Tobias scratched his head. ‘I say, Freja, old chap. Vivi’s cackle is as bright as yours. Brilliant! Cheering, rousing, wild and melodic all at once! Like a bell tower in a windstorm! A brass band on a sugar high!’
Vivi hiccuped and brought herself under control.
‘Thank you, signorina,’ said Tobias. ‘Now, where were we? Cheese Wheels in five easy steps. One: Position yourself at the top of a steep, grassy slope, preferably one that does not end in a plummeting cliff. Two: Tuck yourself into a tight ball, wrapping your arms around your knees and pressing chin to chest. Three: Lean forward and —’
He was gone, tumbling down the hill like a giant cheese wheel. Tumbling, bumbling, roaring and rolling, until he crashed into a stand of bushes. A flock of birds flew into the sky and flapped away towards the Vatican: ‘Ga-a-awk! Ga-a-awk! Ga-a-awk!’
‘What about the other two and a half steps?’ asked Vivi.
Freja shrugged.
Vivi tightened the scarf around her waist, moved forward, tucked herself into a ball and tumbled down the hillside.
‘Excellent!’ cried Tobias, helping her to her feet. ‘You’re a natural cheese wheel, Vivi!’
Hand in hand, they tramped back up to the top of the slope.
‘Your turn, old chap.’ Tobias patted Freja on the shoulder. ‘Once down for practice, then I shall stand at the bottom of the slope and allow you to cheese-wheel smack-bang into me. It’ll be fascinating to see the sort of damage you can do. Absolutely fascinating! A broken leg or two . . . Concussion . . . A cracked skull would be exciting!’
Freja stepped to the edge of the slope, tucked herself into a ball and tumbled forward. She rolled like a perfect cheese wheel, her path smooth and straight. She gained speed, tumbling faster and faster, until she could no longer tell which part of her body touched the grass and which flew through the air. Faster, ever faster, until she crashed into the bushes, snapping twigs, ripping off leaves. The dense branches scratched her arms and tugged at her curls, but still she tumbled on until, at last, she emerged from the other side and found herself sprawled out in the middle of a flowerbed.
Freja sat up and pulled a twig from her hair.
She rubbed her eyes.
She blinked and gasped.
For there, parked not five metres away, was a little red three-wheeled truck.
And leaning against its side were two priests.
One priest was tall and thin with slicked-back hair — Padre Flavio! A pair of binoculars hung from his neck. He held a mirror in one hand, a pair of scissors in the other, and was halfway through trimming his moustache.
The other priest was short and fat with a bald head and bushy black eyebrows — Padre Nico! He held an enormous calzone up to his mouth, but had stopped eating mid-bite.
The girl stared at the priests.
The priests stared at the girl.
‘Spying,’ whispered Freja. ‘You’re spying on us.’
Padre Flavio tossed his mirror and scissors to the ground.
Padre Nico took two slow chomps of his calzone.
Both kept their eyes glued to the girl.
Freja sat as still as a granite rock. She moved her eyes from side to side, taking in as much of her surroundings as possible. The door to the truck was open, but the keys were not in the ignition. The narrow road on which the truck was parked continued for at least a hundred metres before it made a hairpin bend and headed uphill to their own picnic spot. The bushes at her side now had a tunnel right through the middle thanks to her perfect impersonation of a cheese wheel. And the short, fat priest was still stuffing the calzone into his mouth.
Padre Flavio elbowed Padre Nico.
Padre Nico gulped and started to choke.
Now! thought Freja. She launched herself at the bushes, scuttled through the tunnel on her hands and knees, leapt to her feet and scrambled up the hillside.
‘Tobby! Tobby! Tobby!’ she shouted as she ran. ‘The priests are here! They have binoculars and a truck, and they’re coming to get us! The priests! The priests! The nasty priests!’
‘Priests?’ said Vivi.
‘No time to explain,’ said Tobias. ‘Just follow me!’
Grabbing Freja’s hand, he dragged her up the last part of the slope, swept her through the middle of their picnic and tossed her into the sidecar.
‘Finnegan!’ he yelled. ‘Come!’
The dog came crashing out of a nearby stand of trees, an acorn clamped between his teeth, an angry squirrel at his heels. He galloped across the grass and leapt into the sidecar on top of Freja.
Tobias jumped onto the motorcycle. ‘Get on behind me, Vivi. Hang on tight.’
