Papa Georgio Read online

  ‘Hey – watch it!’ I squeaked, bubbling with laughter.

  Fizz erupted, flinging himself on to his back on the sand, chortling helplessly. ‘That woman – the big fat one – I’d got that close and she turned round! You should’ve seen the look she gave me! Her eyes were popping and she was so red in’t face she looked like she was going to explode!’

  The sight of his shaking body set me off. I’d never seen Fizz laugh so much. Sometimes we barely even knew why we were laughing – it was one of those times when everything’s funny and it was so good, so comfortable, being here and away from everything else we knew.

  Later we ate ice creams, then bread and cheese back at the Ship of Dreams while Pecky yelled ‘Shut-up!’ and pretended to be a slow freight train.

  After lunch, Brenda brought her deckchair down to the beach and sat well away from the Chubbs with her sunglasses and magazine to read. But Grandpa surprised us by hiring a little rowing boat and took Fizz and I out on the glassy sea. We took it in turns to row, squinting as the light sparked off the water as if it was tin foil. Fizz rowed us out to the rocks to see if the crabs were still there.

  ‘I want to catch one,’ he said. But the crabs were wise, and long gone.

  We had a bag with some of Archie’s sweets in, with their coloured wrappers. I popped one in my mouth and it tasted of lemon. Grandpa found a little brown medicine bottle in his trouser pocket containing red wine.

  ‘Gracious – I can’t think how that got there!’ he said, winking, and happily taking swigs as we sat bobbing on the waves. ‘Ah – this is the life!’

  My arms were turning red. Fizz and Grandpa already look deeply tanned, and Grandpa’s eyes were like blue marbles.

  As we sat quietly, Fizz peering attentively down into the water, Grandpa said to him gently, ‘Was your father an army man?’

  Fizz just said, ‘Yes,’ quietly, and turned his head to look out over the bow of the boat, at the tiny plume of foam that curled away as it pushed through the surface.

  Grandpa’s voice was gentle. ‘D’you know where, old chap?

  There was a pause. ‘Malaya.’ Fizz turned and looked at Grandpa. ‘Actually he’s not my father.’

  My head shot round. I was stung with hurt. Fizz had never mentioned that – not to me!

  ‘Ah,’ Grandpa said.

  I could see he wished he had never asked. And I could also see that there were things Fizz never ever wanted to talk about. He stared down into the water again as if he was looking for fish, or the opening to secret worlds in the depths below.

  ‘Perhaps you’d better stay in now?’ Brenda said, after our supper. ‘After all, you don’t want to wear out your welcome, do you?’

  But I was missing Fizz already. This had been one of the best days ever!

  ‘Please,’ I begged. ‘Just for a little while?’

  ‘Oh we might as well let the child,’ Grandpa said. ‘She’ll be stuck with us old things again tomorrow and the boy’s a fine little fellow – not like that extraordinary father of his… Only of course he’s not his father…’ he remembered. Before Brenda could ask anything, he said, ‘Go on Janey – off you go.’

  I tore across the campsite towards the Ship of Dreams, but as I came close I saw the door was closed. I slowed down. It seemed odd, because it was such a warm evening and there was only one window open. As I got even closer, ready to knock, my insides knotted up at the noises coming from inside.

  There was a sobbing, a terrible gulping and gasping which sounded like a gigantic baby crying. Then I heard,

  ‘I can’t stand any more of it – you’ve got to stop it. It’s driving us all mad…’

  Was that Maggie? It sounded like Maggie, only her voice was shrill and high, almost like Pecky Shut-Up’s.

  The giant baby inside shouted something back that I couldn’t make out and the peculiar sound of the voice made me feel queasy. Was this a row – or what? And where were Fizz and little Clarey?

  The next thing I head was a great splintering crash and a shriek from Maggie followed by her crying hysterically. I couldn’t stand hearing any more. I ran round behind our van which seemed suddenly reassuring with its red and white spotty curtains. I sat in the bushes so that no one could see me, breathing very fast, sick at what I had heard.

  All I could think about was whether Fizz was in the van. What on earth had I heard, and what was going on? After the lovely day we’d had, suddenly everything felt bleak and frightening.

