‘Loads of time,’ said TJ, who had been gazing up at a sombre-looking building with a tower behind and to the right of the fountain. ‘Let’s take a quick look in here.’ She got up and soon disappeared into a door.
Izzie, Nesta and I wandered in after her and found ourselves in an elegant courtyard with pillars and stone steps leading upstairs.
TJ consulted her guidebook. ‘This is the Palazzo Vecchio,’ she said. ‘It’s where the Medici family lived in the fifteen hundreds.’
‘Shall we take a look upstairs?’ I asked, pointing at the steps.
‘You have to pay to go in, I think,’ said Nesta. She got out her purse and counted her euros.
‘Still OK for time?’ I asked.
Izzie glanced at her watch again. ‘Loads.’
Nesta went over to the kiosk to enquire about entry. She turned back and gave us the thumbs up. ‘Just got enough. Shall we do it?’
We nodded back at her.
Moments later we were up the stairs, exploring. The rooms were awesome, as all the walls and ceilings were covered with detailed paintings. Vast batle scenes in an enormous hall and seasonal country scenes in smaller rooms. There was something on every available surface and to see so much colour and design packed into one area was breathtaking.
‘Maybe this is what they did instead of using wallpaper,’ I said, as we reached yet another painted room and gazed out of the window over Florence. ‘You know, you get a mate to come over and do a mural instead. It looks so ordinary from the outside but, inside, they must have spent millions doing all this.’
‘Maybe we should do our rooms like this when we get back,’ said Izzie. ‘You know, paint scenes from our lives. Maybe not. I don’t think my mum would be too pleased if I painted a pic of you lot over her posh Sanderson wallpaper.’
‘She doesn’t know what she’s missing,’ I said.’I couldn’t paint as well as this, but maybe I could see if any of Bandy Nelly’s relatives are still alive and hire them to come over and do me a mural and a naked statue. Look lovely on the back patio with our garden gnomes and potted petunias.’
TJ gave me a look of despair. Sometimes I think she finds it hard that we don’t all share her love of history.
From the window we could look out into the square, so I glanced over to the café to find Mrs Elwes. I couldn’t see her.
‘Can’t see the teachers,’ I said. ‘What time is it? Maybe we’d better get going.’
‘No,’ said Nesta. ‘We’ve only been in here about twenty minutes. We’ll be fine.’
‘It’s about half five,’ said Izzie.
‘Is that all? I feel like we’ve been here ages,’ I said.
Suddenly TJ slapped her forehead. ‘Ohmigod,’ she cried, then looked at her watch. ‘Time. Did any of you guys put your clocks forward when we got off the plane?’
We all shook our heads. Then it dawned on me.’Oh no,’ I said. ‘No wonder time seemed to be lasting forever. We’re still on English time. Italy is an hour ahead. Remember Mrs Elwes told us to do it when we got off the plane.’
‘Oh God! Yes, I remember,’ said Izzie. ‘We were too busy watching Lucy chat up the Teddy bear.’
We raced down the stairs, through the courtyard and across the square to the café. We scoured the customers sitting at the tables. No sigh of Mrs Elwes. No sign of Mr Johnson. No sign of any of the other girls in our class.
‘Oh poo,’ said Izzie.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Nesta.
‘Get a cab,’ I said. ‘We know the name of the hotel.’
Nesta got her purse out and turned out the money in there. There were only a few notes left. ‘No way is this enough.’
‘Bus?’ suggested TJ.
‘There were a million at the station we passed. How would we know which one to get?’ I asked.
‘We could walk,’ said Nesta. ‘Does anyone remember the way back?’
Izzie, TJ and I shook our heads.
Stranded on our first day in Florence. A fine start to our holiday, I thought as I looked around and tried not to panic.
Chapter 10
Busking It
‘When the going gets tough, the tough get going,’ said Nesta.
‘Meaning?’ I asked.
‘We come up with a solution,’ said Nesta. ‘It’s not a problem. We’ll find our own way back.’
‘No,’ said TJ. ‘Phone. We ought to phone and let them know where we are.’
We looked around for a phone box. Not one in sight.
‘Policeman,’ I said.
We looked around for a policeman. Not one in sight.
