Euro Tripped

by Sally Bryan

  “Oh, my goodness, you spoke to him?” I shrieked, holding my chest as mental images of an eccentric Scottish would-be aristocrat stomping around in front of my friends flashed through my mind.

  She spooned Bolognese sauce over her spaghetti, calm as I’d come to expect. “Of course, delightful man, a little hard to understand.”

  “Aye, his accent’s very thick,” I waved it away as the irrelevance that it was, “but what did he say?” I interrupted her as she was about to speak. “Wait, did you just call him delightful?”

  “I did,” she subconsciously glanced over at Marco, asleep in his buggy, “and he was asking questions, that’s all. Would you like any more meatballs?”

  “No, what was he asking?”

  “Where’s Alessia? She’s late again. Oh, you know, just the usual ones, the banal, polite questions. What work is she doing, is she any good, is she having fun.”

  I wasn’t sure I was hearing this. “Was there, by any chance, a woman with him?”

  She nodded. “Indeed there was.” Maybe that explained it then. Oh, there was more. “He was interested in knowing if you’d been on any dates.”

  “He was?”

  She stared blankly through me. “Or maybe it was his female friend who asked that. Hmmm, I really can’t remember. I was breastfeeding at the time and he was trying not to look. But of course, I spoke very highly of you, as did Alessia, but we wouldn’t get involved in your personal business.”

  I rubbed at my temple. “And he didn’t try coercing you into firing me?”

  “Firing you?” She stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth. “No, he was nice, a gentleman.”

  I thanked her for this rather unbelievable account and sat down to eat spaghetti meatballs.

  And so I began work the next day fully expecting him to come tearing up the path at any moment, but come seven in the evening he still hadn’t turned up and neither did he come the day after that. In fact, I very nearly called to check if he was ok, half suspecting he might even have given me up as a bad job and flown back to Scotland but then he arrived just after ten in the morning, four days after I’d seen him last, and this time he came alone.

  Though he didn’t do me the courtesy of stomping immediately down the slope for round two but instead made me wait and I watched from the vines as he exited the Land Rover, walked around the house, poked his head inside the barn, stood speaking on his phone for twenty minutes and then finally hung up when Salvo happened past pushing his wheelbarrow. The two of them spoke for a while as I snipped at bunches of grapes and tried to keep an eye on them as they occasionally made gestures in my direction and I’d have killed to know what was being said.

  But the morning’s bizarre events were only just beginning as a bright red Porsche drove up the path, a conspicuous vehicle I’d never before seen here. The dust clouded thick around its wheels and it came to a skidding stop, the woman inside hastily shut the top, futilely batting at the air around her, and then continued towards the house at the summit.

  My dad left Salvo to his work and managed to intercept the woman on her way to the house from where they began another long conversation.

  After five minutes, I squinted up the slope and realised who the leggy woman, in flowing white summer dress might likely be, and wasn’t sure how Alessia would take the arrival of her mother. I’d only seen the woman from photos but even from this distance, her profile, most notably her Mediterranean hips, were similar to Alessia’s. My dad touched his cap, and the woman, who went by the name of Maria, headed towards the front door, my dad strode in the opposite direction, making sure to turn around and check out her behind as he did. I cringed and then cringed again when he approached Goro, who was heaving boxes into his truck.

  “Bastard,” I called out.

  “What, me?” It was Tesfay who spoke from two rows over.

  I waved, “oh, sorry, I didn’t mean you.”

  I knew what he was doing. My dad wasn’t a fool. On the contrary, he was absolutely shrewd, worldly and wily. He’d want to be sure before making any irreversible decisions, decisions of the like my sister knew all too well, and right now he was speaking to as many people as possible, gathering information, before demanding again that I return home.

  And if I didn’t?

  Alessia’s mother left the house, only minutes after arriving, and Dayna stood watch at the door as she entered the Porsche and drove away, just like that, and I hoped her little visit wouldn’t set Alessia back considering the remarkable progress she’d made recently.

