by Fay Henson
‘Oh,’ I said. I wasn’t expecting Stefania to tell me that.
‘Where is that near?’ I asked, geography had never been one of my stronger points.
‘Just up from Greece I think,’ Joe said.
‘Oh yeah, you’re right.’ I pretended I knew.
And just like that, a really strange fact just popped into my mind that I actually remembered a teacher having told us once. Apparently, if Albanian people nodded their head it meant they didn’t agree with you and if they shook their head it meant they did; weird. I decided to try to forget that fact for now, otherwise there was a massive chance I’d be utterly confused on what was going on.
‘Will they move back to Albania?’ I asked.
‘If he can’t get a work,’ she said, ‘and Ariana now know that he has no work.’
Well that made sense why they suddenly began arguing; the article the journalist had in his hand spoke about the sister stealing for them.
‘They can speak Italian,’ I said.
‘Albania is only across the sea from Italia and the people can watch Italian TV and listen to the radio.’
‘Oh.’
The journalist turned to speak to us from his chair at the table.
‘The family are happy to ave a photo with the bank’s slip of paper with Caylin and Joe, come.’
‘I’d like Stefania in the photo too because she organised everything,’ I said.
‘But it is your idea,’ she responded.
‘Come on Stef.’
So me and Stefania stood on one side next to Ariana, and Joe was on the other side next to Besmir, and somehow they’d managed to persuade little Nevena to stand in the middle of us all at the front. I had the feeling that she still wouldn’t look at me and Joe, I guessed to her, we looked like a pair of aliens.
The journalist had taken two or three photos for safety he said, and he needed to go home soon so he could write the piece for the newspaper in time for tomorrow. I took a sneaky peek at my phone and saw that in fact it was almost one thirty; and washing my alien head this morning seemed yonks ago.
It felt like a happy-sad goodbye when we prepared ourselves to leave their home. Happy because maybe we’d helped them a bit, but sad for their situation and I’ve always been useless at goodbyes especially if I knew it was a farewell goodbye. Both Ariana and Besmir took it in turns to give me, Joe and Stefania very strong hugs where I noticed again that Besmir had tears coming, and you know, so did I.
When Stefania suggested that me and Joe went out with her and some friends for our last night in Siena, I assumed that it would be only with Erica and co., but I’d assumed wrong. She’d said they’d meet us at Dino’s Trattoria and by chance, having spotted the funny green car thing with the restaurant stickers all over it parked outside on the hill, we found it just in time for eight o’clock. But when we entered inside, we were confronted with a noisy sea of faces and it was that nerve-racking I wanted to turn and leave. It seemed like everyone was looking at us from all directions, from the tables up on the right, ahead of us and through to the left.
Joe nudged me and was nodding in the direction of Stefania who I saw was coming towards us from a table she’d been sitting at further back towards a cabinet with oils and vinegars. And when she reached us, she turned to everyone and basically announced us as if we were celebrities. All that cheering and clapping was sooooo unnecessary and even some people dining who looked like tourists were joining in the occasion too. It wasn’t like we’d saved someone’s life or stopped world war three from happening; we’d only had our heads shaved, and like Joe had said, it wasn’t forever. It was nothing compared to what some people did for others.
‘Come on,’ she said, ‘tonight is for you.’
Although I was speechless, I still managed to give her a hug and kissed her on her cheek.
‘Ah, but we wouldn’t have been able to do any of it without you.’
We followed Stefania to her table where there were two reserved chairs and immediately we were asked to choose what we wanted to eat from the menu as most had already ordered and their dishes were being brought out from the kitchens.
‘You didn’t need to do this, Stef,’ I said in between crunchy mouthfuls of toasted bread with tomato and basil.
‘I also wanted you to know I’m very sorry for the other night,’ she replied.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Joe said, ‘you’re forgiven.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ I added taking a large slurp of Peroni beer.
‘Hey,’ he said, ‘go steady, remember?’
‘Yes, Dad,’ I joked. Then that horrible feeling swept over me which wasn’t the alcohol. I suddenly thought about tomorrow and seeing Mum and Dad. It was going to be terrible.
‘You OK?’ Stefania asked me looking quite concerned. I exhaled and relaxed the grip I had on the beer glass I was holding, telling myself to blank tomorrow out of my mind until tomorrow comes.
‘Sure, I’m fine.’
There was loads of chitchat going on, some of her friends were trying really hard to practice speaking in English and Joe was using every opportunity he could to improve his knowledge of the Italian language, during which time, we ate way too much. The dish of gnocchi with meat sauce was super scrummy and I managed to get Joe to trade a piece of his delicious whacking big steak for some of them. Then I polished off a creamy Panna Cotta pud and still had room to help Joe with his sickly Profiteroles. I was absolutely beaten and stuffed.
It was strange to think that if we hadn’t been in the gardens a couple of days ago at the same time as Stefania, we’d probably had never found the way to raise money in time for that family and we’d never had patched things up between us again.
Tonight, Stefania and friends insisted on paying for mine and Joe’s meals. They all chipped in together and nobody would listen to us arguing over it. There was one thing we were able to do though, and that was to leave a good tip for the patient and hard-working waitress.
