by Fay Henson
‘I’m sorry, I’m English.’
She pointed to a dentist type of chair which was next to a sideboard jam-packed with and tools and loads of stuff. I obediently sat down and quickly rummaged around in my bag to search for a sketch of Sora I’d kept inside a zipped pocket, the one I’d drawn of just the top half of her. I held it next to the inside of my right wrist to show her where I’d like it to go.
She looked at it then put it down with all the other stuff. I wondered how many tattoos she usually did on a Wednesday or Saturday, in a month, or a year here actually in her front room. Anyway that didn’t really matter, I guessed they could do tattoos anywhere they liked.
‘How much?’ I asked, feeling quite ignorant not trying to say it in Italian. She said something I assumed was the cost but also held her right hand up with four fingers. Did she mean forty euros? I wondered. I leant over and took a pen from the sideboard and wrote a four and a zero on the inside of my palm and showed her. She nodded. Well that seemed OK I guessed, having never known what the right cost was; I’ve heard that people pay loads of dosh for a tattoo, so maybe this would be good value for money.
I was feeling very apprehensive and trying to convince myself that my Mum and Dad wouldn’t want to kill me; ‘course they wouldn’t, these days nearly everyone has them. Right then it was now or never because if I was to change my mind and leave, I didn’t think I’d be able to plonk my bum in one of those chairs ever again. Decision made.
How easy it was to walk right in and get one off-the-cuff just like that. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt; it did a lot and where I’d clenched my left hand so tightly, I think my nails had made permanent indents into my palm. Bet Zoe would like it and I bet she’d approve. As for Em, I wasn’t so sure, but who knows, when she gets to see it she might think it was really cool too. But hey, look at Sora and how beautiful she is with her long auburn hair and green eyes looking back at me from underneath a piece of cling film. Now she’d be with me forever.
9
Humiliation
I was back again onto the little street and debating what to do next. If I looked towards the right, it led further away from the busy parts and if I looked left, I saw the occasional person passing along another street which crossed this one. I decided to go in that direction.
I was really pleased with my tattoo, and what was really cool was the fact that if I didn’t want anyone to see it, I just held my arm down or turned my wrist towards my body. That should work perfectly with Mum and Dad. I stopped occasionally in front of a window and pretended as casually as possible, to look at stuff for sale, but really I was moving my right arm in different positions like running my hand through my short hair or holding my hand under my chin like I was thinking about something. It was then that you could see it, and oh how I loved it.
Fixed to a wall was a sign indicating there were some escalators further along somewhere, and although I’d already walked around a lot, I was intrigued to see where the escalators led to. Yup, there were definitely escalators alright. I walked inside the entrance and stepped onto the first moving escalator to be taken down the steep descent, passing advertising boards and big windows which looked out on backs of buildings, and the people who were heading upwards on the opposite escalators to the left of me. I did my best to keep my new tattoo on show to the world.
Often I had to move to one side to let those people in a hurry get past. I was just content with staying in one spot until I had to cross to the next escalator. All the while I was counting each escalator, number one, then number two, number three; Joe? What are you doing here? I thought. That wasn’t Joe from the hotel who was always staring at me, was it? I span round and watched him being transported upwards on the opposite escalator. Perhaps it wasn’t him, and anyway whoever it was had already gone out of sight and I had to remember to turn to face forwards so not to trip on the gap of flooring leading to the next escalator.
Having thought that I’d seen that Joe, I passed it off that I was somewhat mentally deranged from earlier seeing all those handsome boys, and so I continued descending and finally stepped off the last escalator, making the grand total, of eight.
It’d felt like I’d been taken to the bottom of the earth; except there was daylight and I’d arrived at a really busy area which included supermarkets, coffee bars, places to eat filled with young people eating and chatting, and a sports shop. I followed some people who were hurrying through some huge glass doors and going outside to a spacious area. Should have guessed why so many people were hurrying around; the escalators also led to the train station.
It seemed just like every station I’d seen in other countries, busy, noisy, fumy, and the usual people sitting and staring with nothing in particular to do; the types we tried to avoid. And I could see a bike rack with some bikes secured by chains and padlocks, and one wheel which remained tied to a post, for which I guessed that the rest of the bike had been stolen. Wasn’t it always like that at train stations?
I didn’t need to be there and seeing it wasn’t a place where I particularly wanted to be, I took the eight escalators back up to hectic Siena curiously wondering, where that Joe was heading. Nah, it probably wasn’t him anyway, I thought.
Just how could I make some friends? I wondered. I found myself a step to plonk my bum onto so I could do a bit of thinking; I wanted to be sociable, so what could I do tonight? I wondered. Then a thought struck me; of course, tonight I’d go back to the place where Stefania hangs out and see if I could find her. Maybe she’ll be ready to believe that I wasn’t a thief and we’d become friends again. It was so simple.
Making that decision actually put me in a much brighter mood with anticipation about making up with her as well as showing her my new tattoo plus the excitement in choosing what I was going to wear. My goodness, what would she think about my hair? I hoped she’d like it.