  He was still speaking to Goro, which made me incredibly uncomfortable but there was nothing I could do. Fortunately, my dad wasn’t the type to take the word of an apparent unhinged, and spurned, former obsessive admirer on its own, but on top of what he’d learned from everyone else, including Gabe?

  It was a little before twelve when he finally strolled down into the vines. I threw a bunch of grapes into the cart, propped an elbow on its handle and waited for him to arrive.

  “Good morning, Trubbs,” he spoke with an even tone and I immediately knew there was a problem, not because of his voice but because of his eyes.

  “Dad? Are you ok?”

  He stopped beside the cart and mirrored my stance, placing his elbow on the opposing handle. “I’ve been speaking to some of your colleagues,” he began, ignoring my question, “it seems you have friends here.”

  “I would hope so, I love it here.” I paused. “Dad?”

  He surveyed the near vicinity, the vines, the orange trees, the stream that could just be heard trickling slowly over the small breeze. “I was thinking about the other day and I bet it must have been a bit of a shock to find I’ve been courting recently but I want you to know that nobody could ever replace your mother. Aileen will always be the love of my life.”

  I scrunched at the earth beneath my foot. “That’s ok, you don’t need to explain these things to me, I want you to be happy.” Surely he was due some happiness because if anyone had suffered, it was my dad, even if much of it he’d brought on himself.

  He looked like he’d not slept the last few days and I wondered if he might also have been weeping because the blood vessels in his eyes were red and dilated, though that on its own was not unusual for him, but the patches beneath were more prominent than when I’d seen him last. However, as so often with these things, it was what lay behind the eyes that so often gave it away.

  “And I like Eleanor,” I was quick to fill the silence, “how is she?” I immediately regretted asking because I realised the possibility they’d broken up during the interim might explain his present aspect but his reply quickly quashed that.

  “She’s been unwell these past days.” He said, waving it away. So they were still together, at least, but if my dad didn’t wish to talk about it then I’d press no further.

  Warm weather colds were common when arriving in a warm climate from a place like Scotland and she had been fatigued at the restaurant. But wait, she’d also taken frequent bathroom breaks, which could rule out a cold. My dad had not stopped by at the vineyard in two days, and I knew it would take a lot for him to postpone speaking with me, considering it was his entire reason for being here. Again, I examined my dad’s face, the irritation and something else, and feared what it might be, that maybe, just maybe, Eleanor had been in the early stages of pregnancy and miscarried? I was probably wrong, it was a wild stab based on very little, but was it really?

  My elbow fell off the handle and I carefully propped it back, hoping it wasn’t true yet not knowing what else it could be whilst knowing not to ask at the same time.

  He coughed and straightened, “anyway, to business because we can’t be having you wasting your time here when you’re needed in other places.”

  “Dad, this again? Please…”

  “No, I must say this and I must admit, I wasn’t all that keen on the idea of studying for so many years when quite honestly, there are better things to be doing, but now I can perfectly see t
he logic behind it and I must say, it’s quite brilliant in its way because where else would you find the best sorts of men? Aye, that fanny aside, of course. But because of him, you now have to start again and if you’re to bag one of these doctor types then you need to be where the doctor types are, which is in a bloody hospital,” he patted me on the arm, “didn’t I tell you? Brilliant! And you have the best possible chance of succeeding whilst you’re still young and pretty. You know, Trubbs, your looks will soon fade, so you have no time to piss about…” he opened out his arms, “…in a place like this, fun as it might be, for now at least, you’re unlikely to find the kind of man you’ll want to have children wi…” he abruptly stopped because his stare had settled on Tesfay, who’d dropped a grape and was even now stooping and turning it in his fingers as he blew away the soil. My dad shuddered and turned away, moving a little to the side, in the hope that doing so would block the Eritrean from my view, “no, no, Trubbs, a Scottish hospital, that’s the place for you. Now…”

  “Dad,” I quickly cut in, “I can’t say it any more plainly.” I breathed and my knee was shaking, not so much for me but for him, because he only wanted what he thought to be best for me, and I was about to shatter his hopes. “I’m staying here at the vineyard, I really like it, I’ve made friends and I believe I can be truly happy here.”