‘We could go and look for one,’ suggested Izzie.
TJ shook her head. ‘I don’t think we should leave the square, in case one of the teachers is still looking for us.’
‘Next great plan anybody?’ asked Izzie.
‘It’s a sink or swim situation,’ said TJ. ‘I say we swim. We earn our cab fare.’
‘And how exactly do you propose that we do that?’ asked Izzie. ‘Get a job? At this time of day?’
‘When in Rome do as the Romans do,’ said TJ.
‘But this isn’t Rome,’ I said. ‘It’s Florence. What do you mean? Do as the Florentines do?’
‘Mime,’ said TJ and pointed over to where the Egyptian mummy had been only an hour earlier. ‘Like the mummy. It can’t be difficult.’
‘Top idea,’ said Nesta. She pulled off her woolly hat and gave it to TJ. ‘OK, you go and stand in the square and us guys will keep an eye out for weirdos, as you won’t be able to move your eyes when you get going.’
‘But . . . but why me?’ asked TJ.
‘You’d be loads better at it.’
‘Your idea,’ said Nesta.
Izzie, Nesta and I went and sat back on the edge of the fountain while TJ positioned herself a few metres away with Nesta’s hat in front of her. She made her body go rigid and positioned herself as though she were a dummy in a shop window with one arm out as though pointing and one leg slightly up. Not bad, I thought as the first group of tourists went past and stared at her. Then the Italian boys we’d met earlier spotted her and came over. They did everything they could to get her to react – waving their hands in front of her face, doing mad dances, one even started singing. TJ managed to keep a straight face until they all lined up in exactly the same posture as her. It was funny to watch and, in the end, TJ couldn’t resist and started laughing.
Eventually the boys moved off, when they realised that TJ wasn’t into being chatted up, and she went back into her pose. She stayed still for a good five minutes, but no one walked past. Then she started wobbling and almost fell over. She quickly resumed her position. Finally an old man with white hair passed by and dropped a few coins in front of her.
‘Muchos gracias,’ she said. The man gave her a strange look.
‘That’s Spanish,’ called Nesta.
‘I’m doing a Spanish mime.’TJ called back.
A few minutes later and she couldn’t keep it up any longer. She dropped her posture and came over.
‘It’s really hard,’ she said. ‘My arms began to ache being in the same position for so long. It’s like your muscles begin to shake. And it’s boring, not so much keeping still but not being able to look around and move your eyes. One of you guys have a go.’
‘Yeah, Nesta,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you do something?’
‘Like what?’
‘Um . . . fortune-telling,’ I said.
‘No way,’ said Nesta. ‘I’m not a fortune-teller.’
‘Oh come on. We need to get back to the hotel,’ I said. ‘I’m starving. Go on, try it. For us. Pleeeease. Just think, there’s probably a lovely supper waiting for us and comfy beds and . . .’
‘Lumpy pillows,’ said Izzie.
‘And two fuming teachers,’ added TJ.
Izzie unwound her scarf from her neck and handed it to Nesta. ‘Wrap this around your head. You are no longer Nesta. You are now Madam Rosa.’
&nbs
p; ‘But it’s you who’s into all that heeby-jeeby, Iz. I don’t know the first thing about it.’
‘Ah,’ said Izzie. ‘But you’re the only one of us that speaks any Italian, plus you are an actress. You don’t know what parts you’re going to have to play in your career. It will be good practice. Improvise. Say general things – the sort of things that will have happened to everybody, then you can’t go wrong. Come on, I know you can do it.’
‘Hmmm, I’m not so sure,’ said Nesta, but she began to wind the scarf around her head like a turban. ‘I don’t think I should stand out in the square and do it. I’ll sit at the end of the fountain near the pillar and you can send people to me. I’ll tell you how to say, “Have your fortune told” in Italian.’
‘Good idea,’ said TJ.
While Nesta took up her position by a pillar, we called out what she’d told us to say into the square. ‘Per la chiromante, da questa parte. Per la chiromante, da questa parte.’
Most people walked by and looked at us as though we were mad, but a couple of women in their twenties came past and looked interested. One blonde, one brunette, they had backpacks on and looked like tourists.
