Headstrong in Tuscany Read online

  Headstrong in Tuscany

  Fay Henson

  Headstrong in Tuscany

  Published by The Conrad Press in the United Kingdom 2020

  Tel: +44(0)1227 472 874 www.theconradpress.com [email protected]

  ISBN 978-1-839780-11-0

  Copyright © Fay Henson, 2020

  The moral right of Fay Henson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  Typesetting and Cover Design by: Charlotte Mouncey, www.bookstyle.co.uk

  The Conrad Press logo was designed by Maria Priestley.

  1

  Five hundred euros

  Oh, Mum and Dad are still in the kitchen I thought.

  I’d just come down the stairs into the hall, where I could hear Dad speaking to Mum about something. It was just past eight in the morning and I’d thought they’d have finished breakfast by now. I was still wearing my pyjamas as my school had recently broken up for the summer holidays, so I wasn’t in a rush to get dressed.

  I turned the shiny door handle, and went into the kitchen which was full of the welcoming aromas of toast and percolated coffee.

  ‘Morning, Mum, Dad,’ I said. Dad was sitting at the wooden kitchen table in the middle of the room, holding open the Bristol Post local newspaper, and I could see that he’d finished eating his usual toast and marmalade; his plate held the crumbly remnants.

  ‘Good morning,’ Dad said.

  It was a lovely sunny July morning and the French doors were open for a change. I went over to the worktop to put the kettle on to make the sweet mug of tea I looked forward to first thing; the kettle had just been boiled.

  ‘Hi, Caylin, how did last night go by the way?’ Mum asked while she wiped over the work tops. Before I could reply, Dad cut in:

  ‘Can you please ask your friends to be a bit quieter when they drop you off next time. Someone seemed to rev the engine unnecessarily when they drove off, surely there’s no need.’

  ‘Yes...’ I tried to respond.

  ‘And really Caylin,’ he added, ‘don’t you think it’s high time you found yourself some friends who’ve got their feet on the ground, and who are more sensible?’

  Dad usually found something to complain about when we met first thing in the morning, and sometimes I felt that he’d forgotten I was seventeen.

  ‘Honestly Dad,’ I said, ‘I didn’t think they’d made that much noise; I thought they were quiet.’

  ‘Well they weren’t, and it was difficult to get back to sleep,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ I replied. I made my mug of tea, then put it onto the table where I usually sat then went to the cupboard to take out the box of Honey Nut Cheerios, when the calendar caught my eye.

  ‘What date are we going to Italy again?’ I asked while I held the page up with one hand to look at August, and poured milk into my bowl with the other.

  ‘Our flight’s booked for the eighth of August,’ Dad answered.

  ‘Ah yes, it’s written here; Bristol to Rome, zero six thirty hours,’ I said. It was written in Dad’s handwriting, and of course, typical of him that he wrote the time in his military style. I returned to the table to eat my cereal.

  Some weeks ago, I’d thought: Finally, they’ll let me stay home alone, yes. But then Mum went and said that if I went away with them, she’d give me five hundred euros spending money, five hundred euros. Well, you could imagine how I felt; forget the home parties and cleaning up after friends who’d drunk too much, I’d decided I was going. It only took me two seconds to accept after she’d said it, and it was only that long because I couldn’t let any words out; I was in shock. Of course Dad had a bit of a moan and said to Mum that she’d bribed me to go, which I suppose she had really, but I remember she’d told him to shut up and he was to enjoy my company before I went to uni in just over a year.

  I was probably staring into space when Dad accidentally knocked the newspaper supplement onto the floor which brought me back to reality. I watched him as he lowered his newspaper to pick it up and peered at me over his glasses. When he did that, just for an instant, I couldn’t help feeling that my Dad was ancient, but he wasn’t quite; he was fifty-two.

  ‘You know, Caylin, it’s a pity you don’t go out with those friends from Clifton anymore, and what was his name...’ Dad said but I couldn’t stop myself from butting in.

