by Fay Henson
I loved seeing people like me, some sitting, some lying down in groups and chatting together. I wanted so much to be amongst them all. I was in awe of that place with the calm and happy atmosphere. There was no traffic which meant no noise, just a hum of voices all mingled with the chink of cups and saucers from the surrounding coffee bars. And it was all just a stone’s throw away from where I stayed last night. A thought struck me; I supposed there was a danger that I could run into that Lula again seeing as she lived right in the heart of Siena. Anyway, I hoped I wouldn’t.
And how amazingly easy it was to spot the foreign tourists; they were the ones who wore sunhats and carried small bottles of water wandering around and looking up at the buildings.
I was feeling quite chuffed with myself. I’d just got back from checking-out one of the streets nearby where I found a small English and Italian dictionary in a smart bookshop, the name on the bag was La Feltrinelli; I could have spent years in there, I spied a coffee bar with yummy stuff to eat (I planned on going inside the next time I passed) and I bought some cool sunglasses (weren’t dear) from a man who was selling souvenirs from a hut over there.
And just to finish it off perfectly, I was sitting on the ground again in that incredible place with an ice cream and trying desperately to eat it as fast as it was melting. But that wasn’t easy and I’d managed to drip a bit of the chocolate and melon onto my skirt.
‘Hey, ouch!’ I shouted. Someone had stamped on my left hand I had outstretched behind me to prop myself up, then immediately I felt a hand on my shoulder. I heard a girl’s voice.
‘Oh mi scusi.’ A girl in blue denim shorts and a sleeveless top bent down beside me.
‘It’s OK, no problem.’ I was massaging my fingers because really it did hurt.
The girl, who had massive dark sunglasses sitting on top of her head of dark brown wavy hair, could have been around eighteen or nineteen. She looked genuinely sorry.
‘You English?’ she asked me. I was starting to feel a bit hemmed in and embarrassed; the small group of girls she was with were stood towering above us. So I got myself up off the ground and she did the same.
‘Er, yes, si.’
‘My name is Stefania,’ she said, ‘and you are...?’ I was impressed with her pronunciation. It seemed obvious she was wanting to practice speaking English, but that was OK by me because I yearned to make some friends.
‘Ciao Stefania’, I replied, ‘pleased to meet you, my name’s Caylin.’ I smiled and wiped my sweaty right hand on my skirt then held my hand out to greet her. We briefly sort of shook hands and they sat down on the ground. Now or never, I thought.
‘Can I?’ I asked at the same time as I made an odd hand gesture towards the ground.
‘Sure.’
I sat back down again, that time near the five girls who were all wearing silky deep red, green and gold coloured scarves, and all tied in the same way. I wondered what type of club they belonged to. I loved listening to them chatting and fooling around with their phones and occasionally I answered their questions. I was dead chuffed.
‘You on holiday here alone?’ asked Stefania.
‘Si and no,’ I said giving her a smile. ‘My parents are in a hotel a few kilometres from here but I want to stay in Siena, so here I am.’
‘Yes, Siena is a great place, bu this period of year can be crazy.’
‘How old are you?’
‘I have nineteen years, sorry for my English,’ she said, ‘I’m nineteen, and you?’
‘Almost eighteen,’ I said thinking that sounded better than seventeen, or eighteen next June.
‘Where are you from, London?’ another girl asked, ‘I love London.’
‘No, Bristol on the other side of England.’ There was a brief silence because I didn’t think they knew of Bristol.
‘It’s good there too, you know.’
‘What’s it famous for?’ the other girl asked.
‘Well, it’s got an old bridge called the Clifton Suspension Bridge high up above a river, really cool shopping centres and loads of pubs and clubs plus a good football team.’
‘Do you work or go to college?’ I was interested to know about what they did.
‘We attend university here,’ Stefania said, ‘we’ve just completed the first year, but in differen subjects.’
‘My parents want me to go to university but I want to work,’ I added drearily.
‘What type of work?’
‘I’m still deciding.’
‘There are a lot of Erasmus foreign students at our universities,’ said the other girl, ‘they like it here.’
‘What do you study?’ I asked.
‘I do natural and environment science,’ Stefania said.
‘And I do political science,’ said the other girl.
‘Wow, interesting.’
Smart girls then. I was wondering what Erasmus was all about and maybe when I was back in Bristol, I could find some information on it. If my parents insisted on uni, how cool would that be, going to a university abroad. I would put up with uni if that were the case. But then, thinking about it, perhaps it wouldn’t be possible to study abroad any longer because of that Brexit thing.
Then my dream was lost, the girls got up off the ground and said ciao to me, all happy and having fun together. I got up too, straining not to show my disappointment. Maybe I could have followed them to see where else they hung out, and to find out about the coloured scarves, but then another thought came into my mind; what if they’d noticed my smudged pigeon-poo’d All Stars and it was that what they were really laughing about. I was so embarrassed.
