One Thing Leads to Another. Jamie Holland
to make a break for it, whether I offended them all or not.’
‘And did you?’
‘Not in the slightest, which made things even worse. I should have left them to their sightseeing much earlier.’
‘So at what point did you lose your credit card?’
‘The same day – my day of supposed freedom,’ Flin told her.
This had been a further disaster. Liz had decided they should look round the church of Santa Croce in Florence and then spend the afternoon in the Uffizi. Flin had excused himself from both but had gone with them into Florence. After pottering about on his own he made for a café-bar in the middle of the Piazza della Signoria and had got chatting to two girls, fresh out of school and on their years off.
‘That must have been quite fun,’ suggested Jessica.
‘It was really. They were quite impressed by my job and I enjoyed showing off a bit. But they also made me feel a bit maudlin. They were so excited about everything, with all that fun and freedom of college ahead of them. I really wished I was four years younger and sitting at the table with friends, with no responsibilities in the world. Being grown-up and constantly having to worry about work and money is so boring. I really liked idling about and being a student.’
‘Yes, but when we were younger we couldn’t wait to grow up. I remember that very clearly,’ Jessica told him.
‘Yes, I s’pose you’re right.’ Flin was silent for a moment. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘we all got quite drunk, especially one of the girls, who tipped her wine glass all over me. Her friend decided she should take her back to their hotel and I stayed in the bar for a couple more drinks. I had wine all over my crotch and I didn’t want to get up until it was dry.’
By that stage he felt quite drunk himself, but sleepy as well – the sun had been beating down all day – and so went for a nap under a tree. He was only supposed to sleep for an hour or so, but when he awoke realized that it was evening and that he’d missed his rendezvous with the others by several hours. Of course, he’d rushed off to the meeting place but there was no sign of them or the cars anywhere. What was he to do?
‘What did you do?’ asked Jessica.
‘I panicked,’ Flin confessed.
It was true, he had. He remembered that moment particularly clearly. His head was pounding furiously from the combination of hangover and exercise. It all seemed a bit bleak. He didn’t have the telephone number of where he was staying – it had never occurred to him that once in Italy, he would need it. Nor could he quite remember the address, but was confident that he could find it – probably. Near Greve somewhere; Montefiore, or something like that. He would go to a cashpoint, take out some money and find a taxi to take him there, with a driver who hopefully spoke some English. It would cost him a fortune, but he could see no alternative. Wondering whether the others would have tried to look for him, or gone to the police, he tried to think what he would have done if he were them. He hadn’t been able to think.
Finding a cashpoint easily enough, he put in his card and opted for ‘inglese’, but then realized with absolute horror that he could not quite remember his pin number. This was a new card he’d only had for a couple of weeks. He felt sure it was 4432, or 4423, or was it 2243? He tentatively tapped in 4432, but it was rejected, as was 4423. No, it was definitely not 2243. Holding his hands up to the sky, he circled round for a moment and then stood staring at the cash dispenser. This was too much. How could he have been so stupid? If Italian cashpoints were anything like British ones, it meant he had one chance left. What the fuck was the stupid number? There were definitely a couple of fours in it, and he was pretty sure there was a three and a two, or was it a three and a seven? He pressed 4473. And his card was retained.
‘So then what?’ Jessica asked him. By now they were approaching Hammersmith.
‘I had to take a taxi ride and hope that I’d firstly be able to find the place and secondly the others would have enough cash to pay the driver.’
It was an experience he hoped he would never have to repeat. The taxi driver had clearly been confused by his nonsensical attempts at Italian. Flin eventually worked out where he needed to go by doing a lot of pointing and saying ‘scusi’ at regular intervals. First he directed his finger towards a dog-eared map in the taxi, and then pointed to where he knew the village was.
‘Ah, Montefioralle!’ the driver exclaimed with almost as much relief as Flin. By the time they reached the village it was dark and Flin realized that they were lost again. Eventually though, exhausted, thoroughly fed-up and nursing a splitting headache, he found the correct track down to the villa and made it back.
‘Flin, that sounds just about the most horrific thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, what did they all say?’
‘They weren’t very amused. Especially as I’d racked up about fifty quid with the taxi driver. “Where on earth have you been? We’ve been worried sick,” and all glaring at me accusingly. It was awful. And Poppy had a complete fit, at which point so did I.’
‘What did you do?’ Jessica was incredulous.
‘I told her I was really ill, had sunstroke and had lost my card and that her yelling at me was the final straw. She swallowed it actually, and was really quite attentive for the remaining days. Still, if I never see her ever again, I can’t say I’ll be sorry.’
‘You poor love. I don’t know what to say,’ Jessica told him as she pulled into Turneville Road.
‘At least we’re all in the same boat again. Unless, of course, there’s something you haven’t told me.’
‘Well, something has happened, actually,’ admitted Jessica.
‘Oh, no, what?’ Flin responded, unable to check himself.
‘Geordie.’
‘Geordie? No! What?’
‘He thinks he’s in love. Although nothing’s happened yet,’ Jessica added hastily. Then she told him all about their night at Tommy’s and how Molly had asked Geordie to call her.
‘Oh, great,’ sighed Flin. ‘So now not only will I have to put up with a love-sick housemate, but Geordie’s also ahead in the competition. Don’t tell me you’ve found someone too.’
‘Don’t be so mean-spirited. Anyway, I don’t think I have, but Tommy was definitely acting keen.’
‘Tommy? Not your type, surely.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ Jessica gave him a capricious smile.
‘Oh, just brilliant. And I thought I was glad to be home.’ Flin sighed once again and slowly stomped upstairs with his bags.
Sitting forlornly on his bed, Flin looked at his belongings. A few clip-framed posters and a couple of shelves of books, CDs, records he never played any more and a few other bits of bric-à-brac. And his tired-looking old Aiwa music deck. As far as his worldly goods went, that was about it. Twenty-five, he reflected sadly, and his most valued things were his cherished collection of Beatles vinyl originals and CDs. He had no trust fund like Geordie, no savings and brilliant pay package like Jessica and virtually all his other friends. Just a large overdraft not far from its limit once again after an extravagant and utterly miserable holiday.
Part of him was glad to be back, especially with the fun of living in the new house, but a larger portion still felt incredibly low that it was over with Poppy. He hated being single and the thought of having to start all over again depressed him. Three years down the line from graduating and he felt he’d hardly progressed. Eddie Fussle was getting married in three and a bit weeks’ time. Perhaps that was the answer. Maybe they would be post-student workers one minute and then suddenly emerge from the chrysalis as fully fledged marrieds. Mind-boggling. It had never occurred to him that people of his age were even remotely ready to undertake something quite so … well, he supposed ‘grown-up’ was the only phrase.
Buying