So what d’ya think? said Romy.
Think about what? said Alys.
You really are dumb sometimes.
Am I?
The key. It’s ours for the taking, said Romy. I’ll say I’m with you and you’ll say you’re with me and we’ll go on the Vespa. Two nights away from that nuthouse I live in. You and me, kiddo. How about it? Love’s bright dream.
It was as poetic as Romy ever got. How could Alys say no?
She waved goodbye to Cress and Ulysses on Friday after school. She had a small backpack with swimsuit and a clean top and a bottle of wine she’d taken from the cellar. Her guitar was strapped across her shoulders and a jumper around her waist. She left them the telephone number of Romy’s mum and dad. See you Sunday! she shouted. She met Romy along the lungarno by the bridge. A buzz at the sight of her on the Vespa. Alys climbed on behind and smelt sunlight in Romy’s hair.
It took little time to get up to Fiesole. The air was fresh in comparison to the city and Romy stopped in the square and they picked up supplies at a market stall. Romy didn’t know if there was gas in the villa, so they bought bread and doughnuts and cheese because they were often hungry after kissing. And from the main square, meandering dirt roads took them away from civilisation and cast them into ancient olive groves and tall grasses. Eventually, Romy stopped and looked at a hand-drawn map. She cut the engine. This is it, she said. They grabbed the bags and walked towards a stone villa surrounded by cypress trees.
Inside was cool and dingy, the furnishings modest and Florentine. Heavy wooden chairs much too uncomfortable to spend time on were dotted about the periphery of the room. They walked through to the kitchen at the back, opened doors and threw back shutters and raised windows and the light that sabred in was hazy and ravishing.
Alys walked out into the garden and continued across the lawn to the periphery of the property. She thought the view might have been of Florence, but it wasn’t, it was countryside – rolling hills, vineyards, umbrella pines and the odd private villa – extending forever. All this space, she thought. There was freedom being so high above the city, the claustrophobia of the streets all gone. She felt emboldened and kicked off her plimsolls, the grass dewy underfoot. She took off her jeans and the sun cast warmth on her legs. Romy called out her name. She turned. A terrace on the upper floor. Romy waving. Up here, she shouted. Coming, said Alys.
They lay naked on the warm stones of the terrace and ate oranges and drank water. They shifted their bodies close and closer still. Alys moved on top, her leg between Romy’s, and the stone rubbed hard against her elbow, but she thought that a small price to pay. Her sweet-smelling mouth enclosed Romy’s nipple and her hand moved between Romy’s legs. They didn’t have to be quiet out there in the wild. And they laughed at the sounds they made and pretended to howl like wolves.
Night fell cold. The villa was dark. The electricity had been turned off and Romy couldn’t find a torch. They had two candles between them and rationed light. They kept warm by drinking wine and smoking cigarettes and the stars were out in their billions and pinpricks of light punctuated the black hills. Darting specks hovered in their peripheral vision and Alys said they were pipistrelle, bats.
Disgusting, said Romy.
Alys laughed. They’re sweet. They eat the insects that want to eat us.
You know a lot, don’t you?
Alys shrugged. I just pick things up as I go along.
I bet you could build a fire from scratch.
Do you want me to?
No. But I knew you could. You’re like a boy.
I’m not a boy.
Alys and Romy didn’t say much after that. Alys picked up her guitar and began to play. She’d started to put words of a poem to music and Pete said the melody was super fine. Romy suddenly leant over and kissed her. Alys thought it might have been an apology, but she didn’t know why.
They went to bed when the candle burnt down. The beds were damp, and they kept their clothes on. They slept long and deep and Alys awoke to the coruscation of dawn. She went out onto the terrace and saw the sky ablaze. Nothing else mattered and she finished her song.
They headed into Fiesole for an early lunch and parked up in the main piazza. Romy was all dressed up and looked at least twenty-one. Alys, though, wore the same clothes as she had the day before, but now had red upon her lips. She’d asked Romy to apply it for her and Romy did and told her she looked hot. Alys asked Romy where they were going and Romy said to one of her mother’s favourite restaurants. This way, she said. The steps led down to a tree-strewn terrace and a waiter seated them at a table that gave a view of Florence. Do we have enough money for this? asked Alys and Romy said, We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t. We’ll get the works, she said. Pasta, fish, salad, dessert and coffee. Romy had wine but Alys didn’t.