Hey guys, an update – what you reckon then? Here’s a pic taken from my window. OK, the photo’s at an angle because I had to lean out a bit between the shutters, but at least you can see the street down below with shops and take-away pizza restaurants. Found this place half hour ago, they don’t do breakfast just a dead basic room to sleep and a shared bathroom but I was lucky to find it as everywhere else I went to was full or totally expensive. This evening after I’ve sussed out the shower, I’m going a wandering, can’t wait! J Catch u later...Your news???
I was feeling great, I’d had a shower and changed into a pair of shorts and summer top and sandals; I was ready to experience my first proper evening in the centre of Siena. I moved the white lace curtain to one side so I could take a quick peek into the street down below; it was getting dark and there were still many people moving around. I pulled the shutters closed and opened the window inwards to let some air in before locking my door behind me.
As soon as I stepped outside into the street, the aromas from the pizzeria’s ovens made my stomach rumble. I didn’t quite know where to go for something to eat; it wasn’t for the fact that I wouldn’t find somewhere, just there was too much choice.
It was fantastic; I could do whatever I wanted without anyone giving me their opinion. How cool was that. I turned right and followed the pretty illuminated street, passing coffee bars open for aperitifs, restaurants and shops with people still browsing. I kept doing left and right turns into different streets which all looked exactly the same, and often I’d end up again back at the square, Piazza del Campo. But that was just fine; I was happy exploring, and to top it all, I discovered that Siena had a comic book store which I hoped would be filled with stuff about my favourite Manga characters.
And if I walked past window-shopping tourists, I pretended in my mind that I was Italian and I casually strolled around humming to myself like I had no cares in the world and as if I’d always lived there.
But this evening, the nice cosy mood I was in disappeared within an instant. I hadn’t expected to bump into Vico, especially where he worked, although it was hardly surprising considering he lived so close, but it was his reaction to me that shocked me the most.
After I’d deciphered a menu on the window of a t
akeaway pizza restaurant, I peered inside through the door and immediately recognised Vico. He was working behind the counter. Wishing to be polite, I was just about to put my hand up and to say ciao whilst he was serving someone when I watched him slam his right fist down onto the counter at the same time as shouting something and staring straight at me. I felt utterly gobsmacked, and could tell that it wasn’t very nice because the customers who were waiting to be served just glared at me. What was it that I’d done? I thought. Surely he wasn’t aiming that at me. So when I turned to look behind me and discovered there wasn’t anyone, I broke into a cold sweat and realised who the abuse was targeted at; yours truly.
7
New me
I was feeling a bit sick with fear from the menacing look Vico was giving me, so I immediately moved away and went up the street, telling myself not to look back. But I couldn’t help it; I had to look back again to make sure he wasn’t coming after me.
I could see him standing outside the takeaway pizza restaurant and shouting a word really loudly, something like abro or ladro. What did that mean? I wondered, and I couldn’t, for the life of me, think of anything I’d done wrong. He really scared me. And just before I turned to continue up the street, I couldn’t swear on it, but I was sure that someone who looked like Lula was standing next to him, smirking. I didn’t think I’d ever felt so humiliated as that.
I tried painfully hard to keep a level head and to make it seem to the people around me that it really was nothing, I think I even pulled a face as if to question what it was all about. But if the truth was known, inside I was deeply upset. I needed to find someone friendly who could take my mind off it and whatever I’d supposed to have done.
My annoying ankle was starting to ache again, but I decided it’d be better if I went a bit further away from the people around that area before resting up a while. As luck must’ve been on my side, I came across a religious-type building which to my relief had steps I could sit down on. And there was a bonus too; I spied a bronze, well it looked like bronze, water fountain.
Having plonked myself down on a step, I took off my sandals and prodded my right foot, which seemed a bit puffy but nothing drastic, and waited for a couple of people to finish taking some mouthfuls of the running water from the fountain until it was my turn. I pressed and held the knob inwards, took some mouthfuls, then I held my ankle under the lush cold water for as long as my conscience would let me before stepping back to let others who were waiting. I sat back down again and let the warm evening air dry my foot.
I felt refreshed and calm enough to go and find another takeaway pizza restaurant. I could’ve stopped at an Indian or a Chinese restaurant I’d passed, but I didn’t see the point in that when I could go anytime I liked in Bristol. I was craving for real pizza, not frozen and not deep pan.
It didn’t take too long to find another place, but what took the longest was deciding which toppings I wanted. In the end and after I’d kept the assistant waiting for much too long really, I pointed at two big triangular slices, one with cheese and tomato and the other with added sausage.
It seemed to be quite a popular place with music coming from a radio and people of all types and ages going in and out picking up pizza and cans of drink from the fridges. And seeing as I’d never watched pizza being made, I grabbed a spare shiny red bar stool and sat with a perfect view of how it was done whilst I bit into my slices.
I didn’t think I could ever do that job; the man never stopped flattening out the dough and spinning it around to make a circle then adding the toppings before sliding it into the red hot pizza oven. He was sweating a lot and every now and then I saw him take a swig of water from a bottle which you could tell was nicely chilled because it had condensation all around the outside. A thought occurred to me, I wondered whether he actually ate pizza or was he utterly fed up with the sight of it by then. I shuddered thinking about Vico and if he hated the sight of pizza too.
