When she had watched the programme before, she had been too busy to concentrate. She had been fussing around in the kitchen, making Duncan’s lunch for the following day. The television had been on in the lounge and Duncan had called her in a couple of times to watch it with him. She had seen the last twenty minutes, enough to agree Sicily looked lovely.
This time, with no interruptions, she watched the whole programme, gawping at the bright blue sea and sunshine. She understood why Duncan had been attracted to the place. It looked wild, exotic, and stuffed full of history; and the food looked amazing too. She watched as the presenter tucked into a dish of Parma ham and grilled figs. She pulled at a damp strand of her fig perfumed hair and inhaled.
The handsome Anglo-Italian presenter was talking about the weather and said one of the best times to visit was September, when the summer crowds had gone and the weather was more bearable. It was still in the mid-twenties Celsius and would stay reasonably warm through to December. It sounded like heaven.
Julia woke up with a headache, to the sound of rain battering the bedroom windows and the roof of the conservatory. She sat up stiffly, put her hand on her head and pulled at her hair, surprised to find it hanging in limp oily rats’ tails. Her hair still reeked of figs; then she remembered taking the bath after the party. She picked up her mobile phone and checked for messages. There was one from Marianne, sent around 3.00am.
“Cheeky mare taking Paula’s taxi! She was hopping mad with you. Why did I invite her anyway, she can be such a bitch? FYI she thinks you have your “hooks” into Cameron. Silly cow!”
Hooks? Into Cameron? Oh for fuck’s sake, thought Julia. She felt like screaming. Wasn’t it bad enough to be grieving for Duncan without people saying stupid things about her? She wished she hadn’t gone to the party. She pulled the duvet over her head and prayed for sleep.
She woke up an hour later when the phone rang. It was Marianne.
‘I’m so hung-over, what was I thinking at my age?’
‘You don’t sound hung-over? Go away and let me go back to sleep,’ Julia said.
Marianne laughed before she replied, ‘oh, are you still in bed? It’s nearly eleven.’
‘I didn’t get much sleep last night.’
‘You OK?’
‘Yes, no, maybe.’
‘Thanks for coming last night. I know it’s hard work being at a party when you feel so terrible. I really appreciated it though. And I’m sure Cameron enjoyed your company too. He’s not in a good place either.’
‘I really hope people don’t start thinking there’s anything going on.’
‘What does it matter what people think?’
‘It matters to me; and I certainly wouldn’t want Jamie and Bryden to hear anything.’
‘But nothing happened last night, so why would they?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m paranoid. I probably just drank too much.’
‘Well you’re entitled to let your hair down once in a while. I really missed Duncan last night. It’s not a proper party without him.’ Marianne sighed, and they were silent for a moment.
Julia got out of bed holding the cordless phone to her ear and looked out of the bedroom window. The rain had stopped but the sky was still gloomy.
‘I don’t know what we’re going to do for your fiftieth in a few weeks. Maybe just a quiet dinner eh? Will the boys get back for it?’
‘I don’t think so. I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,’ Julia replied, without any enthusiasm in her voice.
‘Well anyway, thanks for coming. I’ll let you get back to sleep. See you later in the week, eh?’
Julia put the phone down and decided to get up. Her headache had subsided and she was hungry. She went downstairs thinking about her own forthcoming “big” birthday. She felt a sense of dread at the idea of turning fifty. She felt so old, which was not helped by having two grown up sons and being widowed. It was different for Marianne, whose younger daughters were still at school; or even for someone like Cameron who had married a much younger woman and now had a five year old daughter to keep him young.
As she waited for the kettle to boil she stared at the calendar and the little red heart drawn in felt-tip which Duncan had scribbled on her birthday. She doubted her sons would be able to get home in time. Bryden would be busy teaching and wouldn’t be able to get away until a week later, for the school holidays, and Jamie would be in the middle of a surgical rotation.
Julia made herself a sandwich and some coffee and took her breakfast into the lounge. She moved her iPad along the sofa and put her feet up and thought about her birthday. She was certain Marianne would plan something for her. It would be lovely and thoughtful; but Julia didn’t feel like being sociable, especially if it meant she might have to deal with Cameron again.
What she hadn’t told Marianne was Cameron had tried to kiss her, in the back of the taxi. It was probably only intended to be a friendly kiss on the cheek, but somehow his lips had met hers, and she had pushed him away, jumped out of the taxi and hurried indoors without saying goodbye, or even offering to pay her share of the fare. She really didn’t want to see him again for a while.
Julia finished her sandwich and switched on her iPad to check her emails. Her Facebook habit had diminished considerably; she only looked at it occasionally to check up on her sons.
Her only emails were spam and as she scrolled through the titles, checking them off to delete without reading, she spotted an email from a travel website announcing a sale on flights to Europe during October and November. She opened the email and clicked on the link to their website. One of the first offers to appear on the page was a return flight to Palermo in Sicily for £69. Despite the fact she knew this incredibly low price would not include anything such as luggage, booking fees and was probably for silly dates and times she clicked on the offer to see more details.