I began to feel myself slide into a bit of a downer. I’d enjoyed finally spending some time with Stefania even though it was our last night in Siena. She was a person who stood-up for her friends and beliefs and I respected her for that. When we’d said thank you and goodbye to everyone in the restaurant, Stefania walked outside with us for a moment.
‘You can stay, you don have to go yet,’ she said.
‘I think I have a bit of a headache coming, so it will be best if I went to bed.’
I gave a little squeeze to Joe’s hand to try to let him secretly know I didn’t want him trying to persuade me to stay. The truth was, I knew I wasn’t going to feel very sociable sooner or later. I was already feeling sad about saying goodbye and now that time was looming, and I also had the trauma of meeting Mum and Dad tomorrow and to face whatever the consequences were.
‘Let’s exchange telephone numbers, so we can speak when I’m back in England,’ I said, ‘do you use WhatsApp?’
‘Si certo, we use WhatsApp here too.’
‘And maybe one day you can come to stay with me,’ I said.
‘Cool,’ Stefania said through a laugh. I think she’d heard me say that too many times.
In turns, me and Joe gave her a hug.
‘Ciao Stef.’
We walked up the little hill leaving behind us the happy sounds of a busy trattoria and continued walking away silently arm in arm.
21
Farewell
I wouldn’t know how to begin describing my feelings when I woke this morning at eight thirty. Today for me was going to be D-Day; not doughnut day, not dish of the day day, more like dismal day or disgraced day.
Me and Joe decided to stay in his room last night, but in hindsight it might’ve been better if we’d slept separately. You see, I’d left the trattoria on a bit of a downer having said goodbye to Stefania as well as knowing that
our time in Siena was coming to an end with the final showdown at the hotel today, so I was finding it more and more difficult pulling myself out of the mood I was in.
Joe was trying his best to cheer me up love him, and all I did was push him away. He seemed too relaxed as if it didn’t bother him what was ahead of me, and there I was fretting my socks off. He kept telling me that I wasn’t to worry about it so much, that everything works out in the end and I told him, not with my Dad it didn’t.
So last night we kissed goodnight and that was that. Except I drifted in and out of sleep again worrying so much about meeting Mum and Dad today and what type of punishment they’d dish out to me.
I couldn’t decide if having my phone taken away would be worse than being grounded. Then I thought, what if they banned me from ever seeing Joe again if they’d assumed he’d been a bad influence on me. Anyway, they could think what they liked; Joe has been, I mean is, a special person to me and if the punishment was to be the latter, I’d still see him, no matter what it took.
This morning I hated myself for the strop I was in. I didn’t think that poor Joe knew what to do or say in case he got a sharp answer, especially if it was to do with my parents.
‘I’m sorry Joe, I can’t seem to relax.’
‘Don’t worry, I know how it is.’ No he didn’t.
We needed to pack up our things so he could check out of his room and then I had to do the same at mine, and in between, we had to find out which bus we needed to take to be dropped off near Hotel Rosaria.
We thought we’d go to Piazza Gramsci near the gardens along our way, because that was where we’d seen Stefania and so many other people catch buses and it was closer although Joe had originally arrived near the train station.
‘Can you make out anything from that?’ I asked as we both tried to understand the printed urbano and extraurbano bus timetables fixed to the posts.
‘Fraid not, I’m sorry, it’s too confusing,’ he said, ‘I think we should go and find someone to help us.’
So off we went in search for the information. Luckily Joe was carrying a rucksack on his back and I had my bag which I thought must’ve been much easier than dragging a pull-along trolley over the old paths and cobbles like I’d seen loads of people trying to do.
It turned out that we had a couple of choices; either we could take a bus from Piazza Gramsci at two thirty this afternoon, or we could leave a bit later at four fifteen from the bus stops near the train station. My phone showed it was currently eleven twenty-five.
‘Four fifteen,’ I said without any hesitation and Joe grinned at me.
‘I don’t want to go yet.’
We went inside a tobacconists come-newsagents which sold bus tickets, and where Joe could practice speaking Italian in Siena just for a little bit longer requesting the two tickets we needed.
The last thing we had to do was to get my stuff and check out. I changed into my pretty swishy skirt even though it had a faded ice cream stain but it was the one I knew Mum particularly liked.
The man who owned the rooms said something to us when as usual, I knew that I looked pretty vacant. Joe appeared to be quite taken aback with what was said and I think he asked the man to repeat it before turning to me to explain whilst the man went off somewhere. I wondered what the problem was.
‘He said that he saw us on TV and read the newspaper this morning, which he’s just gone to get from the other room, and saying that he’s going to donate what you’re paying him for your stay into the bank for that family.’
‘Cor,’ I said.
The man returned holding the newspaper and opened it at page five. There we were, me, Joe and Stefania with the family in their home and the article written by the journalist. The photo was quite nice even though it was plain to see that little Nevena had backed herself right up against her Mum.