Vivi climbed onto the motorcycle and wrapped her arms around Tobias’ waist. She squeezed tightly and pressed her cheek into his back, ready for take-off, but the hasty escape came to a halt.
Tobias closed his eyes.
His hands fell off the handlebars and dropped to his knees.
His mouth flopped into a wobbly grin — and Freja could practically see love hearts drifting around his head. Big, fat pink love hearts. And if she didn’t do something, they’d soon be joined by pretty bluebirds, lemon macarons and scoops of raspberry gelato. Tobias would be completely lost in Viviland.
‘Tobby!’ shouted Freja, slapping his leg. ‘Wake up! I can hear the truck coming up the hill!’
Tobias jumped and blinked. He grabbed the handlebars, kick-started the motorcycle and revved the engine. At the same moment, the little red three-wheeled truck rounded the bend and zoomed towards them.
‘Tobby! Tobby! Tobby!’ cried Freja.
‘Woof! Boof! Boofety! Woof!’ barked Finnegan.
‘Are we still playing the Cheese Wheel game?’ asked Vivi.
‘No,’ said Tobias. ‘This one we call Chasies.’ He winked at Freja, and the motorcycle roared forward, screeched around the corner and jumped the gutter. They side-swiped a park bench, ripped through a wide garden bed, soared up and over a grassy knoll and rumbled out onto the main road.
‘Hold on to your hats!’ shouted Tobias as they hurtled down Janiculum Hill, back towards the centre of Rome.
‘Well, that was fun!’ gasped Vivi. She tried to smile, but her white knuckles betrayed her.
‘It’s not over yet!’ cried Freja. ‘Look!’
The little red truck flew over the rise, becoming fully airborne. It thudded back to earth and sped down the hill after them, wheels wobbling, engine screaming.
‘Head for Trastevere!’ shouted Vivi. ‘Over there to our right. It’s an old part of town. Dark and crumbly. Crooked and dishevelled. The buildings are squashed together. We can lose them if we wind back and forth along the alleyways.’
‘Brilliant!’ cheered Tobias. They screeched off the main road, along a cobbled street and into a small piazza with a fountain and a pretty church.
‘That’s the Church of Santa Maria in Trastevere!’ cried Vivi. ‘It is very lovely and —’ But already they’d flashed past and were now zooming down a narrow street. Here, the cobblestones were rough and uneven, and their teeth rattled like dice in a cup. Tobias slowed down, but a moment later, unbelievably, the red truck barrelled down the narrow street after them.
Tobias accelerated, swerved around a cyclist and zipped down an even smaller street. This one was barely wide enough for two bicycles to pass.
‘No! No! No!’ A small, wrinkled woman stood at her door, waving her arms in the air. ‘Stop! Stop!’
But it was too late. They rounded a bend and drove straight through a line of washing that had been hung between the buildings to dry. A wet white sheet caught on the handlebars, ripped from the line and fell on their heads. Now they were driving blind, a large, clumsy ghost bumping and bouncing along the cobblestones, toppling pot plants, swiping the edges of buildings.
Vivi pulled the sheet free and they surged onward, weaving back and forth along the tiny streets — past crumbling houses, stone churches, badly parked cars, sunbaking cats, shady cafés, pocket-size
d gardens, artists’ studios, fountains sprouting from walls. Finally, they shot out of the shadows, alone, and headed for the nearest bridge.
They flew across the Tiber River and drove along the wide, open streets until they arrived at the Colosseum. There, Tobias took the girl, the dog and the pretty chef on a victory lap.
‘We’re gladiators!’ shouted Tobias, thrusting an ink-stained fist in the air. ‘My motorcycle is our chariot! We are victorious! Our enemy is conquered! Hear the ancient crowd roar!’
Finnegan turned around, grinned and licked Freja’s nose. Freja laughed and licked Finnegan’s nose in return. Vivi wrapped her arms a little tighter around Tobias’ middle and sighed.
‘Tobias Appleby! Freja Peachtree!’ Boris and Nadia called out and waved from the midst of a crowd that was shuffling its way through the entrance to the Colosseum.
Tobias slowed down and might have stopped to chat, but at that moment, a high-pitched whining sound cut through the air, followed by the appearance of the little red truck.
‘Amazing!’ gasped Vivi. ‘They play the Chasies game well, no?’
