But then again…
Three
SOWING THE SEED
On one of her visits to Sussex, Connie told her son about her findings in The Box. Nick knew, as they all did, that she’d been orphaned when tiny and so knew precious little about her father’s side of the family. At first Nick had seemed sceptical, unconvinced that the contents of The Box would lead anywhere. But she knew that he, more than the others, worried about her being alone in London. And he admitted to being a little concerned as to what she might get up to next.
‘Surely you must have known about some of this before?’
‘I only knew her name was Maria because I’d visited their grave up in Newcastle; Robert and Maria they were called. I never met them because they both died around the time I was born. The only information I’ve got really was from an old neighbour I tracked down when I was up there years ago. He told me my granddad had had a little market stall, somewhere near the docks.’ Connie remembered the old boy who was only too eager to tell her about the flour, rice, spices and ‘funny foreign things’ her grandfather had had for sale. ‘See,’ he’d said, ‘there were lots of foreigners around the docks in them days looking for olives and funny stuff like that.’ But he’d made no mention of a foreign wife, funny or otherwise.
‘And what I’ve discovered from The Box,’ Connie went on, ‘is that my enterprising grandfather had married one Maria Martilucci from somewhere near Amalfi in Italy! I’d love to go there and see if I can find some cousins. Wouldn’t that be thrilling? Do you remember we drove along the Amalfi Coast years ago when you were tiny? So beautiful!’
‘Mum,’ Nick said with exaggerated patience. ‘You do get carried away sometimes. After all, there must be millions of Martiluccis in Italy and how are you ever going to find out if any are related?’
Connie had little idea, but replied, ‘I’d have a lot more chance of finding out in Italy than I ever would here.’ And she was fascinated by the idea that some Latin blood might be coursing around in her veins. Surveying her grey-green eyes and less-than-lush eyelashes in her hand mirror, Connie felt a desperate need for some of that traditional Latin lusciousness: the dark eyes, the lustrous lashes and that thick dark hair which turned an interesting steel colour with maturity. Well, at least she had thick hair, although sometimes she had difficulty in remembering what colour it had once been underneath the highlights and lowlights. British brown, if she remembered rightly.
For the first time in decades, after forty-one years of marriage and four children, Connie McColl was free to do as she wished. She went out to Waterstones and bought a Teach Yourself Italian book and CD. And then wondered if easyJet or Ryanair flew to Naples. That would be the sensible way to get there. She listened to her Andrea Bocelli CD while pondering the possibilities. Could this be another adventure?
Connie spent Easter with Nick, Tess and the boys. And she spent a lot of that time daydreaming.
A week later Connie asked, ‘Did you do anything nice over Easter?’ as the three women settled themselves at a non-wobbly table near the pub window. It was almost warm enough to sit outside.
‘Nah,’ said Gill. ‘Stayed with my daughter, the one who lives near Margate. Screaming kids everywhere.’ She was wearing a too-short skirt and shoes with what looked like four-inch heels.
Maggie took a gulp of her wine. ‘No, we didn’t do much either. Ringer was out on business a lot of the time.’ In contrast, Maggie was wearing jeans and trainers, topped with a purple fleece that drained her of what little colour she had.
Out on business, at Easter? Not for the first time Connie wondered about Maggie’s partner and exactly what business he was in.
‘What about you, Connie?’
‘Oh, the usual. A couple of days with Nick and his family, then a day or two with my younger daughter, Lou, and her family. Love them all to bits, but exhausting.’ And it was true. In the couple of years she’d been living in London she had definitely become much more tired much more easily. She didn’t relish coming up to seventy, but there it was and, as they say, better than the alternative.
Maggie stared gloomily out of the window. ‘I think I’m needing to shake up my life.’
The other two looked at her questioningly.
‘What’s wrong with your life then, Maggie?’ Gill asked.
Maggie shrugged. ‘It would appear I’m past my sell-by date. Being replaced by a newer model.’
