I spot a tiny cobbled square where an artist has set up a table of her ceramics, a sunny yellow canopy shielding them from the midday sun. It’s hopeful, in the chaos of everything else. I take a photo with my phone and it’s only when I check the image that I see the notification from Osh. A message to say they’ve arrived at their location.
Osh – of course!
I hit ‘call’, praying he’s somewhere with enough signal. On the fifth ring, he answers.
‘Phee! Ciao!’
‘Hi,’ I manage, before bursting into tears.
* * *
Two hours later, I am waiting in the car park Osh told me to head to, when a dirty white crew van swings into view, honking its horn madly. I ignore the disgruntled stares of people around me as I wave back. When it pulls alongside me, Osh jumps out. His bear hug is the loveliest embrace I’ve had since I said goodbye to Sam.
‘We’ve got you,’ he murmurs into my hair.
‘Thank you,’ I say, hugging him back.
When we pull apart, Osh grabs the handle of the side door. ‘Got a surprise for you.’ He slides it open.
And Gabe is there.
Arms flung wide as a magician revealing his greatest trick, dark eyes sparkling with mischief, utterly proud of himself.
Behind him, Osh’s crewmates cheer.
He jumps from the van like a Shakespearean player leaping from the stage. Not the highly filtered Instagram imposter @MisterGMarley, but the real, living, breathing Gabriel Marley.
Our Gabe.
‘Phoebs! Wassaap?’
He gathers me into a hug. He smells of vanilla and spice. I let myself rest for a breath, feeling the ground firm again beneath my feet.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, breaking free and holding him at arm’s length to check he really is here and not just a mirage caused by the Tuscan sun.
‘Had a couple of days off before previews so I thought I’d cadge a lift with our esteemed director.’
‘He’s wangled a starring role in the commercial,’ Osh says as Gabe slaps an arm around his shoulders. ‘Bloody thesp.’
Their twin goofy grins are the best slice of home I could have wished for.
‘Part for you too, Phoebs, if you fancy it?’
‘Not likely!’ I smile at my utterly wonderful friends, who have appeared at the moment I needed them most. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
* * *
The road to Montalcino takes us high up into the mountains, weaving through an impossibly beautiful landscape. Osh winds down the window, the hire van’s air-con being less than effective, and as we ascend the breeze becomes cooler, bursts of green herbs and lemons scenting the air.
‘We had the same problem as you with accommodation,’ Osh says. ‘Finding rooms for the five of us was impossible.’
‘Where are you staying now?’
‘On the vineyard where we’re shooting the commercial. We’re pretty much just camping in one of the barns and stashing our stuff in the tour van. But there’s plenty of room and the chap who owns the vineyard has given us a ton of food.’
‘And beer,’ Gabe adds, his head appearing in the gap between the driver’s seat and front passenger bench. ‘Which is the most important thing.’
I pat his cheek, his skin cool beneath my palm. ‘I thought you were meant to be working.’
‘It’s a beer commercial. I’m a method guy, what can I tell you?’
The vineyard is stunning. Nestled into the gentle slope of a hillside, its lines of perfect green vines run up from a beautiful stone villa that glows in the afternoon sun. Marco, the owner, is a crinkly-eyed, white-toothed wonder, welcoming us like long-lost family and insisting on bringing us plates of fresh mozzarella with thick slices of beef tomato drizzled with olive oil, and loaves of fresh bread his wife baked that morning. He is instantly in a bromance with Gabe, who laughs and jokes and entertains like Gabe always does, to the delight of our host and his three enraptured kids.
Gabe was born to do this. No matter what the size of his audience is, he has the ability to command everyone’s attention and make each person believe the show is purely for them. He knows I’m in on his game, too, which makes it all the more delicious. His eyes slide to me after each beat of his performance, that smile of his impossibly audacious.
* * *
That night, we drink beer under the stars around a fire pit and even though we’re surrounded by the summer sounds of a Tuscan hillside, it feels like home.
‘Thanks for rescuing me,’ I say to Osh, as we watch Gabe entertaining the film crew with his on-set tales.
‘My pleasure. Not so much a knight in shining armour as a knight in a dusty hire van, but I reckon I did a good job.’
‘You did a great job.’ I lean my head against his shoulder. Sparks from the fire dance up into the starlit night. ‘It’s so lovely here.’
‘It is.’ He takes a swig of beer. ‘So what are your plans now? Stay in Tuscany?’
It’s beautiful here but I thought I would be learning to make cheese and experiencing life on a real working farm. ‘I was wondering about maybe finding a job somewhere. Stay put in one place for a bit.’
‘Money getting tight?’ Osh asks.
There is that. My savings and the money Mum and Dad gave me for the trip are definitely dwindling, even considering what I saved by staying with Giana. ‘Always. But I want to do more than just be a tourist, you know?’
‘Sure.’ He chuckles as Gabe launches into an energetic retelling of his one-time attempt to break into action films. ‘Marley is such a tart. I wonder how many bones he’ll break this time.’
‘… three ribs cracked and my leg in plaster for eight weeks,’ Gabe declares. ‘The Rock I’m not…’
‘Three ribs,’ Osh says, raising an eyebrow. ‘Last time it was only one and a sprained ankle.’
‘Bless him.’
‘You’re welcome to hang with us for a couple of days, Phee. We’re filming in the vineyard and might do a bit around here if Marco fancies it. The guys wouldn’t mind.’
‘It’s a kind offer – I’ll stay tomorrow but then I need to move on,’ I say, my resolve strengthening as I speak the words.
* * *
When the dancing flames in the fire pit have settled to a molten red-orange glow and Osh and the others are asleep in the barn, I sit with Gabe. I’ll probably regret all the beer in the morning but the buzz is as welcome as the company tonight.
‘Thanks for your text, Phoebs. Earlier. It meant a lot.’
‘My pleasure. Was I right?’
His dark eyes reflect the fire’s glow. ‘Of course you were. You always are.’
‘You’ll be great in the play. Sorry I won’t be there.’
‘It’s okay. I’m sure Meg will regale you with the gory details.’ His gaze slides to me. ‘I’ve missed you.’
A log in the fire pit splits, sending a shower of sparks up into the night.
‘I’ve missed you too. And Osh and Meg.’
He’s quiet for a while. I look up at the night sky studded with thousands of stars. They glow here like they’re never allowed to in London. A shooting star dances across the midnight blue.