  After a time, I started to feel chilly, so I went back inside.

  ‘Oh – changed your mind dear? Brenda said, sounding pleased.

  ‘Yes – ‘ I couldn’t look at her. ‘They’re busy.’ I certainly didn’t want to talk about it. ‘Shall we do some patchwork?’

  Brenda looked really happy and I was glad I’d suggested it. It’d help keep my mind off things, anyway.

  That evening we joined together the two sections we’d been working on separately. It was a hectic mix off all sorts of flowery dress materials, like a garden gone mad, and I was surprised how big it looked. We hadn’t even touched the dreary green stuff yet.

  It was only when I lay in bed, in the dim light behind the big grey curtain, that I really faced the truth that the noises I had heard, the giant baby crying in the Ship of Dreams, had been Archie Chubb.

  Salamander

  I.

  My Log Book was filling up now, with post cards, maps and pages of writing abut the places we had seen. I’d had to say goodbye to Fizz again and nearly cried but managed to save myself the embarrassment – just.

  ‘Look – I’ll see you,’ he said, all casual. He turned away, too quickly and loped off towards the Ship of Dreams without turning back. I hoped it was because he minded as much as I did.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said swallowing hard. ‘See you.’

  We’d come south now, but on the way were Pisa, Siena, Rome. In Siena Grandpa and I climbed right to the top of the Cathedral tower right up inside the bell. It was scary! I realized Grandpa was having much more fun with me there. Brenda was not one for adventures.

  I knew I’d always remember the trip, but in a way it was a record for Mum as well. She’d just have to put up with me ranting occasionally! When I was writing I often thought of her, tramping through the snow and the giant Himalayan peaks and I commanded Kanche the Mountain God to keep her safe.

  Your not having her as well as Dad, I scolded her fiercely. You’ve got to let her come back to me.

  I sent Charlotte cards from Pisa – the Leaning Tower, what else? – and Rome. We only spent a day in Rome. It was grand but very busy and hot. At the Poste Restante there was a card from Charlotte, telling me she had taken up playing tennis and that Miss Marshall had broken her ankle. This time I didn’t mind so much that the card didn’t really say anything. Both Charlotte and Miss Marshall felt like people I hadn’t seen for a hundred years. Everywhere we went I hoped we’d see Fizz again but so far, no luck.

  There was no letter from Mum. I knew she was too high in the wild mountains, up with the snow leopards, to be able to send any post, but I still felt worried and disappointed when there was nothing.

  I saw Grandpa looking at me as we came out again into Rome’s crazy, zooming traffic.

  ‘What we need at a time like this,’ he said, ‘is a really good ice cream.’

  And a really good ice cream was what we had, with chopped hazelnuts and swirls of chocolate sauce on top.

  I wrote other things in my LOG, like Grandpa’s list of YOU DON’TS:

  YOU DON’T WEAR SOCKS WITH SANDALS

  YOU DON’T EAT BREAD WITH PASTA

  YOU DON’T SMOKE A CIGAR WITH THE BAND ON

  YOU DON’T WEAR BROWN BOOTS WITH A BLACK SUIT

  YOU DON’T, EVER BUY ANYTHING FROM MARKS AND SPENCERS

  Why? I have no idea. It’s just him.

  II.

  South of Rome we were hit by Tummy Troubles. Or at least, Brenda was. And of course it was Grandpa’s fault.

 
We’d been bowling along country roads all day, between farms and vineyards, the vines all in their straight rows, and the mountains to the left. These were the Apennines, Grandpa said, the spine of Italy, with little villages perched on crags, church towers peeping up above the rusty-coloured tiles on the houses.

  ‘The South. At Last.’ He said this several times a day, now we had left Rome. He seemed in a mighty hurry, reluctant to stop anywhere.

  Winding along country roads one evening, it was hard to find anywhere to stop, and when it was almost dark we saw a rusty sign pointing down a track.

  ‘Here we are!’ Grandpa said cheerily.

  ‘Well this doesn’t look very good,’ Brenda protested, as we bumped along it. ‘All the glasses in the caravan will be broken if we keep this up! And it looks as if the place has closed down.’