  “Aye, with that woman by all accounts.” The fact he knew did not come as a surprise and because I showed next to no reaction, it only confirmed the truth to him. “Yes, I thought so,” he growled and the vessels in his face flared, “so let me say it again, Freya,” which he only ever called me when he was serious, “you’re coming home.”

  I stood firm, even though I was shaking on the outside and breaking on the in. “Dad, I’m staying here.”

  He laughed but it was out of frustration then raised his voice. “Are you seriously giving up everything, your career, a decent man, a family, all for a glorified farm and some ditzy blonde who’ll leave the minute a man of money comes along?”

  I knew it wasn’t true, Arwen had already proven she wouldn’t, but this was so very hard and I hated it. “I’m giving up one career for another, one plan for another.”

  He brought his two palms briefly together, as if in prayer, or to beg, but then parted them and one balled into a fist. “Freya, I’m asking you, no, I’m pleading with you to come home or…or…” he couldn’t say it but I knew what he meant, that he’d do to me what he’d done to Lizzie.

  I stood firm, swallowed, heard the ocean rolling in my head. “Dad, I love you but I’m staying here.”

  His fist pulsed, it unclenched and clenched again and then he brought it to his mouth and bit. “You’re really fucking stubborn, just like your mother.”

  The gentle trickles of the stream were just barely audible above the lull in the breeze.

  He nodded, seemed to want to say more, the appalling hurt, disappointment, loss even, clear upon his ageing face. He turned away, took a single step up the slope, then another, stopped and then did the unexpected, “I’ve never been so proud of you.”

  My mouth fell open and I stepped back, I must have heard wrong. “What did you say? Dad?” But he was stomping away, long, fast strides, heading towards his vehicle and I might never hear from him again, “Dad?” He was fast and the soft earth unsteadied my shaking legs. “What did you say?” I yelled as he neared the Land Rover and for whatever reason, Alessia flashed through my mind, the torture she’d suffered because of what her dad said, or didn’t say, and this might be the final chance I’d ever have to say it, to shout it, “Dad, you have a grandson.”

  He stopped.

  One foot was extended in front of the other, I don’t know how long passed, and then his head turned part way to the side so that his ear faced me. “Is it true?”

  The whole world was silent. “I found Lizzie, yes, it’s true.”

  He didn’t move, not one inch. “What’s his name?”

  “Angus.”

  His head sagged and I thought I heard something, a moan perhaps, but it could have been the breeze and then he continued towards his vehicle, fumbled with the keys, climbed in and drove away.

  * * *

  Harvest season ended in the middle of October, which meant the great bulk of the physical labour was finished until the new season. It also presaged having to say goodbye to our seasonal workers, and I had no idea what happened to them or if they found employment elsewhere.

  Overall, it meant a shift in focus for me, from the production side of the business to the tourism. I was no Arwen when it came to dazzling the guests and even though I saw it as a chance for personal development, the very thought of taking my first tour group was still terrifying. Luckily, Alessia, who’d been running them intermittently since Arwen left, took me through a dress rehearsal and the next morning, at eleven o’clock precisely, a coach arrived from Genoa and sixty Germans trudged off.

  I hastily sent a photo of the approaching flock to Arwen, who was in Odessa, a city in Ukraine, of which I’d never heard but what looked beyond incredible.

  ‘Wish I could be there instead of here but I know you’ll do great,’ she replied and I closed my eyes, steadied myself and would try to do a good job for her.

