Divas Don't Knit (31 page)

‘Don’t do it again, Archie.’

‘Yes, but if you did get outside it would be lovely.’

‘No, it wouldn’t, it would be very cold.’

‘I could put my hood up.’

I’m pretty sure finding yourself on the wrong side of the emergency exit at thirty thousand feet would mean that getting the hood of your sweatshirt to stay up might be the least of your worries, but I don’t want to frighten him, and anyway he’s pressing buttons on the sink now, and if I’m not careful I’ll end up with a soaking wet trouser leg.

By the time we’re back in our seats and playing endless rounds of Animal, Vegetable or Mineral, but without the Minerals because Archie just makes them up, my trousers are starting to dry. And then the captain announces we’re beginning our descent and preparing for landing. Jack checks that his seat really is in the upright position, to the sound of tutting from the man behind us; although he’s in no position to tut as far as I’m concerned because his daughter has been
standing on her seat for most of the flight, doing a kind of inflight cabaret performance of I’m a Very Gifted Child in an annoyingly nasal voice. I’m sure we’re all meant to be applauding and wishing we had such a marvellous child, but I don’t think I’m alone in wishing she’d just shut up and sit down. She kicks the back of my seat for a while, and then stands up and leans over to ask me if I know how to say ‘Hello, my name is Sophie’ in Italian, because she does.

I try to pretend I haven’t heard her, but she tells me anyway, and then sits down and resumes her kicking. I wonder how many air-rage incidents are sparked off by middle-class children; quite a few is my guess, especially on flights to Venice.

Jack gets nervous while we’re landing, and grips my hand very tightly, while Archie gives us a running commentary on what he can see on the ground, including things he must be making up unless Italy’s gone back to the Jurassic Age during our flight.

We finally make it through passports and into the baggage hall, which in typical Italian fashion is very beautifully designed but doesn’t appear to be working. There are hordes of people crowded round stationary luggage carousels, and an atmosphere of mild hysteria, but it’s such a relief to be off the plane and away from the sound of Sophie telling everyone about her favourite food that I really don’t care.

The boys are getting chilly, so I find their woolly hats at the bottom of my bag, and reassure myself that I’ve still got the passports, for the hundredth and eleventh time. Jack finds a trolley by running and sitting on the first one he sees, and since we’re in Italy nobody hurls him to the floor, and he’s very pleased with himself as he wheels it back towards me. Archie’s sulking because Marco Polo airport doesn’t give out free packets of Polos, but he cheers up when Jack starts wheeling him backwards and forwards on the trolley, at a very sedate
pace because I think they both realise I’m not in the mood for any Nonsense.

I’m just starting to relax when I hear the unmistakable tones of Sophie and her parents, who come and stand right beside us. Excellent.

‘Daddy, I want a trolley to sit on like that boy.’

‘There aren’t any trolleys left, darling.’

There’s a definite hint of gritted teeth in his tone now. Shame.

‘But I want one.’

He turns to me and smiles, as if to signal that I should be turfing my children off our trolley and donating it for Sophie’s sole use. Like that’s going to be happening any time soon.

‘I want one now.’

All the English passengers in the vicinity who’ve got trolleys hold onto them more tightly.

Jack turns round. ‘You can have a go on this one if you like, but just a go.’

Everyone smiles at him, apart from Archie and me, who are both completely horrified.

‘No. I want one of my very own.’

Sophie’s mother finally cracks. ‘Sophie, don’t be silly. Say thank you to the nice boy.’

‘No.’

‘I know you’re tired, darling, but it was very kind of him to offer.’

This slight hint of public criticism is too much for Mr Sophie.

‘For God’s sake leave her alone – it’s not as if it’s his personal trolley.’

I stare at him, and he reddens. And Mrs Sophie raises her eyebrows. Christ, the poor woman; it just goes to show there’s always someone worse off than you. I must try to remember that during the next few days.