Some of the people buying pizza slices were wearing those scarves around their necks, and then it clicked; they were the same colours as what Stefania and her friends were wearing. And when I took a bit more notice of my surroundings, I saw the photos on the walls of horses and what appeared to be jockey caps in the same red, green and gold colours, with an image of a shield and a dragon. It was just like all the people belonged to clubs and they certainly seemed to love horses around there.
I felt I couldn’t commandeer the stool any longer and left the takeaway continuing in the direction I was heading when I came across a noisy bunch of people, mostly teenagers who were sitting near or around some long wooden tables set within a tiny square. It seemed like they’d all been eating there, going by the amount of plastic plates and stuff, and again, they were all wearing those scarves in the same colours as I remember Stefania and her friends had worn.
Then I saw her. She was sitting on some steps outside one of the big ancient buildings with a couple of the girls I met earlier. I really wanted to join them, and to show them that I wasn’t a scruffy person who always went around in pigeon poo’d All Stars and ice cream stains on my skirt. But I wasn’t sure if it would be OK to just go on up to them. Blow it, why not, I thought, what did I have to lose? I could have done with some good company. So I took the plunge and went up to her.
‘Ciao Stefania,’ I said feeling a bit apprehensive.
‘Caylin, ciao.’
Stefania put her hand out towards a space on a step.
‘Please,’ she said welcoming me.
‘Grazie.’
‘Stefania, can I ask you a question?’
‘Sure,’ she replied.
‘Why do you all wear these?’ I asked pointing to her scarf which was loosely tied around her shoulders.
‘Is it a club?’
‘Si, a type of,’ she said, ‘you see the gold and red flag with a dragon? this is our contrada, you can say it’s like a club.’
‘So you come here often?’ I asked her.
‘Sure, because here in Siena old town, there’s always something for young people to do and so this is where you’ll find us,’ she said, ‘this is where we like to meet up.’
Well it was especially good to know where she hangs out.
‘Do you know the Palio?’ she asked me.
‘Er, no.’ I didn’t know anything about Siena and was feeling slightly ignorant.
‘Our club will enter the famous Siena horse race against some other clubs of Siena...’
As Stefania continued speaking, I lost all concentration because I was sure that I caught sight of Lula who I saw gave me a strange smirk and went amongst some other people passing by. I tried to follow her with my eyes, but I couldn’t see where she went. What was she doing there?
‘Caylin?’ Stefania’s voice jolted me.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought I saw someone I knew.’
‘Don worry,’ she said, ‘ you OK?’
‘Er, yes, si, absolutely,’ I fibbed.
‘Stefania, is there a loo, sorry, I mean, toilet?’
‘Sure, go inside, at the right.’
As I went inside the building, I had to squeeze past a lot of adults who were all talking and socialising together in this big hall type of place. To my left was a kitchen with stoves and loads of big aluminium cooking pots and trays where there were some women clearing up.
I found the one and only women’s loo, and stood in a queue to wait my turn. Some women smiled at me even though they didn’t know who I was and I wasn’t wearing one of their club scarves. I rushed washing my hands under some cold water from a tap which I had to operate with a foot pedal but I didn’t bother using the dryer so I could return to Stefania as soon as possible.
You’d never have believed just how happy I was being able to sit down in between Stefania and her friends and being amongst the gossip, even though I didn’t understand a word of it; I couldn’t wa
it to get back to them.
After I left the old-fashioned tiled loo area, I made my way back outside, only to see that Lula was speaking to Stefania, in fact they weren’t actually chatting; instead Lula appeared to be telling her something and Stefania was listening intently. Surely they didn’t know each other; that would’ve been too much of a coincidence. What exactly was she up to? I wondered.
When Lula saw me approaching, she turned and mingled with tourists passing by, and then I couldn’t see where she went. It was so obvious that she had bad-mouthed me to Stefania because the moment I’d reached her, I was greeted with utter hostility from her and her friends.
‘Caylin, don come here,’ Stefania said using a tone I didn’t like the sound of.
‘But, why? what’s wrong?’
‘Because you are not welcome in this part of the old town’.
I couldn’t believe I was hearing those words, I was totally confused.
‘Do you know that girl?’ I asked Stefania.
‘This is not important, she said you are a ladro.’
Ladro; it sounded like the word I thought Vico was shouting at me in front of all those people.
‘Wait,’ I said, ‘I don’t understand.’ I pulled out my new dictionary and flicked through the pages trying to keep my hands from shaking; I was worrying about what they were saying about me. Found it.
‘Thief?’ I was mortified. The clever bitch, I thought.
‘And she said?’
‘Said you take money from their house and you like her boyfriend.’
‘That’s not true,’ I was almost shouting into Stefania’s face in desperation. ‘Why do you believe her and not me?’ When I listened to myself, I realised I was actually pleading. I didn’t know Stefania, but I’d instantly taken a liking to her and didn’t want anything to get in the way.
‘I’m sorry, we don want un ladro among us.’ Then she turned her back on me, leaving me to feel ashamed and unwelcomed.
If there’d been stones lying around, I would’ve taken great pleasure in lobbing them at Lula. I put a hand on Stefania’s shoulder where I felt her tense up.