‘Per la chiromante, da questa parte,’ I called to them, then decided to try it again in English. ‘Fortune-telling, this way.’
‘Oh fortune-telling,’ said the blonde one in an Australian accent. She turned to her friend. ‘How about it, Marie? See what the future has in store?’
Her friend laughed and looked over to where I was pointing at Nesta. ‘She doesn’t look very old,’ she said.
‘Ah,’ said Izzie, ‘but she is from an ancient family of gypsies and has had the gift of seeing since birth. Age doesn’t matter with the Oracle.’
Nice one, Iz, I thought as the women gave us ten euros and went over to Nesta. She really got into her part. She took the blonde woman’s hand and then touched her cheek, looking deeply into her eyes. She then rolled her eyes up and swayed about. I thought she looked as though she was going to be sick, but I guess it was acting. And if there’s one thing Nesta likes to do, that’s act.
‘You have travelled far . . .’ she began in a deep husky voice.
Marie nodded.
‘You are at a crossroad in your life . . .’
Again Marie nodded.
You have known love . . . but you have also known pain . . .’
More enthusiastic nods.
‘I see a tall, dark man . . .’
Marie looked up at her friend. ‘Ian,’ she said.
Nesta nodded. ‘I see good things . . . a bright future . . .’
Marie’s friend grinned. This was obviously what they wanted to hear.
‘I see many children . . .’
At this Marie’s face crumpled and she burst into tears and rushed off. Nesta looked shocked. ‘What’s the matter? What did I say?’
Her friend looked dismayed. ‘We came on holiday because she found out that she can never have children. She’s worried her boyfriend Ian wants them and will choose someone else that can give him them. What you’ve just said confirms it.’
With that, the lady rushed off to join her friend.
‘Oops,’ said Izzie. ‘OK. Cut that out of the act. Too risky. Don’t mention babies. Talk about love, marriage and that sort of thing.’
‘Per la chiromante, da questa parte,’ TJ called out to two elegantly dressed men who strolled by. ‘Per la chiromante, da questa parte. Fortunes told in English and Italian.’
‘Go ahead, Ryan,’ said one in an American accent. ‘It would be fun.’
‘Why not?’ said the blond one and TJ led him to Nesta.
Nesta looked at his hand and into his eyes. ‘You are a very handsome man,’ she said. ‘I see much love in your life.’
Ryan turned and grinned up at his friend.
‘I see a blonde girl. I see love. I see marriage . . .’
The expression on Ryan’s friends face turned cold. ‘Blonde girl?’ he asked. ‘What does she look like exactly?’
‘Um.Very pretty. Um.Very nice lady,’ said Nesta.
‘I knew it . . .’ said the friend and, before we knew it, he had stormed off.
‘Now what?’ I asked nobody in particular.
‘Wh . . . what did I say?’ asked Nesta.
Ryan sighed and ran to catch up with his friend.
Nesta shrugged. ‘What was the problem?’
‘Obvious, you dingbat,’ said Izzie. ‘They’re gay and now, thanks to you, one of them thinks the other has got something going with a pretty, blonde girl.’
We looked over to the other side of the square where we could see the two men having a row.
‘Oops,’ said Nesta. ‘I guess this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Fortune-telling isn’t as easy as it looks.’ She unwound the scarf from her head and gave it back to Izzie. ‘So Lucy . . .’
All three of them turned and looked at me.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Your go,’ said Izzie.
‘I can’t do anything. I can’t sing, can’t act. Only thing I can do is make clothes and that’s not really an option.’ I said.
‘And we need some more money to get back to the hotel,’ said Nesta.
‘Try the mime thing,’ said TJ. ‘A cab can’t cost that much. We probably only need a few more euros. Someone might take pity on you.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ I said, but I knew there was no getting out of it. We were mates and I couldn’t let them down.
I went into the middle of the square and tried to copy the pose of one of the statues near the Uffizi with my arms reaching up in the air, legs slightly crossed. I stood as still as I could, eyes fixed upwards.
I could hear the girls cracking up laughing behind me. Not fair, I thought. I didn’t laugh at them. I was vaguely aware of someone standing in front of me, but I kept my eyes fixed skywards. I didn’t want to ruin my pose by looking at whoever was there.