Sophie continues whining, and hits her father with her
Barbie bag, which is gratifying, and we’re finally reunited with our suitcase and our big black nylon bag, which looks much flatter than the last time we saw it. I’m so glad I didn’t bother to take the ‘FRAGILE’ stickers off. We’re trundling towards the automatic doors with Archie balanced on top of the suitcase, giving Sophie the evil eye whenever he catches a glimpse of her, when a torrent of Italian greets us as the doors open, and we are surrounded by crowds of people standing waving and kissing. And then we spot Vin and Dad and I feel like bursting into tears, but I always feel like crying at airports so I’m hoping this is only temporary.

Dad pretends not to recognise the boys because they’ve got so big, and we hug as Vin pushes the trolley towards the exit.

‘Good flight?’

‘Oh yes, fabulous. Packed full of horrible kids and snooty parents, and that was just the row behind us.’

He laughs. ‘Well, I can top that big time, we had a three-month-old on ours, all the way from bloody Australia, and she never stopped screaming. Me and Lulu had to walk her up and down for ages to get her to stop, and every time we tried to sit down she started up again.’

‘That was nice of you.’

‘It was the only way to shut the little sod up, I remembered it from the midnight shuffle when Jack was little.’

‘You only did that once.’

‘I know, but it’s stayed with me.’

We both look at Jack, and I say a silent prayer of thanks that he no longer requires walking up and down to get him off to sleep.

‘How’s Mum?’

Vin rolls his eyes.

‘And Lulu?’

‘Great, and dying to see you. Come on, we’re over here. We have to get the bus to the boat.’

Bugger, I’d sort of forgotten about the boat thing.

‘Dad’s borrowed one from his friend Gianni, so we won’t need to catch the ferry.’

‘Lovely.’

Oh dear. The last time I saw Dad in charge of a boat we were in Greenwich Park and he bashed it into the side so hard Jack nearly fell out; and a lagoon is a lot bigger than a boating pond. Bugger. I wonder if there’s anywhere I can buy a couple of lifejackets?

It’s foggy and cold outside, and getting the luggage onto the bus takes a fair bit of heaving, and lots of sarcastic comments from Vin, but when we get to the port Dad’s friend Gianni is standing smiling and waving at us, next to his very beautiful and highly varnished water taxi, and before we know it we’re racing across the lagoon in a very glamorous fashion, feeling like visiting VIPs. The boys are madly impressed, as well they should be, since this has got to be the most expensive way to arrive in Venice. Dad’s telling them about all the different kinds of fish you can catch off the little islands.

‘Are you doing lots of fishing, Dad?’

‘A fair bit.’

Vin shakes his head. ‘Don’t get him started. He goes out with all his mates for hours, it’s his new excuse for disappearing.’

Dad smiles.

‘And then they all come home drunk.’

‘Well, you have to take a nip of something to keep the cold out.’

The lights of Venice start twinkling at us through the mist, which is rather magical. There’s still enough light to see, but all the edges are blurry, and there’s something slightly unreal about the way it suddenly rises from the water like Atlantis, only with much better shops. The boys keep standing up to look out of the windows as we chug up and down canals, which are all a bit eerie and silent apart from sudden bursts of light
and noise as we pass little squares. I remember how knocked out I was the first time I came here with Nick. We were supposed to be attending a television festival, but we were stuck in a hotel miles from the centre so we pretty much gave up trying to get to the festival events, and just wandered about getting lost and having a blissful time.

The boat stops beside some stone steps, in front of a rather grand-looking building with a large grey wooden door, and Dad and Vin start getting the luggage off. We thank Gianni, who kisses me four times and calls the boys ‘bambini’, and then the door opens and Mum comes out, wearing clogs for some reason, and a long purple skirt with a dark-green poncho. She’s looking very Bohemian, with her hair in a velvet turban, and kisses me in a very Italian lots-of-cheek-kissing kind of way, and then turns to the boys.

‘Now, darlings, you must remember to call me Mariella. None of that dreadful Granny nonsense, because I couldn’t bear it.’

They both nod.

‘And Josephine, darling, what on earth have you been doing to yourself? You look dreadful. It must be working in that shop. I told you it was a bad idea, didn’t I? You need to be using your brain, not working on a till all day.’