‘Yes!’ cried Tobias. ‘But not as well as us!’
He revved the engine and roared away with such a lurch that Finnegan and Freja cracked heads. By the time the stars cleared and Freja could see again, they had passed the ancient ruins of the Forum and were leading the priests on a game of cat-and-mouse through the busy streets of Rome. They zigzagged back and forth until they found themselves at the top of the Spanish Steps.
‘Noooo, signore!’ gasped Vivi.
‘Boof!’ said Finnegan.
‘Yes!’ shouted Freja. ‘They wouldn’t dare follow us!’
Tobias gave the engine full throttle. Dirt spun into the air, Finnegan howled, Vivi screamed and the motorcycle zoomed forward, plummeting straight down the Spanish Steps.
Freja tried to shout, ‘Everyone get out of the way!’ but her head bounced up and down like a rubber ball on a concrete path and what came out of her mouth sounded like a flight of stairs: ‘Ev-ev-ev-every-one-get-et-et-out-of-the-way-ay-ay-ay-ay!’
There was a moment’s relief as they reached the first terrace and the bouncing stopped. But the priests, either brave or stupid beyond compare, decided to follow. The little red truck plunked, rattled and rocked from side to side, threatening to topple with every step.
Tobias forged onward, down one flight of stairs after another, until they reached the bottom. The motorcycle tilted to the right, the sidecar lifting from the ground for a few startling seconds. They swerved to the left, tore around the marble fountain and chugged to a halt at the far side of Piazza di Spagna.
The girl, the dog, the writer and the pretty chef sat and watched, entranced, as the little red three-wheeled truck wobbled and lurched the rest of the way down the Spanish Steps. Donkety-plonkety-thumpety-bump! It plopped off the last step, hitting the flat ground with a crunch. One of the rear wheels flew off, bounced three times, then rolled across the piazza and into the nearest bar. The rest of the truck scraped forward, metal howling against stone, sparks spraying out like a fireworks display. Colliding with the edge of the fountain, it flipped over and landed with a splash, upside down in the crystal-clear pool.
Never before had Piazza di Spagna fallen so quiet. All that could be heard was the pitter-patter of water hitting the side of the battered red truck.
A crowd gathered around the fountain. They watched in silence as Padre Flavio kicked open the door, released his seatbelt and fell out into the pool of water. The truck wibbled and wobbled, then Padre Nico tumbled out the same door and flopped on top of Padre Flavio.
The crowd tittered.
Padre Flavio cursed and punched the water with his fists.
A siren sounded somewhere in the distance.
‘Tobby,’ whispered Freja. ‘The police are on their way. Do you think we should slip away now?’
‘Good idea, old chap,’ said the writer, and slowly, quietly, he drove around the corner to Café Vivi.
Vivi climbed off the motorcycle and walked unsteadily to her doorstep. Holding the doorjamb, she stared at the girl, the dog and the writer.
Finnegan blinked back at her and yawned.
‘Oh, I almost forgot!’ cried Tobias. He pulled a book from behind Freja’s seat in the sidecar. ‘I’d like you to have a copy of my latest novel, Rome’s Reward.’
‘I’ve just read it,’ said Freja. ‘It’s very exciting, but rather scary!’
Vivi accepted the book. ‘Grazie,’ she whispered. But the width of her chocolatey eyes and the surprised ‘O’ formed by her raspberry-gelato lips seemed to be saying, ‘What on earth could be more exciting or terrifying than an everyday picnic with Tobias Appleby?’
CHAPTER 33
Maps and stories and musings
The following day was sunny and warm, reminding everyone in Rome that spring was just around the corner. Tobias pushed the old oak desk out onto the balcony and settled down with paper and ink, typewriter and tea. Freja longed to be out and about, exploring the streets and piazzas, but Tobias was soon lost in the world of his story and even she could now see that venturing out alone was not wise. A morning with her scrapbook, pens and pencils would have to do.
Freja spread a quilt on the ground beside Tobias’ desk and worked on her map of Rome. Finnegan lay at her feet, licking her toes and gnawing on her pencils.
Freja sketched the outline of Janiculum Hill, then filled it in with pathways, grass, bushes, ancient pine trees and a yellow picnic rug. The picnic rug was soon laden with artichokes, macarons, pears and salami. She chewed thoughtfully on the end of her pencil for a moment, then added a small pair of hands with the fingers entwined.