‘Oh, Maggie!’ Connie and Gill spoke in unison.
Maggie took another large slurp. ‘Yeah, well.’
‘Men!’ exclaimed Connie. ‘Maybe it’s time you found yourself a younger model too.’
‘A toy-boy,’ said Gill, ‘but don’t hold your breath, Maggie, ’cos I’ve been looking for years.’
‘Ringer’s five years younger than me anyway,’ Maggie said, to no one in particular.
‘Why’s he called Ringer?’ Gill asked.
‘Well, he’s William really, but his surname’s Bell. So, Ringer Bell. That’s another story. Not that he does much bell-ringing.’ Maggie sniggered at the thought.
‘Hardly a campanologist then,’ scoffed Gill.
‘More of an escapologist,’ Maggie said drily.
Connie and Gill exchanged glances, both too embarrassed to ask Maggie exactly what she meant. Connie stared out of the window where an elderly couple were seated at a table on the pavement; he hidden from view by his outstretched edition of the Sun, while she gazed sadly into space. Marriage. Some marriages. Most marriages? Connie’s marriage had been similar, jogging along from years of habit. (‘Looks like rain, doesn’t it?’ ‘Will you be golfing today, dear?’)
‘You’re on your own, aren’t you, Connie?’ Maggie asked.
‘Yes, divorced. Just got some money from the sale of the house and from a small inheritance but haven’t decided what to do with it yet. I should, of course, be looking at somewhere to buy instead of paying rent.’ Connie shrugged. ‘I really must make my mind up what I’m going to do.’
‘Surely,’ said Gill, ‘you can do anything you fancy.’
Connie grinned. ‘You know what, Gill? You’re absolutely right!’ She looked out at the rain drumming against the window.
And what I fancy, Connie thought, is some sunshine.
* * *
Connie had finally succumbed to her urge and taken herself to have a wander round Get Moving, the motorhome dealership she’d spotted on the day the tree had shed its branch across the train line. She hadn’t looked inside any sort of caravan for years, not since the newlywed Nick and Tess had taken themselves off to Spain in an ancient camper van nearly ten years ago.
‘You’ll hardly be able to stand up or move in that thing,’ she’d remarked to her son, six foot two in his stockinged feet, and his well-upholstered wife.
‘We plan to be lying down most of the time,’ Nick had replied with a glint in his eye.
But these luxurious models were something else. Connie was bowled over by the clever designs, the proper kitchens, loos, showers and beds that popped out of nowhere. You could almost live in one full-time.
Kevin, the eager young salesman, was full of suggestions. ‘And you could hang your bike on the bracket back there,’ he said.
‘My bike?’ Connie squeaked.
‘Well, why not?’ Kevin didn’t seem at all fazed by his mature customer.
‘Why not indeed?’ she said. ‘But I couldn’t afford one of these big new ones. I’d only want a little one for a holiday.’
‘Ah, but we have some really affordable used models, Mrs McColl. Have you seen this beauty here? This is La Bellezza, Italian, finest model on the market. Four berths, full-sized oven, built-in microwave, nice shower, heating… and you get fantastic mileage. And fuel’s cheaper in Europe, of course.’
‘It’s far too big for me.’ Connie wished it wasn’t, as it was an amazing motorhome at an almost affordable price. ‘And it’s left-hand drive as well. I wouldn’t want that.’
‘But what could
be better if you’re planning to drive on the continent? And it gives you plenty of room for all your stuff. I know you ladies like to take lots of clothes on holiday,’ Kevin said, nudging her. He looked barely eighteen. ‘One size bigger than this and you’d need a special licence to drive it. Hardly been used, has this. One owner, an old bloke and his missus, must have been in their seventies if they were a day. Off to the Costas they were, getting away for the winter and all that. Then, what does he go and do? Has a heart attack, that’s what. Kaput!’ He ran his finger across his chest to illustrate this fact. ‘Left the old girl down there all on her own. And she couldn’t even drive; some relative had to fly down and bring the thing back. It’s a real bargain. Massive, innit? Bring your old man along to look at the engine.’