Without thinking very clearly about what she was doing she booked herself a return flight to Palermo from Gatwick for the entire month of October. She entered her credit card details and completed the purchase, and then leaned back on the sofa in triumph. Then she sat up again quickly. October was less than two weeks away and she hadn’t booked any accommodation or flights down to London. She would be away for her birthday now and Marianne would not be pleased. Or maybe she would, but she wondered what the boys would say about her taking off on her own like that.
‘I’m a grown-up!’ Julia said aloud. ‘Oh help. Where am I going to stay for a whole month?’
She got up and took her tray out to the kitchen then picked up the phone to call Marianne.
‘I’ve just booked a holiday in Sicily.’
‘Oh good for you. When are you going?’
‘In a few days; for the whole of October!’
‘A whole month? Are you serious? What are you going to do for so long on your own?’
‘Four times what I would do if I just went for a week.’
‘Very funny! Where are you staying?’
‘I don’t know yet. I just booked the flights and haven’t even looked for somewhere to stay. I’ll look for a nice hotel somewhere.’
‘Why don’t you rent a villa? We used that website, villas-direct or something, when we went to Spain last summer. It was far nicer than staying in a hotel.’
‘Brilliant idea; I’ll do that now. I don’t know what Jamie and Bryden will say. They’ll probably think I’ve lost my marbles.’
‘So? You’re a grown up now.’
Julia decided to book all her accommodation before telling her sons she was going away. She followed Marianne’s advice and found a two bedroomed villa in a small village near Cefalu, close to the sea. The owner lived in the adjoining villa and there was shared access to a swimming pool and a lovely terraced garden with fig and olive trees. The rent she negotiated with the English owner for the whole of October was a bargain, as it was out of season.
There was so much to do before her holiday she really didn’t have time to be miserable. S
he spent the next few days running around, buying clothes for her holiday and then taking them back to the shop when she realised they made her look like somebody’s granny. She bought euros, travel insurance and medication. She made sure all her bills were paid, spring-cleaned the house, bought batteries for her camera and then packed and repacked her bags, unable to decide what to take. She took her houseplants around to Marianne’s for her to water, and then raided Marianne’s wardrobe for holiday clothes to borrow.
She rang Jamie to tell him her plans.
‘Hello darling. I’ve got a surprise for you and Bryden. I’m going to be in Edinburgh for a couple of days?’
‘Why?’
I’m travelling through, on my way down to Gatwick. I’m going on holiday.’
‘Who are you going with?’
I’m going on my own – to Sicily.’
‘On your own – to Sicily? Are you mad?’
‘What’s wrong with Sicily? It looks lovely.’
‘I’m sure it is; if you stay out of the way of the mafia.’
‘Don’t be silly, I’m sure they’re much too busy to bother with me. I bet that stuff’s all exaggerated.’
‘Really? Well I don’t suppose you’ll get in too much bother in a week. Might be good for you to have a break.’
‘I’m going for a month actually; and Jamie, do try to be a little less patronising. I’m nearly fifty. I can look after myself.’
Clearly all Jamie heard was “a month.”
‘You can’t go away for a whole month on your own, what if something happens to you?’
‘There’s Wi-Fi in the villa, I can email you or ring you every day if you want. Nothing’s going to happen to me,’ Julia replied, feeling less and less sure of herself as Jamie railed against her mad idea. Eventually Julia got annoyed with him and snapped she would see him in Edinburgh before she left, and put the phone down.
She rang Bryden and he was a lot more cheerful about the prospect, particularly when she told him she had booked a two bedroomed villa. He said he would think about coming out to see her during the school holidays. When Julia offered to pay for his flights he was even more enthusiastic about the idea.
Julia had finally packed everything for her trip. Her suitcase and handbag were in the porch and her raincoat was folded over the top; all ready to go the next day. She had gone through the “tickets, passport, money” routine until she thought she was in danger of developing OCD.
She was in the kitchen making something to eat when she heard a car. She went to the door and saw Cameron’s Toyota Prius parked on the drive. He got out of the car and then opened the back passenger door and let his daughter out. Amy was struggling under the weight of a large bouquet of roses. Cameron took them off her and held his daughter’s hand and led her to the house.
‘Hello Amy,’ Julia said, trying to sound welcoming, at least to the little girl. ‘Come along inside. I’ve got some juice and chocolate biscuits.’
Amy let go of Cameron’s hand and ran indoors and headed straight for the lounge. Julia heard the television channel change to a cartoon.
‘Confident little thing isn’t she?’
‘She is. You don’t mind me bringing her do you? It’s my turn to have her tonight and we didn’t know what to do this evening. I bought you these; to say sorry.’
Julia took the flowers from him and stood back to let him in.
‘Sorry for what?’
‘You know, for getting drunk and being silly.’
‘You must buy a lot of flowers.’
Cameron grinned sheepishly, and shut the front door behind him. He followed her into the kitchen, pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.
‘Would you like a tea or coffee? Would Amy like a drink?’
‘Yeah sure, tea for me; Amy drinks milk or water usually.’
Julia took a glass of milk and a biscuit into the lounge for Amy and then came back and made a pot of tea. She handed Cameron a mug.
‘Aren’t you going to put the roses in water?’ Cameron said, breaking the awkward silence.