  ‘Come on Dad, I told you that we all fell out, and anyway, if you’re meaning Matt, he’s moved to London,’ I said.

  I was fed up with Dad’s persistence in bringing up the group I used to hang around with including Matt, who I thought I’d got on with quite well, until she joined our group and diverted his attentions. Of course I was gutted when I woke up and realised they were going out together, but that was then. Miss Push Up Bra could keep him.

  That group had ambition, Dad had said, yes that was true. It was also true that Matt went to London, but I’d accidentally on purpose forgotten to tell Dad that Matt had dumped me for a girl who flaunted herself like that. It was because Dad had quite liked Matt and I didn’t want Dad to feel that he’d been deceived if he’d learnt that Matt had easily betrayed me for a girl who was far more willing to go further than I was. So the way I saw it, I didn’t care if Dad considered him a good guy.

  Apparently there were plenty more fish in the ocean, really; and how would we know if they were a good fish? I wasn’t very happy with my life, and to top it all, next year I was expected to go to uni.

  ‘London?’ he said, ‘well, at least he was intelligent enough to get into university, which is more than you can say about that lot you’re hanging around with now.’ As those words came out of Dad’s mouth, I had to argue back. That’s it, I thought.

  ‘Oh come on Dad, that’s not fair,’ I said, ‘and who said anything about university?’

  ‘You know that I meet many types of youngsters and my instincts are usually pretty good,’ he said but I interrupted him again.

  ‘And how dare you criticise my friends, you really haven’t a clue, Dad,’ think I’m taking a bit of a risk here speaking to him like this, I thought. ‘All right I know they’re not like Bill Gates,’ I said, ‘but some have found themselves work since leaving school.’

  Dad sat back in his chair while I defended my friends. I couldn’t quite work out if he was looking at me in a stern or an intrigued kind of way, but he let me continue.

  ‘There are a few who aren’t so motivated,’ I said, ‘but at least they’re good guys and we have loads of laughs and I’m happy when I’m with them.’

  ‘I doubt they’re that bad, John,’ Mum joined in. ‘It’s too easy to criticise without really knowing what’s what.’ Thanks Mum. And Dad knew we were right; he buried his nose in the newspaper again. Ha, I bet your darling soldiers aren’t angels, I thought.

  With nothing more said on the subject, I finished my breakfast then put my things into the dishwasher and left the kitchen to return upstairs to the safety of my room, but I found it was just too difficult to stop myself from giving my bedroom door a very hard slam. I locked my door then sat on my bed right at the top and stuffed my pillow between me and the headboard, I pulled my knees up where I rested my chin. I really hoped I hadn’t forfeited my five hundred euros.

  I knew Dad loved me, he always told me - or mostly, anyway - when we all called out goodnight to each other. I also knew he wanted the best for me, but he really annoyed me at times. It was all because of the army why he was so bossy, and I bet it was embedded forever. He retired last year when troops were reduced in
Afghanistan where he’d been a Major for some time. But he couldn’t quite close the military book; he’d still travel over to Bath where he helped advise reserve soldiers at the TA centre.

  It’d been a bit tough for all of us when I’d thought about it. For months at a time Dad was away with his sub-unit under a lot of pressure and with tons of responsibility and stress. We were always worrying about him, praying he’d return home safe and well. Thankfully he did of course.

  It’d also been quite difficult for Mum and me to adjust as now he was back at home we weren’t able to be as laid back like when he was away. I was sure he would have had a fit if he knew that Mum and me stayed up really late to watch horror films together. (And how strange it was to discover that a forty-eight-year-old could be just as terrified as I was; I’d always thought adults could cope with scary stuff.) Sometimes we got takeaway Indian meals or pizzas instead of cooking and then we didn’t clear up ‘til the next morning. It was kind of cool; Mum was kind of cool.

  I looked across at my bookshelf that held my high school text books which made me feel anxious. I’d been more uptight than ever in the past days because I was worried I wasn’t able to bring myself to tell Mum and Dad that I didn’t want to go on to uni, that I’d truly, really had enough of studying.