  Like I said, I was no Arwen, but after the first few minutes, I soon found my swing, my voice and nerves settled and although I decided not to read any of my online reviews, I was optimistic my group had fun and at the end, the shop made decent takings and I even posed for a selfie with a couple from Cologne.

  Fifty-five days after Arwen left, Maria surprised me by again arriving out of nowhere, though luckily Alessia, Dayna and the baby were at lunch in San Gimignano. I sent Dayna a text to let them know who was presently sitting at their coffee table.

  “You’re using my best Amalfi pottery,” she sat and sipped her drink, “not the best espresso though. You should never grind the beans and allow them to sit in a jar for weeks, you grind them when you use them and you should always heat the cups so you’re not drinking it cold, a little hot water is all it takes.” It was an awkward coffee.

  I shrugged and spoke in English, “I’m really sorry but I don’t understand.”

  “It was you father I spoke last month,” she switched to English, oh shit, but then I perked at the mention of Dad, I’d not heard from him since that day on the vineyard, “he loves you very much. You break his heart.”

  My fingers began fidgeting with the espresso cup handle. “I love my dad but he’s stubborn.”

  “Like my daughter, Alessia. She hate me because of what I did. I’m sorry, I try to make things best again but she won’t speak to me.” She was a striking woman, much like her daughter, with the same sharp features. From what I’d heard, everything had been perfect between Maria and her husband until the day she was caught out and from then it was like a switch had been flicked in her head and it was all out war, take, take, take whatever she could, because the law was on her side, and everybody else could go to hell.

  I glanced from her Gucci bag resting on the table to the Porsche sitting on the gravel outside. “If you truly are sorry,” I said, switching to Italian, “you could start by selling that car and giving the money to your daughter. Maybe then she won’t lose her home.”

  Twenty seconds later she was out the door and I messaged Dayna to say the coast was clear.

  “Alessia never wants to see her again,” Dayna confided in me later that evening, “and I can’t say I blame her, Scotty. Oh,” she placed Marco in his cot, “it’s a little over a month before your girl returns home. We should start thinking about that party.”

  The mere mention of my girl and party was all it took for the electricity to begin surging through my veins. I missed her so much and although I’d remained as busy as possible the entire time, I could barely get her out of my head and I wasn’t sure if the photos she constantly sent were a help or death itself. Oh, she knew what she was doing, of course, and it wasn’t hard to picture her laughing to herself eve
n as she posed in the mirror, completely naked, before sending me the images. And then came the video of her lying on an empty beach, finger inserted as she panted my name.

  No, it wasn’t easy.

  Thankfully, there were books on agriculture, no joke, to keep my mind off her, which meant I was now reading in Italian and that to me was as impressive as attaining a medical degree.

  The next month involved fermenting, bottling and delivering, as well as being a tour guide, more than enough to stay busy whilst I planned Arwen’s welcome home party. It would be a simple affair, good food, drink, music and friends, which would culminate in the hottest, most eagerly anticipated, steamy night of passion I’d ever know. Alessia told me that Marco, her best friend and biological father to their son would be coming down from Switzerland, which meant he’d get to meet baby Marco for the first time.

  On day eighty-eight, everything was ready and I was so excited I could barely function, yet conversely I was operating on some zen level of awareness, rushing to finish tasks, which was futile because they were endless.

  I dashed into Poggibonsi for my appointment at the beauty salon, not my usual thing, and had a Brazilian. The things you do for love. That night, Arwen sent me a photo of her flight confirmation, from Saint Petersburg to Pisa, and in return I sent her an image of my waxed pussy.

  It was the morning of day eighty-nine when I received the call.

  I was in the barn labelling bottles and placing them in boxes ready for a delivery to Arezzo when my phone began to ring and I plucked it from my pocket and saw the name on the screen.

  “Oh,” I hummed and tapped the screen to answer, “Lizzie, hi.”

  “Frey, are you sitting down?”

  My heart, “what? No, hold up, ok. Lizzie, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m with Dad … in the hospital.” She was with Dad?