I couldn’t wait to go and find her this evening, but it still took me ages to sort myself out. First up, considering it’d be too awkward showering with the cling film over my tattoo I had to resort to a freshen-up at the bathroom sink. Then I’d spent ages going up and down the TV channels until I found a music video programme I liked, and which only played Italian stuff. It was surprising on how many English videos they showed on some of the channels and seeing as I’d already heard enough of them at home, for now I only wanted to hear Italian.
Then I messed around for ages trying to choose what I was going to wear to meet Stefania; I thought that maybe the orange and pink spiral baggy trousers could be a bit over the top for our get-together so it was best if I went for the black and white ones. Cor, listen to me, you’d think we’d already sorted everything out and it was all perfect, but in reality I was only kidding myself and I still had to face her for the first time since she shooed me away.
The air temperature this evening was lovely as I stepped out into the street and immediately into the flow of people strolling along. It seemed like nobody wanted to stay inside.
Little breezes of warm air rarely felt back in Bristol on a summer evening, flowed softly across my back and arms as I passed different street entrances. One of the entrances I passed where there were some young people sitting outside of a music bar, a nice waft surrounded me from that interesting and strange wacky backy smoke, and just for a few seconds reminded me of my home city.
I continued strolling along swinging my right arm back and forth and letting the air touch my bare tattoo, which I must say looked heaps smarter now that I’d peeled off the cling film.
Just before I reached the area where I hoped Stefania would be, I stopped because all of a sudden I felt extremely anxious. What if she publicly sent me away before I got a chance to explain my case or what if I managed to show myself up and botched the whole thing.
All I had to do was turn right at the corner next to the perfume shop and walk just a few metres to where her club was. It wasn’t diff
icult to hear some music entwined with high spirited voices coming from that direction which sounded like heaps of fun and which I supposed Stefania was probably there with her friends.
Oh go on, I told myself, after all you’ve nothing to lose. But that wasn’t entirely true, because if it turned out that I couldn’t convince her that I wasn’t a thief, then it’d be a dead cert that conciliation of our brief friendship would well and truly be off the cards.
On the other hand, if I turned and went away, I’d still feel there was a possibility that one day I could bump into her and things would work out OK between us. I hoped it’d be at least a bit before the time I had to return to my parents at the hotel, and in which case I could for the time being, continue to live in hope; hum, dilemma.
But why waste time? So I continued until I’d reached the area where her club was. The atmosphere rocked; how lucky they were to have a club so united and vivacious. Tonight seemed even more lively than when I was there the last time, and I thought she was bound to be part of the throng of people somewhere. My eyes scanned everywhere in search for her and her friends amongst all the young people. It was so difficult to find her amongst the men, women, boys, girls and even children who were partying and enjoying themselves. Very close by were a few boys, some beating out drum rhythms and some swishing large flags around in unison. I looked along the rows of people sitting at the tables where I was sure I saw one of Stefania’s friends.
I continued to hover around the area feeling a bit out of place, playing with my phone for something to do while I decided on my next move. Stefania had to be there somewhere. People wearing those coloured scarves moved past me in small groups or in pairs and, and tourists still ambled past on an evening stroll.
It seemed absolutely ages that I’d hung around wasting my phone’s battery, but it didn’t matter because it was a good job I’d waited; Stefania was walking down the street towards me. So she hadn’t been inside the building after all.
‘Stefania, can we speak?’ I asked refraining from grabbing her arm, ‘please?’ I rushed this at her as she reached where I was standing. She looked totally surprised.
‘Caylin?’ she stopped still and glowered at me.
‘Look, I want to explain about that girl and her lies...’ Stefania put her hand up in front of me, signalling me to stop.
‘I don know what is with you and that girl, but I,’ she paused, ‘we, don want it ere.’ My heart sank as I watched her move away from me.
‘Please!’ I demanded in a last ditch attempt. I couldn’t let that Lula get the better of me. Stefania turned round and sighed.
‘Va bene, OK I listen.’
I perked up and trotted along next to her not saying anything until she found two vacant chairs and pulled them away from a table and pointed for me to sit down.
‘Thanks.’ Stupidly, I hadn’t actually thought about where I should begin.
‘I stayed one night with that girl and her boyfriend after they had given me a lift in their car to Siena. From the very beginning she didn’t speak to me, and I think she believed I liked her boyfriend, which certainly wasn’t possible.’ I tried to explain in the most basic way.
‘Do you understand me, Stefania?’
‘Yes, I think.’
‘She did some things to annoy me, which included taking a few euros from my bag, I discovered later had been taken.’ I continued fixing my eyes on her to make sure she was following.
‘I did nothing to them, I just left,’ I said, ‘and I’m telling you the truth when I say I didn’t steal anything from them, or from anybody.’
Stefania continued to hold a firm expression, so I kept on fighting my corner whilst she was still prepared to hear me out.
‘You know,’ I added, ‘the girl also told lies to the man at the bed and breakfast, saying I’d stolen a painting from him, so I even had to leave that place.’