  I felt like my life had already been mapped out for me; Mum and Dad had scheduled in their brains that I was to continue with education. They said, to give me a good start in life, yes understood, but I’d had an idea that it was also to keep up with a swot of a cousin on my Dad’s side who’d done brilliantly. Good luck to you, wonderful Tricia, I said to myself. Of course my parents wanted to be able to boast about me and I couldn’t blame them for that. But it was my life; surely I could do what I wanted.

  I was feeling sorry for myself. It was rubbish having a cousin who was excellent at everything, my Auntie Jan had always compared us, and so when I’d had an inkling she’d be visiting, I had tried to find a reason to keep out of the way. I hated her questions, and she’d even had the audacity to bring clothes for me which wonderful Tricia hadn’t needed. I didn’t want her clothes, I liked to choose my own. I knew it also grated on Mum’s nerves too; well, she didn’t exactly say it. She probably didn’t want to offend, but I could tell how she felt. And anyway, even Mum had a bit of a laugh when we’d taken wonderful Tricia’s things directly to Oxfam. I imagined a pretty African girl who tried her things on, and I hoped it gave her a lot of happiness.

  I adjusted my position and stretched out my legs, that was much better. My feet stuck out from the ends of my pyjama bottoms; how ugly feet were, well mine anyway. I had knobbly ankles and my toe nails had chipped blue nail polish but much worse was that when I pulled up my trouser legs, I could see spiky leg hair. So that went on my things to do before my holiday list.

  I started to think about a different list I kept in my mind. On that list I’d written that I wanted to be more independent and to be able to start earning my own money then, not three years later.

  Actually, I had been earning a bit of money, just enough to spend on going out and buying the odd thing or two. Mum had found me a part-time job at her hairdressers, so I’d been going there every Saturday plus one late evening. I had to wash clients’ hair and I’d done odd jobs for the stylist. But I hadn’t liked it that much, especially when I had to touch gross, greasy hair and then forced to listen to the pathetic talk; most clients were born blabber-mouthed gossipers.

  I was pretty certain my parents didn’t have any particular money worries, even though they’d never discussed their money situ in front of me, but there’d never been much of fuss when I’d asked for some extra cash. I definitely knew though, that Mum had inherited our detached home here in Falcondale Drive from my grandparents who I believed had been fairly well off; something to do with buying and selling land years ago.

  But how I wished I had my own place. I’d seen so many other guys with theirs. They were lucky to have their own space, and how lovely it would be to eat cereal straight out of the box or to be able to stay in my pyjamas all day if I wanted to. Heaven. I could even have cats. But all that seemed a million light years away, especially if I had to go to uni next year.

  I wondered what Sora my Manga girl thought of me. I’d created her to look a bit like me with long auburn hair and big green eyes, but she was more beautiful than me. She was lucky her skin was perfectly clear and she didn’t have freckles like me which became horribly noticeable when I’d caught the sun.

  The sketches of Sora I’d finished in watercolour were pinned to my wall and I’d often wondered if she’d considered me frigid or maybe wise. I cringed when I looked back at a couple of times I’d been walked home by so-called boyfriends; Sora had watched us kiss and cuddle on my narrow single bed. I’d often been pretty close to giving up my virginity, but then I’d panic and put the brakes on. I hadn’t quite convinced myself that boys weren’t interested in just that, and so of course they hadn’t any patience with me, and that was that. I came to the conclusion they must all be like it and so I was destined to ruin any chance of a good relationship; not that there would be one anyway.

  I’d wondered too if sometimes, in my subconscious I’d worried what Dad would’ve done if he’d found out; if he would’ve gone berserk. Perhaps he would’ve flown round to the boy’s home and hammered on the door, shouted things at him then made him run twenty times round the block. I could just imagine Dad doing that. Humiliation; wasn’t that what Major’s did?

