The Getaway Girls: A hilarious feel-good summer read

by Dee MacDonald

  ‘Now,’ Alfonso announced after one of these encounters, ‘we go to the tower. But’ – he paused for effect – ‘it is not only the tower. We have the beautiful Battistero di San Giovanni and the Duomo also.’

  ‘That,’ translated Connie, who’d been before, ‘is the baptistery and the cathedral, alongside what is actually the bell tower.’

  On arrival at the Piazza dei Miracoli, they were all silenced by the beauty of these famous marble buildings. Like carved ivory, Connie thought, or a gigantic wedding cake with intricate white icing, against the blue of the sky. What she didn’t like, as before, were the stalls on the road directly opposite, selling souvenirs, bags, scarves and cheap jewellery. Gill plainly had no such objections to the stalls, seeming to be torn between gazing at the tower and deciding which necklace she should buy, whilst ignoring Alfonso’s warning that they were no good, and he would buy her a better quality one in a shop he just happened to know and where he would get a good discount.

  They went into the baptistery first. ‘It leans also, you know,’ Alfonso informed them. He stamped his foot. ‘Because here the ground is too soft.’ In the cathedral, he crossed himself and slid into a pew for a few moments. The three followed, grateful for the cool interior, and to sit down to rest their weary feet. They’d already walked a long way from where Alfonso had parked his car and Connie wasn’t relishing the prospect of climbing to the top of the tower, even if Alfonso did have the wherewithal for them to avoid waiting in the queue. The last time she’d come to Pisa the tower had been closed for some ‘straightening’ – not that you’d notice.

  They emerged again into the blazing sunshine and crossed to the tower.

  Alfonso continued his commentary. ‘They build him on sand, you know. So, after three floors he starts to lean and they must leave him for one hundred years to, er…’

  ‘Stabilise?’ Connie suggested.

  ‘Si, si, to stabilise. For one hundred years. Then they build four more floors, and make one side higher than the other to – how you say – balance?’

  ‘And it’s still wonky,’ Gill said with some satisfaction.

  In his usual style, Alfonso got them to the head of the queue but resisted the temptation to climb the tower himself. ‘Many times I do this,’ he informed them, as he lit a cigarette and headed for an inviting patch of grass. ‘I wait.’

  Gill got as far as the third floor before she removed her sandals. ‘These straps in this heat are killing me,’ she groaned as she shuffled on upwards in her bare feet. Maggie, as usual, was way ahead and Connie, also as usual, wondered where someone who looked so frail got her energy from. The longer she knew her, the more Connie realised that Maggie was tough, inside and out, despite appearances to the contrary.

  It was worth the climb and the views from the top were breath-taking, if you could manage to push your way through the hordes of snap-happy tourists brandishing all manner of phones, tablets and cameras.

  As they finally limped out they found Alfonso asleep on his patch of grass, emitting soft snores.

  ‘He’s got the right idea,’ Maggie muttered.

  ‘Enough sightseeing for today,’ Connie added. ‘I could murder a glass of something.’

  Gill was gazing admiringly at her lover. ‘Alfie, Alfie, wake up!’

  He opened his velvety browns and looked confused for a moment. ‘Oh, ladies, I sleep! I sorry!’

  He got to his feet, brushing the back of his trousers with his hand while twisting around trying to see his bottom. ‘No grass on there, no?’

  ‘No, no, Alfie – you’re perfect! Now, can we find a nice glass of something somewhere? We’re parched, and we need to rest our weary feet.’ Connie shook a stone out of her sandal.

  They limped after him into a relatively quiet side street with a welcome ‘Bar’ sign and a collection of metal tables and chairs alongside a potted vine. They ordered beer and water and Aperol with soda for Connie, who was flexing her toes against the cool metal of the table leg.

  Alfonso gulped his beer. ‘Where you wanna go tomorrow?’

  ‘Maybe a day off tomorrow?’ Connie said, thinking of her aching feet. ‘And I wonder if you could help me to make a call to Napoli? I’m trying to trace some relatives, and I only have one phone number for reference, which I looked up before I left home, but couldn’t find anyone who spoke English. And perhaps you could look at some of these letters in my box, which are written in Italian, but very faded.’