I asked Joe to really thank him and to say that the next time we’re in Siena, we’d stay with him again and that I was sorry if he’d heard me being sick the other night. He’d told Joe that apparently he’d thought it was someone outside. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
I found the two hundred and seventy euros I’d kept separate from the tiny amount I had remaining, and handed it to him hoping that he was honestly going to pay it into the bank for that family. We shook hands and said arriverderci then stepped out into the hot air. With that done, I was another step closer to seeing my happy parents. Not.
‘Come on,’ Joe said, ‘I’m needing a roll and a coke, how ‘bout you?’
I didn’t really have much of an appetite because those giant butterflies were coming back.
‘Could murder a cold beer,’ I said putting on a silly please pout with my lips, for which he tutted and raised his eyes in a way to tease me.
‘Yeah, grand idea,’ he said, ‘pizza takeaway restaurants usually have beer in fridges, so what say you about going to that Vico’s place you told me about. Do you remember where it is?’
‘Not exactly, we could spend too long looking for it.’
I knew that it wasn’t far away but I didn’t really want to go there and be reminded of that night when he was shouting things at me down the street and anyway, who’s to say if he’d changed his point of view about us since we shook hands.
‘You’re right,’ he said, ‘we can’t risk missing the bus.’
‘No.’
I wanted to say a sort of arrivederci to the Piazza del Campo and so along the way we bought ourselves a couple of cokes (because in the end I thought it best if I didn’t turn up at the hotel smelling of alcohol) and some of that nice focaccia bread stuffed with tuna and tomato from a sandwich shop.
I also wanted to sit right in the middle of the square for the last time and consequently dragged Joe to a spot I’d decided had to be the centre.
‘Didn’t you just love it here, Joe?’ I asked after finishing a mouthful of focaccia.
‘Do you mean here-here or here Tuscany,’ he replied.
‘Here, Siena.’
Joe was just about to answer when I chipped in.
‘Forgetting Vico’s fist.’
‘Well, it’s been eventful, I’ll give you that, but apart from one or two things that’s happened, the atmosphere and grub has been great.’
‘Anything else?’ I said, ‘I mean, is there anything else which sticks out in your mind, something you wouldn’t forget?’
‘Actually, yes.’ Then he paused a while.
‘Rubbing that lotion onto your skin amongst some of those things that happened to come up as a consequence.’ He gave me a cheeky grin making me feel like being all naughty again.
‘Umm, yes, that was super nice’, I said, ‘and a shame we’ve gone and checked out of our rooms.’
I really felt like climbing all over him at that moment but there were just too many people sitting close to us. We’d already been in the papers and I definitely didn’t want to be in the Siena headlines for having sex in the city, and the newspapers printing something like, Head shave couple disrespect Piazza del Campo and get arrested. Imagine that.
‘But is there anything else you want to add?’ I’d been hoping there was something else he wanted to say.
‘How about,’ he said, ‘meeting a very pretty stuck-up girl who ran away from her parents, but really, she is a kind and caring girl who loves fun.’ I gave him a friendly thump. It wasn’t that I was hoping to hear.
‘And how about you,’ he asked, ‘what sticks out in your mind?’
‘Oh, well, it’s been an interesting few days,’ I said, ‘and I’m glad that you came to search for me.’ And I love you, I thought.
What was missing was that neither of us mentioned about meeting up in Bristol on our return. I didn’t want to bring it up, not yet, because I was worrying about finding out if it really was going to be just a holiday romance after all and leaving me feeling
hurt. But I couldn’t tell as to what he was really thinking. No, come on I’m wrong I said to myself, he’ll definitely want to see me when we get back, I’m just a born worrier.
We finished our focaccia and the rest of the cold refreshing coke sitting close together taking in the atmosphere of that very historical and famous square. There was no traffic noise or pollution, just a hum from the hundreds of voices echoing around the buildings and the distant clinking sounds of cutlery on plates and teaspoons in coffee cups.
From where we were lying down, we could see the huge clock face on the tower showing that it was almost three o’clock which meant it was almost time to leave. We’d been lying there for ages with our heads resting on our stuff. Now and then we’d say what we thought a white and fluffy cloud resembled as it passed over above us. Sometimes our ideas were a bit too ridiculous and we’d end up getting the laughs. And other times, we’d stop and listen intently to people speaking near us and we’d make guesses as to what the languages were.
And so, it was a beautiful way to spend the last hour or so in that square until Joe had to pull me up onto my feet and convince me it was definitely time to leave otherwise we’d miss the bus and I’d be in more trouble. That got me moving.
Someone sitting in the opposite row of seats on the bus must’ve heard us speaking English and he was telling us we should’ve stamped our tickets in the machine at the front of the bus as we got on. He said that if the ticket inspector checked our tickets, we could’ve had a fine. Joe looked a bit surprised and told me that he didn’t stamp his the other day.
I watched Joe wobble his way down the middle section of the bus to validate our tickets as the bus travelled along the hectic outer city roads of Siena. Better than a fine.
I was sitting in the window seat on the right hand side of the bus, so I was able to look at people or the shops and eventually, the countryside leaving Siena a long way behind. I didn’t mind Joe chatting to the bloke because I wasn’t in the mood for being talkative as I was trying to deal with my giant butterflies wondering about how it was going to be meeting Mum and Dad.