  But Grandpa wasn’t one to be stopped once he’d made his mind up about something.

  ‘Look,’ he insisted as we turned into a completely empty field. ‘It’s a nice little spot – suit us down to the ground for the night.’

  ‘Well I’m glad you think so,’ Brenda murmured.

  It did look nice though, a long strip of green with a row of pine trees down one side, all leaning over a bit to the right as if they were reaching for something.

  Brenda sealed her mouth up with a sigh. I did think she complained a bit too much about some things. After all, what else was Grandpa supposed to do at this time of night?

  But as I scrambled out of the back, I grazed my knee so harshly on the nose of one of the stone dogs that it made my eyes water, and for a moment I could see Brenda’s point of view. Grandpa really was exasperating!

  ‘And where,’ Brenda demanded, looking round with hands on hips, ‘are we going to get any water?’

  ‘I’ll find some!’ Grandpa picked up the white plastic water carrier and strode off. He didn’t come back for half and hour. Feeling a bit sorry for Brenda I stayed in to help her peel potatoes while she opened two tins of stew.

  ‘I don’t know why,’ she said, with a vicious turn of the tin opener as if she’d like to wring someone’s neck. ‘He has to take us to these squalid fields in the middle of nowhere. It’s not as if Italy doesn’t have nice little places buy the sea with a bit of life going on in them. Look at this!’ She pointed indignantly out of the window. ‘We might as well be in Essex!’

  I thought the field was quite nice, but it was true, Grandpa did have a talent for stopping us in some rum places – the big petrol station that had had the oil leak and the picnic spot with the ants nest.

  ‘Never mind,’ I told her. ‘I expect we’ll be somewhere nice tomorrow.’

  ‘Here we are, my little dears!’ Grandpa arrived, clumping in with a full water carrier and plonking it triumphantly on the table. ‘You’ll need to boil it,’ he added cheerily. ‘But there you go. Now – what I need is a Damned Good …’

  ‘Boil it?’ Brenda interrupted, tip-toeing towards the water carrier as if it was a booby trap that might explode in her face. She unscrewed the cap. ‘Where did you get it from?’

  Grandpa was pouring himself a generous glass of vino as a reward for all his efforts.

  ‘There don’t seem to be any working taps,’ he said, after a generous swig of wine. ‘But over the back there I found the swimming pool. It’s just rainwater dear – perfectly all right for our needs.’

  ‘But George – ‘Brenda peered into the container, one eye shut. ‘There are things swimming about in it!’

  I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh. Grandpa looked round innocently.

  ‘Oh, boiling will kill off anything harmful, my Little Dear. Just pass me the pan and I’ll get it going.’

  A day later, Brenda was feeling very poorly. We had to stop and find another camp so that she could lie down.

  ‘It was that water,’ she groaned. ‘I knew it! I expect you’re feeling terrible too aren’t you Janey?’

  I was almost ashamed to admit that I felt absolutely fine and dandy. Grandpa looked full of beans as well. Poor Brenda was white-faced and all night she’d been sick and hurrying to the toilet.

  I felt sorry for her, and fetched her bottles of mineral water and wiped her forehead with a damp flannel. Brenda gave me weak little smiles, but she slept most of the time, too ill to put on her makeup. Her hair had gone limp, the curls fallen out of it. Without her black batwing glasses she looked like someone much softer and sweeter who I’d never seen before. I felt almost like kissing her cheek, but I didn’t in case she woke up and asked me what on earth I was doing.

  ‘Poor little dear,’ Grandpa said. ‘We must look after you.’

  He was very loving and sweet with her and sat on the bed stroking her head so that Brenda stopped complaining about the water with things swimming in it because she felt loved and that was more important.

  By the next day she was sitting up with her glasses on and able to eat a boiled egg and drink black tea. Grandpa still didn’t move us along, despite the great hurry which seemed to be driving him.

  ‘We need you feeling nice and strong,’ he told Brenda.

  Then, he wandered off into the nearest town and came back with a happy smile and a carved wooden crucifix more than three feet high. Jesus was a dull bronze.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he said, all bubbly.

  Brenda sighed, too weak for more thorough indignation. ‘And where exactly d’you think you’re going to put that?’