‘You OK?’ asked a familiar American voice.
I let myself look ahead. It was Teddy standing there with an amused grin on his face.
‘I was doing mime.’
‘Mime? Oh right. OK,’ he said. ‘I thought you looked kind of uncomfortable. Like you needed the bathroom.’
I felt myself blush scarlet. So much for my career as a mime artist, I thought.
‘Oh God,’ I heard Izzie say behind me. ‘Here comes trouble.’
‘Lucy Lovering!’ cried a voice to my left. ‘Izzie Foster! Nesta Williams. TJ WATTS!’
We turned to see Mr Johnson advancing towards us. He was smoking a cigarette and had a face like thunder.
Things to Do if You Get Stranded With No Dosh
Pray
Cry
Beg
Busk
Sing
Do a mime act
Slightly more sensible options are:
Call someone you know and reverse the charges (preferably someone in the same country!).
Get a cab to someone or somewhere you know. Get them to pay the cab fare at their end, then settle up with them later.
Ask a police officer for help. (But make sure he is a policeman and not someone miming being a police officer, as you never know.)
Chapter 11
International Woman of Mystery
‘I’m going to be an international woman of experience and sophistication,’ I announced the next morning.
‘Me too,’ said TJ through a mouthful of the sponge cake that was served for breakfast. I’d wanted my usual toast or muesli, but it wasn’t on offer on the buffet table. There was cake, ham, cheese, tomatoes, croissants, tinned pears, prunes and yogurt – nothing I fancied in the morning so I made do with a roll.
‘And what exactly does that entail?’ asked Izzie.
‘It entails travelling a lot, staying in the best hotels,’ I said, ‘knowing all about art and culture, having love affairs with interesting, talented men and looking divine at every occasion.’
‘OK,’ said Izzie. ‘I’ll be one
as well, then. Nesta you in?’
‘I already am one,’ said Nesta, who was wearing sunglasses even though we were indoors. She’d borrowed them from her mum especially for the trip. Big, black Gucci ones. They looked fab.
‘I see Mr Johnson has abandoned his no-smoking resolution,’ said Izzie with a sideways glance at the table where he was sitting and puffing away. At least he seemed in a better mood this morning. He’d been hopping mad the previous night, even though we’d done our best grovel act and tried to explain about the time difference and how we’d forgotten to put our watches forward. Apparently he thought we’d wandered off and had gone looking for us in the adjacent squares. Before he calmed down, he threatened to put us on the next plane back to England, but then he must have realised that it wasn’t such a great idea as either he or Mrs Elwes would have had to go with us, leaving the rest of the group with only one teacher.
Our journey back to the hotel had turned into a bit of a farce, as at first Teddy had offered to give us all a lift in the limo, which of course Mr Johnson refused. ‘We’ll get a cab,’ he said loftily and ushered us away. Only there were no cabs and, after traipsing around for half an hour, who drove past, but Teddy, who offered us a ride again. This time Mr Johnson gave in and so we drove back in style. Teddy seemed really nice. I sat next to him and got chatting while the others tried to calm Mr Johnson down. Teddy said he came over at least once a year, usually in the summer holidays, to visit his dad in Milan, but had been allowed time out of school to attend his grandmother’s funeral. His parents were divorced and he lived in the States with his mum and he didn’t see his dad’s side of the family very much. His dad remarried and worked in textiles and had factories all over Italy. I told him that I wanted to be a fashion designer and he promised to show me some of his dad’s fabric samples. He asked where we were going sightseeing and, when I told him that we’d be going to the Duomo the next morning, he’d said he might see me up there. He wanted to take some photos from the top for an album he was making in memory of his grandmother’s life and where she’d lived.
When I was lying in bed later, going over the day, I decided that I’d like to get to know him better. As Florence was so different to North London, he was different to the boys I met back home. I wanted to be open to new experiences on all levels and it wouldn’t hurt to broaden my horizons on the boy front as well as seeing a new country. Besides, I was only in Italy for a week, too short a time for things to get complicated. No harm in just getting to know him.
Mates, Dates and Great Escapes Page 7