  ‘Of course. Then I take you to Firenze,’ Alfonso said.

  Twenty-One

  IL RANDAGIO

  Connie had dug out The Box again, looking for any clue that might lead her to finding out more about the elusive Martiluccis. She’d bought a magnifying glass in Genoa, which enabled her to decipher more of the faint squiggles in the letters, and which also magnified the detailed carving of vine leaves on the door of the house in the background of the group photographs. Might she be able to find this door somewhere? Perhaps in Amalfi? And Alfonso had been able to translate a few of the contents of the Italian letters, all of which appeared to be to Maria from her parents: We pray daily for your safety; Can you eat the English food?; We are glad your husband is no longer at sea; We are thrilled you have a baby boy!

  She’d spent hours searching websites before she left, but could only find pages of complicated Italian. The name of E. L. Pozzi had cropped up again and again and, when she’d finally located what might be the phone number, she’d got through to that woman who spoke the rapid Italian, without pausing for breath, for about thirty seconds, and then abruptly hung up.

  Connie couldn’t believe that, in this day and age of electronic miracles, she couldn’t find a satisfactory answer. Perhaps she hadn’t been clued-up enough; modern technology frequently moved too fast for her. But Maggie had come up trumps regarding the photograph of the man in uniform. ‘Merchant navy,’ she said. ‘I’m almost certain it is. My maternal great-uncle wore something similar to that. My ma always kept the photo on the landing wall; she was very proud of it, and of him. He was the only one of the family in those days to venture forth and see the world.’

  That, of course, made perfect sense. Her grandfather had most likely been in the merchant navy at one time and that would explain how he might have met Maria in Naples. And Maria would not have relished being on her own in a foreign country while he travelled the world, which might explain why they ended up with that stall near the docks in Newcastle.

  * * *

  ‘I’m trying to find anyone with the name of Martilucci who might be related to me,’ Connie informed Alfonso, when he and Gill finally emerged the following morning. ‘I tried to trace the family on some websites before I left home, but they were all in Italian. And now all I can find on Google is the name of one E. L. Pozzi in Naples somewhere.’

  ‘You have number for this person?’ Alfonso asked.

  ‘Yes, but I’ve no idea who he or she is, and I’m worried they won’t speak English.’

  ‘I try.’ Alfonso took over and, as he held the phone to his ear, Connie waited anxiously. He spoke some rapid Italian, then listened for a moment before handing the phone back to Connie. ‘He speak English. He talk to you.’

  ‘Hello?’ Connie asked tentatively.

  The voice that replied was deep and very masculine. ‘You are?’

  ‘I am Connie McColl. My grandmother was called Maria Martilucci, from somewhere around Amalfi, and who went to live in Newcastle, England, presumably when she married my grandfather around a hundred years ago. Your name came up as the only reference when I googled her name.’

  The man sighed. ‘I am Eduardo Pozzi, and I am a lawyer, as my father and grandfather before me were lawyers. My grandfather might have dealt with this family and the papers will be stored in our vaults somewhere. Since many years.’

  ‘I was just hoping to find some relatives,’ Connie said. ‘Is there any way they could be traced?’

  Mr Pozzi sighed again. ‘Si, probabilmente. It takes time
to find these files.’ He hesitated. ‘And time is money, you understand?’

  ‘Oh, I understand perfectly,’ Connie replied. ‘And I am quite willing to pay, Mr Pozzi. I’m on my way from England but it’ll be a week or two yet before we get to Naples.’ She looked across at Gill and Maggie splashing about in the pool.

  ‘You are sightseeing?’

  ‘Oh, indeed I am.’ Connie stared in disbelief as Gill emerged from the water minus the top half of her bikini, which was floating around in the middle of the pool.

  ‘If you will come to see me in my office when you arrive in Napoli, I will be happy to help you then, Signora. I shall calculate the amount I will need from you, and send an email. I will then check our records and then we can make an appointment for you to come here.’

  Well, Connie thought as she turned off her phone, that’s the best I can do for the moment. And nobody down there is prepared to blow the dust off any old files until they see the colour of my money. But what other choice do I have?