She laughs, as if she’s being very witty, and turns to Jack.

‘So what do you think of Venezia?’

‘It’s lovely.’

She smiles.

‘And Archie? Do you think it’s beautiful, too?’

‘Yes, but where are the ice-cream shops? Mum said there were shops full of ice cream.’

Trust Archie to let the side down.

‘The really important thing is all the beautiful museums we can visit, full of beautiful pictures. You’d like to see them, too, wouldn’t you?’

‘Not really.’

I give him a firm look.

‘We’d love to see all the pictures, wouldn’t we, Archie?’

‘Oh yes, but we’d like to see the ice cream more, that’s all.’

Vin laughs. ‘I know just what you mean.’

Mum sighs.

Lulu helps us get the luggage indoors, and whispers that Vin has been bickering with Mum all day and she’s really glad we’re here. We go up the stairs, and suddenly we’re surrounded by marble and gilt in a very grand but undoubtedly dilapidated palazzo. There are bits of plaster missing from one of the walls, and a faint smell of damp, but the marble floors are beautiful, and there are huge sets of double doors leading off the corridor. Mum leads the way up two more flights of stairs and into a large bedroom.

‘I’ve put you in here. You get marvellous views from this window over the rooftops.’

She opens the shutters. The room’s enormous, with a massive wooden bed and two rather rickety-looking camp beds, and a huge dark wooden wardrobe with carvings on the doors of little cherubs and bunches of grapes.

‘Isn’t it beautiful?’

‘It’s lovely, Mum, thank you.’

It’s also freezing, but never mind; it’ll make it feel more like home.

Dad’s looking worried. ‘The only thing is, I wouldn’t go out onto the balcony because those railings could give way any minute.’

Excellent. I wonder which one of us will be first to fall headlong into the canal?

‘There used to be keys, but we’ve lost track of them.’

‘You’ve
lost track of them, you mean, Derek, I’ve never seen them. I have told you.’

Mum sounds irritated.

‘I’ll tie the doors shut with a scarf or something; it’ll be fine. It’s an amazing place, Mum.’

She nods. ‘Yes, we’re very lucky. Giancarlo lets us use all the rooms when he hasn’t got tenants in, and the rest of the time we have our lovely flat downstairs, of course, so it’s perfect. It’s such a shame he’s not here at the moment. He’s such a lovely man, so cultured. He’s a Count, you know, and his family have lived here for generations.’

In fact, I already know from Vin that he’s a Milanese banker, and not terribly cultured at all, with a very blonde wife who likes to wear lots of gold jewellery. They rent the house out to tourists in the summer and only keep it because of something to do with tax.

Dad plugs the ancient fan heater in, and it wafts warm air around our feet.

‘The boiler’s a bit temperamental, so the radiators don’t always work up here, but this will take the chill off. Are you hungry, love? I could do you some soup, if you like.’

‘Don’t fuss, Derek. She’s perfectly capable of making herself some soup if she wants to.’

‘Well, I just thought, after the journey you know …’

‘We’ll be going out to eat later, anyway. I’m sure she can wait.’

‘Actually, Mum, I think the boys might be hungry, so some supper would be great.’

‘You’re in Italy now, Josephine. Nobody eats supper at this time; you don’t want to look like a tourist, do you, darling?’

Actually I don’t care what we look like as long as the boys aren’t hungry, but I know she’ll only get annoyed if I argue.

Dad’s looking anxious again. ‘I could do them some toast or something, just to keep them going?’

‘That would be lovely.’

Vin winks at me, which I think Mum notices.

‘Let’s all go downstairs. I want to show you the formal rooms:
they’re really lovely and there’s a wonderful quadratura in the dining room.’

What I’d really like to see in the dining room is some hot food, but never mind; I should probably try to avoid catapulting myself back into teenage sulking within ten minutes of getting here.

‘Your mum got some of your special tea for you. Earl Grey, is that right?’

I hate Earl Grey with a passion. It’s like drinking stale perfume, and we’ve had countless conversations about it. But still, it’s the thought that counts.

‘Lovely.’