‘No, you’ll have to take them home with you. I’m going on holiday tomorrow so I won’t get the benefit from them. But thanks anyway.’
‘Holiday? Where are you going?’
‘Sicily. Duncan said he wanted to go there, just a few hours before he died. And I decided, if I’m going to sit around feeling sorry for myself, then I may as well do it where it’s sunny and warm.’
‘That’s a brilliant idea. I’ve never been to Italy, although everyone who goes seems to like it. Good for you!’
‘I’m going down to stay with Bryden to catch up with the boys for a couple of days, then I’m flying down to Gatwick and then off to Sicily for the whole of October.’
‘Wow, you don’t do things by halves.’
‘It was a bit spur of the moment, but it was such a bargain for the flights and accommodation. And it gets me out of the country on my birthday. I shall have a memorial service for my youth on my own. A nice restaurant with a glass or two of Prosecco. Sounds perfect!’
‘It does actually. God, I wish I could just take off for a few weeks.’
Cameron sipped his tea thoughtfully. Julia peered through to the lounge and saw Amy was curled up in an armchair watching a pop video. Her milk was untouched on the coffee table.
‘So, we’re still friends then?’ Cameron said.
Julia snapped her attention back to him.
‘Yes,’ she replied cautiously. ‘We’ve been friends since we were bairns, one stupid drunken kiss doesn’t change anything. But two might!’ She stood up abruptly and took her mug to the sink.
‘We’d better get going, leave you to get ready for your holiday.’
‘I’m already sorted, see!’ Julia replied, pointing to her suitcase.
‘Well anyway.’
Cameron stood up and went to get Amy. She got up from the chair without argument and switched off the television. She picked up her glass and drank most of the milk and handed it back to Julia.
‘Thanks!’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Daddy’s getting me a kitten tomorrow.’
‘Is he now? That’s very exciting. I’ll have to come and see him.’
‘It’s a girl kitten; her name is Jessie J.’
‘That’s a bit like Postman Pat’s cat. That’s called Jess.’
Amy looked puzzled.
‘She doesn’t watch Postman Pat. Too old fashioned,’ Cameron said, raising his eyes to heaven.
Julia laughed.
‘Jessie J the kitten. That’s going to be fun for you.’
Cameron shrugged. ‘It will be company for me when she’s not around.’
‘I might have to get one too,’ Julia replied, as she followed them out to the porch.
‘You have a good holiday. Take care now!’ Cameron smiled at her, and took Amy’s hand.
‘I’ll put up some pictures of the sunshine on Facebook. Make you jealous!’
‘Do that! See you when you come back.’
‘Don’t forget the roses.’
Julia hurried back and retrieved them from the kitchen worktop.
‘Didn’t you like the flowers? Daddy bought them in Tesco for you. They cost £9.99 and I put the money in the funny machine. I got a penny back,’ Amy said, reaching into her pocket and producing her change.
Julia grinned at Cameron and handed the roses to Amy.
‘You should have them in your room, Amy. Your daddy really bought them for you as a surprise.’
Amy’s eyes widened with pleasure.
‘Thanks Daddy. A kitten and flowers! Can’t wait to tell Mummy and Uncle John.’
Amy stepped outside and didn’t see Cameron put his fingers to his temple and pretend to shoot himself.
‘The innocence of youth; thanks anyway. I’ll see you when I get back home,’ Julia said. She reached out and touched his arm and squeezed it. Cameron smiled and followed his daughter out to the car.
&
nbsp; 9
Julia emerged into the bright Sicilian sunshine from the starkly contrasting gloom of the airport arrivals hall in Palermo. Weary from an early morning start at Gatwick and a sleepless night in a noisy airport hotel, she made her way towards the adjoining train station.
The marble hall of the station was refreshingly cool and there was a train sitting expectantly on the platform. Julia hurried towards the ticket office, mentally rehearsing how she would ask for a ticket to Cefalu in Italian. The word for ticket seemed straightforward enough, if she remembered not to pronounce the g – un biglietto per Cefalu, per favore.
The young man behind the counter frowned at her as she stood, plucking up the courage to speak.
‘Prego,’ he snapped.
‘Um, sorry? Oh I mean, un biglietto per Cefalu, si’vous plait, I mean, per favore.’
‘Cefalu?’
‘Si?’
He printed the ticket and tapped on the till so she could see the price. She handed over a fifty euro note and the man muttered under his breath in response, she could only guess it was because he was running out of change.
Julia took the ticket and turned towards the platform. The departures board indicated the train would leave in five minutes. Julia dragged her suitcase along the platform and got onto the train and sat down gratefully.
She sighed with relief at having successfully negotiated her first Italian transaction. She put the ticket in her handbag and sat with her hands protectively over it, and looked around at the other passengers, listening to the sound of their voices; snippets of Italian gossip she had no hope of understanding, but it sounded so exciting.
The train doors slammed shut after a garbled announcement of the destinations. Julia realised she had not pronounced the name Cefalu properly when she had bought the ticket; it was Chefaloo, not Kefaloo. No wonder the poor man in the ticket office had been so impatient with her.
Learning to Dance Again Page 6