  As Connie replaced the phone into her shoulder bag she saw Alfonso appear from nowhere and plunge into the pool, heading towards the bikini top that was floating around like two large pink blancmanges in the middle. Meanwhile, Gill stood waist-high in the water, her arms folded modestly across her mammaries.

  ‘I don’t know how that happened,’ she wailed.

  ‘I do,’ said Maggie. ‘That top is too small for your big boobs.’

  ‘Cover yourself with a towel,’ Alfonso ordered as he swam back to the side, towing the top. ‘Somebody might see you.’

  ‘We’ve seen them before,’ Maggie muttered. ‘And I imagine you have too,’ she added, glancing at Alfonso before returning to her sunbed.

  Connie, laughing, sank onto the sunbed next to Maggie.

  ‘You couldn’t make it up,’ Maggie said, rolling her eyes.

  * * *

  ‘We really should be moving on,’ Maggie said later, as they sat eating pasta in Alfonso’s kitchen. He had insisted on cooking, and the ravioli was delicious, as was the tomato and red onion salad.

  ‘No, no, you stay – no hurry!’ He refilled their glasses with Chianti. ‘Tomorrow we go to Firenze. And then’ – he turned, beaming, to Gill – ‘I have tickets for a wonderful concert at the weekend, under the stars!’

  ‘A concert?’ Gill looked at him over the rim of her glass.

  ‘Si, si, is the famous Andrea Bocelli! You like?’

  ‘Oh, you lucky thing!’ Connie exclaimed.

  ‘Connie likes,’ Gill replied. ‘I’ve had to listen to him warbling most of the way here. You take Connie!’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean—’ Connie began.

  ‘OK, OK,’ Alfonso interrupted. ‘We no go. Connie go with Maggie.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ muttered Gill.

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t, Alfonso!’ Connie said, desperately wanting to go.

  ‘Why no? I have two nice tickets near the front. You go with Maggie.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll come with you,’ Maggie said.

  ‘Is at Lajatico, where Bocelli is born. Every year, big concert, al fresco.’ He looked back at Gill. ‘We will have romantic evening with music you like, no?’

  ‘Rod Stewart,’ said Gill, gulping her wine.

  They offered to pay for the concert tickets but Alfonso would have none of it. ‘I go every year,’ he said, ‘I have friend, you know?’ He tapped his nose. ‘Not important for me. I glad you like.’

  Connie was thrilled. She had only seen the singer that one time in London and the very thought of seeing him in his natural habitat was unbelievable! Good old Alfonso! She felt quite shivery with excitement – wait until she told Di!

  And at long last she’d have an opportunity to wear that beautiful Parisian designer dress. Connie knew it would be imperative to look good amidst those hordes of Italian concertgoers because she’d seen what Italian women looked like, dressed up for the evening. Even the older, chubbier ladies had such great style, such beautifully cut clothes, such elegant footwear. And to see and hear the wonderful Tuscan singer underneath the Tuscan stars!

  * * *

  Gill decided she couldn’t possibly go somewhere as beautiful as Florence without a nice new sundress. And all the more important now that she wanted to look good for Alfonso. And particularly with all the well-groomed Italian ladies that were bound to be in Florence. And Alfie, of course, knew exactly where to find a good boutique! How many Englishmen, she wondered, would have the first clue as to where a boutique might be, even if it was bang next door to their local? That was just one of the things she liked about this man. He noticed what she wore! ‘That colour so nice,’ he’d say. ‘It match the blue of your eyes.’ Once, and only once, had Peter said, en route to the pub, ‘I haven’t seen you in that dress before, have I?’ when she’d had the damned thing for ten years. No, there was little point in dressing up for most men back home because they didn’t notice. Or they only noticed when she didn’t want them to. ‘Is that new?’ Peter would ask suspiciously when she’d overspent. ‘Oh, what, this old thing?’ But these Italian men were something else. There was so much more than the Channel that separated Englishmen from their continental counterparts, Gill reckoned.

  Connie and Maggie had opted for a restful day by the pool. In spite of all their wittering on about getting to Florence and Rome and God-knows-where, Gill thought, they were happy enough to park for free in Alfonso’s garden and swim in Alfonso’s pool.