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ Grandpa said. ‘I’ll think of something.’

  That afternoon Brenda and I packed the front bed away at last and put the table up again. Brenda got out the bag of sewing and we looked at the patchwork. It was a riot of sprigs and bouquets in pinks, yellows, blues and greens.

  ‘We’ll have to work out what to do with this green material,’ Brenda frowned. ‘Perhaps we could use it as a backing, or an edge for it? And when you go home you could have it as a quilt for your bed, if you like?’

  For no reason that I could possibly explain, when she said that, I felt a great big lump come up in my throat.

  III.

  LOG BOOK

  We are eating oranges every day and now we are in the south we have seen them growing beside the road and lemons too. They look lovely. Grandpa says it’s getting towards the end of the season though.

  We drove through Naples, which is NOISY and SMELLY. Everything seems to be noisier in the south! There are horns blaring and little Fiat cars whizzing round the streets and whole families on one motorbike, even babies! It’s enough to make your hair stand on end!

  Grandpa told us that the ‘soldier-boys’ as he calls them, used to say, ‘See Naples and die. Smell Naples and you will die.’ Brenda said, ‘I see what they mean.’ We drove through a long tunnel where the air was choking blue.

  Then, when we came out of it we saw the sea sparkling in the sun, very blue and over the other side, purplish, was the volcano, Vesuvius. Grandpa says we’re going to climb up it. Brenda said, ‘Oh dear.’

  We’re in a campsite near Sorrento. Grandpa said I could put the legs of the caravan down and that we’ll keep them down for a few days, which is a relief. The camp is run by a family called the Sacchettis. They have three big boys and two girls. The young one, Maria Grazia looks a bit younger than me. She doesn’t speak much English but she’s got lovely long hair and she showed me her photo album which had crackly rice paper between the pages. The pictures were of her in a white dress in church with a veil and flowers in her hair. All the Sacchettis were in the pictures, looking very solemn. One of her brothers, Giuseppi, looks like a pirate with a big black moustache. I thought it looked like a wedding but Brenda told me it would have been her First Holy Communion in the Catholic Church.

  Maria Grazia taught me to say, ‘Come si chiama? – What is your name?’

  She’s OK. It’s nice to have someone to play with. We played catch and sort of tennis. But what I really wish is that Fizz was here. Will I ever see him again?


  IV.

  We spent a couple of days exploring Sorrento and its pretty fishing villages. In a fit of missing Charlotte I sent her a post card edged with lemons. I was her friend even if she couldn’t be bothered with me, I reasoned.

  Then Grandpa started seriously sloping off.

  The first time he wandered off and stayed away for several hours.

  ‘Whatever is he going to come back with this time?’ Brenda wondered.

  First she was put out, then angry, and then worried.

  ‘Where on earth can he have gone? He really is naughty going off without saying.’

  ‘He’s probably found some old chaps in a bar to have a drink with,’ I told her. I was sitting with my legs dangling over the step of the caravan, trying to lure a dusty little white kitten closer to me. ‘You know how he likes boozing and speaking Italian.’

  Brenda laughed, so unexpectedly that the kitten fled in alarm. I turned to look at her. She looked so nice when she smiled or laughed.

  ‘Yes, you’re probably right dear!’ Her voice was lighter now. ‘Old wartime cronies. But he is the end, he really is. I’d hoped to get out and see some more of the sights.’

  ‘Well why don’t you?’

  Brenda sat down carefully by the table. I could see the veins in her ankles, above her white sandals.

  ‘Oh I couldn’t – not on my own.’

  I felt sorry for Brenda. She was so frightened of everything.

  Later I explored the camp, which was on three tiers, down a steep hillside. Each level was edged by a rickety wooden fence and some bushes. At the top was the entrance to ‘Camping Sacchetti’ and the Sacchetti’s house, restaurant and shop. On the next level down, where we were parked, were the toilets. Quite often a strong whiff of drains carried from them across the camp, but they got high marks as toilets go. They were decorated with green tiles so when you went inside it felt a bit like being under water, and dotted around were tiles with painted fish on them – sea horses, fat blue and orange fish, octopuses and crabs.