegan growled and tried to pull free. But as he tugged backward, the scarf yanked Tobias’ head against the leg of the desk. Thud! Thud! Thud!
Freja slapped her hand across her mouth. Her shoulders shook, her face turned red and the laughter burst out between her fingers.
Finally, after a dozen thuds, the loop of yarn snapped and Finnegan was free. He dropped to the floor and licked Tobias’ face.
‘Yes, yes. Apology accepted, puppy.’ Tobias rubbed his head and stared up at Freja. ‘Good morning!’
‘Hello,’ said Freja, and she giggled some more.
Tobias sat up and squinted. ‘Just look at you!’
Freja blushed. Was it obvious that she had slept in her clothes? That she had been out on her own at night?
Tobias sprang to his feet. He pulled her into the middle of the room. He walked around her, nodding and mumbling. ‘Yes . . . uh-hmmm . . . perhaps . . .’ Finally, he announced, ‘You’re just the right size!’
‘The right size for what?’ asked Freja.
‘Why, to be my cheese wheel, of course!’
Finnegan grinned and licked Tobias’ shoe.
‘I . . . I don’t really know how to be a cheese wheel,’ Freja confessed.
‘Of course you do!’ cried Tobias. ‘A spiffingly clever lass like you. You just roll up in a ball and tumble along the floor as fast as you can!’
‘But why?’ asked Freja.
‘Research!’ declared Tobias. ‘For my novel.’
Freja looked blankly into his face.
‘I need to feel the power, the momentum, the ugly threat of a cheese wheel!’ Tobias tumbled his hands over one another. ‘If I sent a giant cheese wheel rolling down the hillside through a Swiss village, it would gain great speed. Within minutes, it would have become a dangerous object capable of squashing cats, toppling butter churns, breaking through doors and — most important of all — cracking a grown man’s skull!’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Freja.
Tobias smiled. ‘Fascinating idea for a murder scene, don’t you think? A seemingly innocent cheese wheel turned into a deadly weapon.’
Freja nodded. She walked into the kitchen, curled herself into a ball and somersaulted out into the living room, where she collided with Tobias’ legs. She stared up at him from the floor.
Tobias rubbed his chin. ‘Yes, that was jolly good. You make a marvellous cheese wheel, old chap. I’d even go so far as to say a splendid cheese wheel. It’s just that . . . well, you’re not quite heavy enough to send a grown man flying.’
‘I was on flat ground,’ said Freja. She sat up. ‘Perhaps if I had a hill . . .’
‘Yes! Yes! We need a hill. A steep hill.’ Tobias paced back and forth across the room, tugging at his ears and chewing his lips. He stopped, grabbed his little brush and a pot of ink from the desk and began to paint numbers on the wall. ‘Weight,’ he muttered. ‘Gradient . . . speed . . . momentum . . .’
‘Woof!’ said Finnegan, and he flopped down in front of the fire.
‘Aha!’ cried Tobias, spinning around to face the room. ‘What we need is twofold: a steep slope, as suggested by my clever colleague.’ He pointed his paintbrush at Freja. ‘And a large breakfast.’ Tobias grabbed his coat and wallet. ‘Come along, old chap.’
Freja jumped up and ran after him. ‘What’s the large breakfast got to do with it?’
‘Well, first of all,’ Tobias explained, ‘I’m hungry. But second of all, you’re too light. I calculate that my cheese wheel needs to be more than forty-two kilograms to crack a man’s skull. You don’t look nearly that heavy. But if I fill you up with breakfast, and perhaps a gelato or two, then take you to a steep hill, you can at least be a better cheese wheel than you are at the moment.’
Freja giggled. ‘I’d like to be a great cheese wheel.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ cried Tobias. ‘Come along, Finnegan.’
And together, the girl, the dog and the writer trotted downstair
s, across the courtyard and into the sunshine, in search of a hearty Roman breakfast.
‘This one looks good!’ cried Tobias. He dashed down an alleyway towards a tiny but crowded café. ‘It smells delicious and it’s busy. Full of fascinating people. People begging to be written into a novel. Just look at that man standing by the window. His fingers are so fat he can’t even hold his coffee cup by the handle; he has to cradle it in the palm of his hand. If I had to guess, I’d say he has butcher’s hands. Fingers like sausages. Enormous pork sausages. Hmmm . . . I might put a butcher in my next novel. Knives . . . chopping . . . blood . . . bones . . .’
Freja grabbed the corner of Tobias’ coat and dragged him through the front door. There was standing room only, for the café was bustling with men and women grabbing a quick breakfast on their way to work. Shouted greetings, hurried orders and noisy kisses mingled with the bitter smell of coffee. The air was fuggy with chaos, hunger and happiness.