  Gill couldn’t bear to think of moving on. Yes, she’d like to get to Rome and all that, and she loved the nomadic lifestyle with Connie and Maggie, but now there was Alfonso, and she loved him too. Well, she was pretty sure she did. And she had a feeling that he felt the same. But what if they were to move on and she was never to see him again? She’d probably regret it forever. Gill was being pulled in every direction. No one but me and my old cat for years, she thought, and now all this!

  * * *

  Gill and Alfie were strolling along the main shopping street en route to the boutique when she saw him. He was alone and heading straight in their direction but, mercifully, he hadn’t seen her yet. He was wearing shorts again, and this time she could see the long scar down his left leg.

  Gill froze. She grabbed Alfonso’s arm. ‘Quick! Quick!’ she muttered, turning abruptly into the first available doorway. Alfonso followed her in, looking confused.

  ‘You are hungry?’ he asked, nearly colliding with a tray of cream cakes being transported to the window by a white-clad baker. ‘You want cake?’

  ‘No, no!’ Gill peered over his shoulder through the window to make sure the street was clear. ‘No, I just needed to avoid someone.’

  ‘Avoid?’

  ‘Yes, someone I didn’t want to see. Not important, Alfie,’ she added, her heart thumping. ‘Let me buy you a little cake.’

  Still looking confused, Alfonso chose a strawberry concoction and Gill, still shaken, chose the first cake she laid her eyes on, which was some kind of éclair. They were paid for, prettily boxed and, as they left the shop, Alfonso asked, ‘Who you no want to see?’

  ‘Oh, not important, Alfie.’

  He stopped abruptly. ‘Is very important! Is a man? He Italiano?’

  ‘No, no, nothing like that.’

  ‘Is a woman?’

  ‘No, Alfie! Please don’t concern yourself. It’s just someone from England…’

  ‘England? Englishman? He looking for you? Lover? Husband?’ Alfonso stood rooted to the spot, cake box in hand, refusing to move.

  ‘I haven’t a husband or a lover! No, he’s a friend of Maggie’s who she doesn’t want to see any more.’

  ‘So why he following her here?’

  ‘I don’t know, Alfie. But he seems to know we’re travelling together and I don’t want to meet him.’

  They strolled along, Alfie still carrying the beribboned box of cakes. ‘Why she no tell him go away?’

  ‘Yes, well it’s a little more complicated than that. And he’s very persistent
.’ And Maggie’s going to kill me, Gill thought, but what was I to say? ‘Anyway, please don’t say anything about this to her, Alfie! I don’t want to worry her.’

  ‘How he know she here, in Viareggio?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ And I truly don’t, she thought. How come he always seems to know exactly where we are? She suppressed a shiver. She wouldn’t tell Maggie; no point in worrying her. She’ll only want to be on the move again and what’s the point? That Ringer will find us sooner or later, wherever we are.

  They stopped outside the boutique. ‘I wait for you in the bar,’ he said, pointing across the street. ‘I hope you find pretty dress,’ he added, kissing her on the cheek.

  * * *

  Gill was very pleased with her sundress. It had blue, mauve and white vertical stripes and made her look slimmer. Not only did she look slimmer, she was slimmer! She hadn’t weighed herself since she left home but she knew she’d lost weight.

  Now the ever-obliging Alfonso insisted on taking the three of them to Florence to see the Duomo and the Uffizi, and Gill, in particular, wanted to see the famous statue of David because she couldn’t believe that such a famous, virile male should have such a little willy. ‘Well, of course, he hadn’t seen you,’ Maggie commented drily.

  It was another day of soaring temperatures. The queue for the Uffizi snaked round the courtyard and beyond; ‘four to five hours’ wait’ they were told, so they consoled themselves gazing at the replica statue of David, where Gill duly commented on his private parts, before they wandered into the Duomo.

  It was as they emerged again into the blistering heat that they came across the dog. He appeared to have been waiting for them and fell into step with the four of them as they wandered along the bank of the Arno to the Ponte Vecchio. Small, scruffy and very determined, he was not at all on the agenda for their day in Florence.