Tobias sprang to his feet. He peeled off his cardigan and vest and tossed them to the ground. He kicked off his shoes and socks, unbuttoned his collar and rolled up his sleeves. Returning to his chair, he leaned back and stretched. ‘Aaah. There’s nothing quite like the sunbeams in Rome!’ He smiled down at Freja. ‘I say, old chap, that map is looking absolutely spiffing! Better than anything I’ve seen in the shops.’
Freja smiled up at him, her blue eyes sparkling. ‘I’m just about to draw Trastevere, the crumbly, old area with the washing line and the angry housewife,’ she said.
‘Well, that’s jolly clever of you. After all, we spent so very little time there!’ He grimaced.
‘Yes.’ Freja giggled. ‘But we did see a lot, with all that zigzagging up and down the alleyways.’
Tobias nodded. He cracked his knuckles and returned to his work — typing, muttering, stopping every line or two to sip his tea.
Freja leaned over her map. She drew a tangled maze of narrow alleyways, then filled it in with crooked buildings, cats on rooftops, washing strung from one building to another, cafés, galleries and nuns. Finally, she squeezed in the Church of Santa Maria in Trastevere that Vivi had pointed out as they zoomed by. She took extra time drawing the church’s arched portico, square bell tower and fine piazza with hexagonal fountain. It was, she recalled, a very pretty church. She would have to go back there one day when she had time to go inside and look around.
Finnegan stretched, yawned and began to eat Freja’s green pencil. It was obviously time for a snack. Freja ducked inside and returned with a packet of biscuits. The moment she started to unwrap it, a flock of pigeons swooped down from the rooftop and landed on the desk. Tobias swept them away, but they simply flapped about in the air, shedding feathers and dust, then returned to the desk. A latecomer landed on the writer’s head, another on his shoulder.
Tobias grimaced and pushed back his chair. ‘Look! Look!’ he sang in his best Italian pigeon accent. ‘The bella bambina has brought us biscuits for our lunch.’
‘Biscuits!’ he screeched, now in a high-pitched Italian voice. ‘I can’t eat biscuits! Just look at how fat I am getting!’
Freja gasped in delight, for the pigeon on Tobias’ shoulder now fluffed up her feathers and turned into a chubby, round ball.
‘It’s because of all the salami he eats. He loves salami. He loves salami like the rest of us love to breathe! Yesterday, he ate three whole salamis for breakfast and when his wife asked where they had all gone, he blamed it on the cat.’
‘That is a fat cat the Alfonzos have. Perhaps he truly did eat the salamis.’
‘No! No!’ sobbed Tobias in a mournful voice. ‘The Alfonzo cat is fat from eating pigeons. My poor cousin Fredo . . .’
Freja giggled helplessly. Finnegan snatched the packet of biscuits from her hand and gobbled them up, paper and all.
‘Ciao!’ called a voice from down in the street.
Tobias stared at Freja. ‘I say, old chap! You don’t suppose there’s a pigeon down there who’s really talking?’
‘Ciao! Ciao! It’s me! Vivi!’
Freja ran to the edge of the balcony, leaned over the railing and waved. ‘Ciao, Vivi! You’re looking very pretty today.’
Vivi smiled and curtseyed. She wore a white dress patterned with large pink cherry blossoms. Her feet looked delicious in macaron-pink shoes with bows on the toes. Pinned to her shoulder was an oversized brooch in the shape of a bluebird.
Tobias leaned over the railing beside Freja. The pigeons still clung to his head and shoulder.
Vivi slapped her hand across her mouth, but could not contain her laughter. It gurgled up inside, slipped through her raspberry-gelato lips, floated up into the air and danced around the balcony.
‘Oooh,’ sighed Tobias.
‘Boof!’ said Finnegan, and he nipped at the seat of his master’s pants.
Vivi held up Rome’s Reward and a pale blue-and-white striped box. ‘May I come up?’
‘I stayed awake all night reading Rome’s Reward!’ said Vivi, breathless with excitement. ‘I was completely hooked from the first page!’
‘Me too!’ said Freja, licking macaron crumbs from her lips.
‘This morning, I rang my mamma and begged her to look after Café Vivi so I could come and tell Signore Appleby how very much I like his work.’
The Girl, the Dog, and the Writer in Rome Page 19