Finnegan, invisible amidst the crush of bodies, slunk about, nibbling the corner off a pastry here, the ham from a panino there. An entire zeppola tumbled to the floor and rolled right up to his front paws, a gift from the Roman god of doughnuts. He gobbled it up and continued hunting and gathering.
Tobias stood in the middle of the crowd, smiling stupidly. ‘Ears!’ he sang. ‘I am surrounded by ears. Glorious ears.’ He stared. He pointed. He chuckled. He committed the details to memory and, in doing so, spoke rather loudly. ‘Ears as large as saucers! Great flapping plates of flesh . . . Delicate pink seashells . . . Hairy earholes . . . Pointy elfin ears . . . Mangled ears that look like they’ve been caught in a car door . . . Hairy earlobes! My word! You don’t see that every d—’
‘Tobias!’ cried Freja. ‘What about our breakfast?’
‘What? Breakfast?’ The writer scratched his head. He frowned at Freja. ‘I say, old chap, why don’t you scurry along to the counter and order us something delicious while I finish up here?’
‘On my own?’ asked Freja. ‘In front of all the other customers?’
‘Well, of course!’ cried Tobias. ‘Just look at you with your brilliant blue eyes, your garden-gnome scarf and that tangle of golden hair that drifts and bounces about your head like a halo. Everyone will notice you!’
Freja’s eyes widened in horror.
‘That’s a good thing!’ explained Tobias. ‘You’ll be served at once. We can gobble our breakfast and be in search of gelato and a good steep hill down which to tumble before you can say “scary hairy earlobes” three times!’ Tobias smiled and carried on with his too-loud observations.
Freja sighed. ‘The sooner I bring Tobias his breakfast,’ she muttered, ‘the sooner he will stop talking about that poor man’s ears.’ She shoved her way between handbags and elbows until she found herself at the counter.
‘Ciao, bella!’ The man behind the bar smiled.
‘Ciao, signore,’ whispered Freja, her cheeks turning pink. ‘I’d like two of those big, fat croissants, please.’
‘Cornetti,’ said the man. ‘Croissants are what the French call them. If you want to be a true Roman, call them cornetti.’
‘I’d like two of those big, fat cornetti, please.’ Freja bit her lip. ‘No! Four cornetti! I’m terribly hungry and I want to be really, really heavy by the time I leave this café.’
The man threw back his head and laughed like an opera singer, the notes dancing over the heads of his customers. He reached forward and held Freja’s small chin in his big, olive-skinned hand. ‘So you are a very hungry angel! I will give you four cornetti and two of my favourite pastries.’ He snapped a pair of tongs in the air, then lifted a flaky golden roll from its basket. ‘This is a little sack of chocolate! Saccottino al cioccolato! It sounds good, no? It is delicious! It will make your heart sing and your mouth water for more!’
‘Saccottino al cioccolato,’ echoed Freja. She smiled.
‘Excuse me!’ cried Tobias. ‘Coming through. Mind your bottom there, signore . . . although it can’t be easy when it’s so large. Excuse me. Whoopsy-daisy! Ever so sorry, signora, but your elbows really were flapping about like the wings of a crazed turkey.’
Freja turned around and gaped. Tobias was pressing towards the counter, leaving a trail of disaster in his wake — spilt coffee, stomped toes, bruised kidneys, laddered stockings. He stumbled, his face ending up in the middle of a greeting between two women, where he stole all of the kisses! Accidentally, of course, but now his cheeks were smeared with pink and red lipstick. He arrived at the counter looking more dishevelled than usual.
After they’d each eaten their first cornetto, Tobias said, ‘Have you noticed that this café is a bit like a layer cake?’ He sipped his cappuccino and continued. ‘Puckered lips, perfumed necks and hairy earholes at the top. Silk ties, pearls and cappuccino cups in the middle. Shiny shoes and squashed pastries at the bottom.’
Freja giggled. ‘The squashed pastries are your fault, I think.’
Tobias grimaced.
Freja said, ‘I find this café busy-bustling, but in a happy way.’
‘Yes!’ Tobias nodded. ‘What can you hear?’
Freja closed her eyes and tilted her head to one side. ‘Happiness humming . . . Kisses squishing . . . Coffee cups clattering . . .’ Her brow wrinkled in concentration. ‘Crumbs mumbling!’
Tobias chuckled. ‘I do like that last one, old chap. “Crumbs mumbling.” Absolutely spot-on. And what about the smells?’