  Well anyway, it wouldn’t be long before Dad could relax away from the military and enjoy the fine wines of Italy (his words) and Mum wouldn’t have to do housework for a while. And me, I was looking forward to seeing Italy for the first time, and with five hundred euros in my purse, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hang around with Mum and Dad for two, whole, weeks. The very thought of being stuck in a hotel filled with people their age and even older, had bothered me quite a bit.

  My phone bleeped, someone’s just sent me a message on WhatsApp.

  Cay!! U awake yet? Have u remembered we’d arranged 2 meet Em in town? Let me know when u coming, Zoeeeee xx

  Oh Flip.

  Hi Zoe, course I am, yes I have and see you at yours in a few mins, Cay xx

  2

  Joe

  It was the eighth of August.

  ‘Ladies and gentleman,’ the captain announced, ‘we’ll shortly start our descent to Fiumicino airport in Rome. Meanwhile, the crew and I would like to thank you for choosing to fly with us and I wish you a pleasant stay in sunny Italy. The local time in Rome is nine fifty in the morning.’

  Dad stood up and reorganised the overhead locker and put Mum’s holdall inside, and sat down again. I was sure he hadn’t realised that I still had my bag with me; I’d tucked it under the seat in front of me where I could keep my eye on it. My spending money was inside it, an amazing wodge of twenty-euro notes and I wasn’t prepared to let it out of my sight.

  During our flight, I couldn’t help noticing that a tall guy with short blond hair and an attractive profile, who could have been a bit older than me, was a fidget. It had to be at least three times he’d left his seat (the row opposite but the next one down) to go up in the direction of the loo then back again. But then he’d take far more time than it was necessary to turn himself away from looking in my direction before sitting down to face the front. The only people behind me were oldies, I supposed he could have been a weirdo; but there, we’d never find out.

  I watched the cabin attendants rush along the aisle, the women with their bright red lipstick and perfect nails, clicking shut the lockers and checking us. I pushed my bag a little further out of view with my foot. For a brief moment, I imagined them at the end of their shifts returning home to their cats in their cosy flats or cute little homes and hunky boyfriends; lucky them.

  Mum’s never been keen on the landing part, she was holding my hand and Dad’s. He was fine, h
e’d flown more times than you could imagine, including of course in many military aircraft. We were descending lower over long straight roads with tons of moving cars which looked like children’s toys, huge buildings and massive car parks.

  Everyone was quiet except for a couple of kids who whined; perhaps their ears had hurt. When I was younger my Mum used to give me a sweet to suck when we were landing. Everything was shuddering and I could see the back of the tall guy’s head bobbing against the top of his seat which I found a bit amusing. Then we slowed right down ever so quickly and we stopped.

  Inside the airport, the man in uniform who was sitting inside an open cubicle hardly glanced at our passports and waved us through without saying a word. He looked that miserable I wondered why he still wanted to work there. At least he was earning money.

  ‘Is that what they call passport control here?’ Dad asked. Dad knows a lot about security and slackness irritates him.

  ‘Um, he was quite friendly though, don’t you think?’ Mum replied.

  ‘Very funny Mum, come on, let’s go now,’ I said. I was eager to get outside and to see Italy.

  ‘We need to find the holiday rep at the arrivals point,’ Dad said.

  We joined a lot of other people and followed signs to the exit and finally through the big doors into an area where people were being greeted. Oh yes, the kiss. I’d forgotten that the Italians greeted each other with a kiss on both cheeks. I liked that.

  ‘Do you think that’s her?’ asked Mum. ‘The woman over there is holding up something with an emblem which looks familiar.’

  ‘Reckon so,’ Dad said.

  Mum was right, the emblem on the little flag had the inscription Deluxe Tuscany Tours. There were some people already standing near the slim woman, and probably as keen as I was to get going. It was as if she knew we were on her list; was it that obvious? I wondered. She probably looked at my pale legs sticking out from under my new swishy flowered skirt, covered in goose bumps after the horrible air conditioning. None of us had much of a tan, the sun in Britain was always so sporadic.