‘I haven’t got an old man any more, Kevin. The engine will be my concern.’ Then she realised she might have spoken sharply when she saw his cheeks go pink. ‘But I’d appreciate advice on the engine, of course. I’d have to bring my son along to give it the once-over.’
‘No problem. The original brochure’s in the drawer there, so take it with you if you like and take a few photos as well. Remember, this ain’t going to hang around for long, bargain like this.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Connie said.
* * *
Maggie, dark circles under her puffy eyes, had knocked back her large glass of Sauvignon before the other two had had more than a couple of sips.
‘Is everything OK, Maggie?’ Connie had got to know this nervous little woman well enough to realise that things probably weren’t at all OK.
‘Yeah, I’m all right.’
‘Well, you don’t look all right,’ said Gill with her usual lack of subtlety. ‘I suppose it’s this Ringer bloke of yours?’
‘He doesn’t come home very much at the moment,’ Maggie sighed.
‘Leave him then,’ said Gill. ‘It’s not as if you’re married to him, are you?’
Maggie shook her head. ‘But I don’t know where I’d go.’
‘You’ve got a son, haven’t you?’
‘He’s in Melbourne. Can’t exactly pop over there, can you?’
‘Why not?’ asked Connie. ‘Couldn’t he help you with the fare, perhaps?’
Maggie shrugged. ‘It’s not that so much as I’m scared of flying. Here, I’m going to have to have another glass of this – it’s the best I’ve felt all day.’
‘My treat,’ said Connie. ‘Let’s all have another one! That’s one advantage in not having a car any more.’
‘Drunk and disorderly on the Tube instead,’ said Gill. ‘So what have you been up to, Connie?’
‘Well, I’ve recently discovered an Italian grandmother I didn’t know I had. Now I’ve got a fancy to go out to Italy to find out more about her, and to see if I have any distant cousins over there.’
‘You’d better get booking your flight then,’ Gill said. ‘How long will you be away for?’
‘Can’t make up my mind at the moment.’
‘I met a lovely Italian once,’ Gill went on. ‘He was called Fabio and he was bloody gorgeous. He had to go back home to Italy, but he said if I was ever in Rome I was to look him up.’
‘I went to Sicily with Ringer once,’ said Maggie. ‘Years ago.’
Gill snorted. ‘Why am I not surprised? He probably had to report to the Mafia.’
‘He’s not that bad,’ Maggie snapped.
‘I’m not sure if I’ll even be booking a flight,’ Connie said, twiddling her glass. ‘I might drive down to Italy.’
‘Drive! All that way!’ Maggie exclaimed.
‘Well, I’m in no hurry; as long as it takes.’
‘But you haven’t got a car,’ Gill pointed out.
‘True. But I’m half considering buying a motor caravan. I’d only need a little one. I’ve even been to look at a few.’
There was a stunned silence before Gill said, ‘You’d have to be mad to drive one of those bleeding great things all the way down there on your own.’
‘Well, it does worry me a bit but I’m sure I could manage. I like driving and I miss it.’ Connie hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.
‘What would you do if anything went wrong?’ Gill asked. ‘You’d be stuck there all by yourself.’
There was silence for a few moments before Maggie piped up. ‘I’d come with you, Connie.’
Connie couldn’t believe she’d heard correctly. ‘What?’
‘I’d come with you. I’m quite good with cars and things. I can change a tyre and do basic stuff on engines. I did a course once when I worked for a garage owner.’
‘But it’s a great big bus-like thing Connie’s talking about,’ Gill spluttered.
‘Well, one engine’s much like another.’ Maggie seemed unconcerned. Connie couldn’t imagine this equally elderly, slightly built, pale little woman doing anything much more strenuous than changing her bed linen.