Freja opened her eyes and looked up to the ceiling. Her nose twitched. She sniffed slowly and deeply. ‘Toasty almonds and icing sugar snowing through a fog of jasmine, roses and . . .’ She stared at Tobias. ‘Hair oil!’
Tobias tilted his head towards the young man at his side. He was dark and lean, with his hair slicked sideways over his head. He’d used enough oil on his hair to fry two-dozen zeppole.
Freja giggled and whispered, ‘Slippery-slimy oil-slick hair!’
‘Brilliant!’ cried Tobias.
Freja smiled and looked down.
The young man’s shoes caught her eye. Made of fine leather, they were delicate, black and shiny. Expensive. Freja had seen a similar pair in the window of a shop just two days ago. They cost more than all the breakfasts in the café combined. Perhaps more than Roberto’s little three-wheeled truck.
‘Shiny shoes,’ she whispered, and something poked at the back of her mind once more.
Something important.
Something confusing.
Something a little bit worrying.
CHAPTER 26
Two uses for glue
‘I say, old chap! There’s a window full of teapots! I might buy a new one — to replace the one I smashed this morning!’ Without looking to the left or the right, Tobias drifted across the road. A small cream Fiat swerved to miss him, skittled a rubbish bin and drove on. Tobias didn’t flinch. He hadn’t noticed a thing.
Freja and Finnegan waited until the road was clear, then crossed over.
‘Look!’ shouted Tobias. ‘I LOVE that pink teapot. The one with white polka dots.’
Freja giggled.
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ said Tobias. ‘I do normally like a teapot to be shaped like something fun — a turkey, a telephone, a caravan. But this one, well, I find it strangely appealing. Soothing. Shall we go in and buy it?’ And without waiting for Freja’s answer, he ducked inside the little shop.
While Tobias clattered amongst the teapots, Finnegan trotted about, licking a rolling pin here, a mixing bowl there, until his tongue got caught in a whisk.
‘Ooow!’ He threw back his head to howl, which made the whisk pinch even harder. ‘Ow-ow-ow-ooooow!’
Freja dashed to his aid. She pulled the whisk free and hugged the hound until he stopped shaking. When she looked up, Vivi was standing by her side.
‘Ciao! Ciao!’ Vivi leaned forward and kissed the girl on each cheek. ‘How good it is to see you! But where is Signore Appleby?’
‘Over there,’ said Freja, pointing towards the window
display. ‘He’s getting a teapot.’
Vivi nodded.
‘A pink one,’ said Freja, slowly and deliberately, ‘with white polka dots.’
‘Aaah,’ said Vivi, a smile twitching around the corners of her eyes and mouth. She shifted her shopping basket from one hand to the other. It was overflowing with small pink bowls and pale green glasses.
‘Your shopping matches your clothes!’ said Freja.
Vivi curtseyed, then danced in a little circle to show off her outfit — her pink mohair sweater, her pale green skirt and her pink high-heeled shoes.
‘You look wonderful,’ whispered Freja. ‘Like fairy floss and spearmint.’
‘Like cherry blossoms and green tea,’ sighed Tobias, his head poking through a shelf full of pots and pans.
Freja looked from Vivi to Tobias and back again.
Vivi gasped. ‘Signore Appleby! You have pink lipstick on your cheek!’ She frowned. ‘And you have red lipstick on your other cheek!’
Tobias blushed. ‘It’s not what it looks like!’
‘It looks like you were caught in the middle of a greeting between two friends,’ said Vivi.
‘Oh!’ cried Tobias. ‘Then it is what it looks like!’ He leaned against the shelf and three saucepans clattered to the floor.
Vivi smiled, her raspberry-gelato lips stretching the full width of her face. Her chocolate eyes were soft and warm like ganache, and her liquorice-thick lashes seemed to flutter a little faster than usual.
Tobias stepped out from behind the shelving. He cradled a teapot in both hands, like a child protecting a precious kitten.
‘That is a very pretty teapot,’ said Vivi.
‘Yes,’ sighed Tobias. ‘It’s delightful! Pink with white polka dots. I simply must have it . . . although I don’t know why . . .’
‘Really?’ asked Freja. ‘You really don’t know why?’
Tobias shrugged.
Finnegan flopped to the floor and rested his chin on his paws.
Vivi threw back her head and laughed.
After an awkward pause, during which there was a great deal of sighing (Tobias), eyelash fluttering (Vivi) and loud, lusty yawning (Finnegan), Freja suggested they pay for their goods and carry on searching for the perfect hill.
The Girl, the Dog, and the Writer in Rome Page 15