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‘We would insist on paying for your fuel,’ Evelyn said, loosening her seat belt a little, ‘but I don’t think we need any food.’
‘Okay, va bene,’ she said.
We had a brief stop where we found the loos, Genova filled up with fuel, Enzo cheerfully watered one of the petrol pumps, and then we were off again.
‘Is it much further?’ Diana asked, voicing a question we all wanted to ask, but hadn’t dared for fear of sounding like some ungrateful kids in the back.
‘Oh no, no distance,’ Genova said, ‘perhaps a couple of hours, it all depends, I’m not sure. But this is such a pretty road, it’s such a shame you can’t see it. You must come back one day soon.’
‘I think I will try and sleep,’ Evelyn murmured, ‘otherwise I might be car sick.’
‘I know the feeling,’ Diana said.
I leaned away from both of them as far as I could and took a deep breath.
We got back onto our old friend the E45 road, the signs pointing encouragingly towards Messina and the traffic became heavier as the minutes passed.
By then Enzo had settled down on my feet for a well-earned nap and Evelyn’s head was heavy on my shoulder. We passed through tunnels and gorges, on and on, pressing ever south. It was going to be alright, it had to be. This adventure was just that. An adventure. Something we would laugh about in years to come. Perhaps not yet, nor next week, but one day. And then Genova added another casual, throwaway comment.
‘And then you will have to get the ferry. I will leave you in Villa San Giovanni. I’m not sure how often they run, but I’m sure it will be fine.’
A ferry. I took a deep steadying breath. It hadn’t been a couple of hours as Genova had suggested, it was three thirty in the morning. Yes, of course there would have to be a ferry, seeing as we would be leaving mainland Italy and heading off to meet our ship in Sicily.
I looked over Evelyn’s sleeping head at Diana. I was glad to see she seemed to be asleep too, her head up against the car window, pillowed on a dog blanket. I tried to think of positive things; the intrepid Victorian and Edwardian ladies doing the Grand Tour in their cumbersome skirts and corsets. Seeing the wonders of the world and reaching for the smelling salts as a result. Surely we could do this just as well, if not better.
‘Does it take long?’ I asked, trying to sound unconcerned.
As is often the case I’d started to feel more secure in the car than was reasonable, despite the weight and the dampness of the dog on my feet and the fast, often erratic nature of Genova’s driving. Some muddled logic on my part was that a lot of other vehicles seemed to be driving like maniacs too, so perhaps in the grand scheme of things everything evened out.
The prospect of getting out and finding a ferry and then getting to the right place to re-join our ship was another matter. Particularly as my grasp of Italian was so feeble. I would have to grab Genova before she drove off with a jaunty wave and make sure she had asked all the right questions and deposited us in the right place.
‘Oh no. At least I’m not sure. Perhaps five minutes? Ten minutes?’ Genova said.
I took this information in and mentally added an hour, knowing by then her vague grasp on timings.
‘Excellent,’ I said firmly, ‘we are all very grateful for you, helping us out like this.’
She laughed. ‘I love driving. I often think it is the closest I will get to a teleporter on Star Trek. You know what I mean? I get in at one place and sometime later I get out at another. It’s miraculous.’
I supposed it was if I thought about it.
‘I hope you are not too tired?’
‘Oh no, not at all. I sleep when I am tired and get up when I am not.’
Fair enough, that sounded reasonable.
‘And when I get to my cousin’s house, she will find me a bed, I am sure. She works for the circus, as a trapeze artist and she juggles knives, and knows what it is to keep strange hours.’
If I hadn’t been feeling my age by that point, I did then.
I tried to imagine what it must be like, to be Genova. With her pretty curls, her cheerful, optimistic outlook on life. How amazing; to live so freely, unbounded by timetables and other people’s requirements. It made my past life in the passport office seem very tame by comparison. All those years of fretting about Eddy and the boys. School exams and sports days. My weight and my wardrobe. Perhaps I should have run off and joined the circus when I was younger too?
I gave it some thought. I was afraid of heights, had no knowledge of animals other than the occasional care of someone else’s cat and replenishing the bird table, and didn’t have the dexterity to carve the Sunday roast half the time, never mind juggle with the knife afterwards.
‘Amazing,’ I said.
‘Carolina used to do fire eating too, but she burned the end of her nose so often she gave up.’