‘Why on earth would you want to go with Connie?’ Gill was staring, open-mouthed, at Maggie.
‘Because I need to get away and sort myself out,’ Maggie said. ‘Because it might be an adventure and it might be fun. Because I fancy some sunshine. How many more reasons would you like?’ For a moment Maggie had come alive, her face lighting up at the prospect.
‘Put like that,’ Gill said, ‘it doesn’t seem such a bad idea.’
Connie, touched by her eagerness, considered this unlikely scenario. She was fond of Maggie but knew little about her, far less whether they could live in such close proximity for days or weeks on end. You’d have to know someone really well, like a husband (not hers, though) or a best friend. Even then it could become claustrophobic.
‘Could I come too, then?’ Gill was staring down at her drink as if afraid to meet the eyes of the other two.
Connie was beginning to think they must all be a bit deranged. Had they put something in the wine?
Maggie laughed. ‘You’ve started something now, Connie! I bet you never guessed there were so many old bats raring to get to Italy! But why would you want to go, Gill?’
‘Because I’ve a big birthday coming up – my sixtieth, you know? – and I don’t want to be here with my family all duty-bound to give me crappy old lady type presents like bath salts and carpet slippers.’
‘You don’t look like a bath salts and slippers type of person at all,’ said Connie, looking at Gill’s layers of make-up and heavily mascaraed eyes. But sixty – who was she kidding? The woman was seventy if she was a day.
‘Not to mention the fact that there are all these lovely blokes down there. And I’d so like to see Fabio again ’cos I dream about him still. And I’ve never been to Italy.’
Connie took a deep breath. ‘You’ve certainly given me plenty to think about, ladies. But I haven’t made any final plans yet.’
‘Well, I can’t wait a whole fortnight to find out,’ said Gill. ‘Couldn’t we meet again next week? Will you have decided by then, Connie?’
‘Possibly. Maybe. I’ve no idea. But anyway, why not? No reason why we shouldn’t come here again next Thursday – same time, if that’s OK?’ Connie decided not to mention that she could think of little else.
‘OK,’ said Gill.
‘Fair enough,’ said Maggie.
It was too early to raise their hopes, but Connie was becoming increasingly excited at the idea.
Four
GERMINATION
Connie tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She envisaged Paris and Nice and Florence and Rome. And Amalfi, of course. But, on her own? Surely she’d need someone with whom to share these sights and delights? Someone to look out for road signs and give directions, and perhaps change a tyre – although she couldn’t for the life of her imagine Maggie jacking up a motorhome! For herself, of course, she’d only need a little vehicle, with a bed, a mini-cooker, a shower and some sort of loo perhaps. Nothing too expensive either, because she really should be looking to buy bricks and mortar instead of renting Di’s flat, even if i
t was only a token amount. She supposed she could sell the motorhome on her return for not far short of what she’d paid for it, providing she could get it to Italy and back in one piece. And there was that inheritance from her friend Jeannie, who, Connie felt sure, would approve of such a purchase for what could be an exciting adventure.
For three of them she’d need something much larger, of course, like La Bellezza. She’d looked it up; it meant ‘the beauty’, and it was a beauty. It had stolen her heart, and it was Italian, surely yet another pointer in the right direction. And left-hand drive, so ideal for France and Italy if not for England. It was designed for at least four people, which probably meant a couple and kids. But perhaps she should just go and have another peep at it – not to buy it or anything… Should she take Maggie and Gill along to look at it too? No, no, what was she thinking of! Dear Lord, she hardly knew them!
At three o’clock she gave up trying to sleep, got up and made some tea. She studied La Bellezza’s original brochure, which she’d taken from the kitchen drawer, while she drank the tea, and then had another look at the photos on her mobile. The brochure was full of details and the photographs were lovely. She had to admit that she’d fallen in love with a big, beautiful Italian. La Bellezza!
The Getaway Girls: A hilarious feel-good summer read Page 2