Stefania pulled a surprised look.
‘I love Siena and I want to have fun here with people like you, not to steal,’ I said, ‘I really hope you’ll believe me.’
‘But why you change your hair?’ Stefania insisted.
‘Because I think that the girl is following me; I don’t want her to find me and spoil my short time in Siena.’
‘Spoil?’ she asked, ‘I don understand.’
‘It means destroy.’ But what I really wanted to say was muck-up with the letter f.
And finally it seemed that Stefania had got my drift as her expression relaxed.
‘You want some pasta?’
Amen.
‘That’ll be fantastic, grazie.’
For the second time, I was sitting with Stefania and her friends and this time it was as a guest of the club. I’d never experienced an evening occasion such as this outside and I didn’t know if I could’ve described the atmosphere.
Imagine the warm middle of August night air filled with lively chitchat and cooking aromas, where there were rows of people sitting at the long tables with party lights dangling from above, wolfing down plates of pasta and tomato, trays with pizza slices and trays of jam or chocolate tart, jugs of fizzy drinks, water and wine; all the while some were practicing beating the drums suspended round waists and others swooping flags from side to side.
I was gripped by the atmosphere; it was just as if I was a film extra, silently taking part in a scene which was happening all around me and being admired by the many tourists passing by. And that was one of those lush moments I never wanted to forget, so praying I had enough battery left, I got out my phone and held it high up in front of me and my new friends to capture that selfie, and there I was, smiling for England like my life counted on it.
‘You wan to go to a pub?’ asked Stefania, ‘after we help here, we can go.’
‘Si, try stopping me.’
I tried not to show my eagerness to be with them, but it was kind of weird that all of a sudden, I was allowed to be part of their club again.
I followed Stefania, Erica, Sofia, Virginia and Olga through the stone walled entrance into the crowded wooden shack style of pub located in another street not far away from where we were. It wasn’t anything like the pubs I was used to, the ones with angry-looking bouncers on the door and a charged atmosphere. This one was equally as rowdy, but came with a more welcoming feeling. We made our way past drinkers standing at the tall circular tables and waited our turn at the bar.
It seemed like most people were drinking either craft beers or a cocktail called ‘Mojito’, but what I really fancied was a beer or a lager and when it was my turn, I pointed at a pump which had a trendy pink label with La9 inscribed, apparently meaning the nine, whatever that was meant to stand for. I handed over some coins and took my medium glassful. The evening was hot, I was hot and the beer was so refreshing, that I had to stop myself from gulping it back.
More and more people were coming in which meant we were having to shift around a bit to let them get to the bar. Stefania and the girls were often dishing out the Italian kiss on both cheeks to boys and girls they knew who came by.
I was surprised just how huge this pub was because from the outside it looked like an ordinary double-door entrance into a bar area, but then the pub tunnelled backwards and there were some steps which led up to some platforms where there were some tables and chairs.
The music coming from a few speakers was replaced by a guy’s voice which sounded to me as a bit of an introduction, and then the atmosphere changed up to a different buzz level as a couple of DJs dished out some brilliant soulful house music. I was pulled along by the girls towards the end of the pub so we could be closer to the DJs. (Think I managed to say sorry for having bumped into people only three times.)
Some people were standing and trying to speak over the music and others were leaning over the balconies watching the rest of us dance. It was difficult not to dance with that type of rhythm and I
bet that even if you weren’t up for it, you’d have done it anyway.
But something didn’t seem right when I watched a big bloke with a long goatee go up to Stefania and it looked as though he was speaking to her with a very serious expression. I saw her glance over to Olga who seemed to have her hand scrabbling around inside her bag as if she’d lost something. Erica was with her.
The big bloke nodded at Stefania and then they parted after she gave him a quick kiss, when I think he went back through the people towards the bar area. Stefania instead joined back in with the dancing again when I assumed it hadn’t been much and everything seemed fine; then,
‘We must talk, come with me,’ Stefania said in my ear. Oh, I thought.
‘Yes, si.’ I wondered what it was that she needed to speak with me about and I couldn’t help but worry.
I followed her to the loos. Thank goodness it was slightly quieter, at least I would be able to hear what she wanted to say. A couple of girls were chatting to each other as they were leaving the loo area, and as soon as they’d gone, Stefania broke the news to me.
‘Olga’s purse has gone,’ she said staring straight at me as if she was waiting to see if I showed any signs of guilt. My stomach turned over.
‘What?’ I said, ‘and you think it was me?’
‘It strange you are here and now her money has gone,’ she said with a scowl, ‘that girl said you are a ladro.’ I hated the tone of her voice and the way in which she was standing in front of me with her hands on her hips. I was starting to feel uneasy.
‘Oh come on, Stefania, you really think it was me?’ I retorted, ‘and you’d rather believe that Lula than me?’ That’s great, I thought.
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve gotta be kidding me, I’d never steal from you.’ How could it be made more plainly.
‘I do not steal, I am not a thief.’ I made sure I said each word slowly and clearly.