I saw Gabriella hand a thick packet to Georgina, who handed back an envelope stuffed with the euros we’d given her on the ride into the city. Georgina walked the line and handed us our tickets.
“Everyone, this is a very busy time here at the Vatican and you are a large group,” said Gabriella. “I will need you to be close to me and to each other. Unfortunately, there is not a lot of time to explore yourselfs.”
I noticed the incorrect word, but really, English is so stupid sometimes. “Yourselfs” should be grammatically correct. “Now, the Sistine Chapel. It is small and crowded, so please stay as a group, sì?” I nodded, even though she probably couldn’t see me. Being a teacher meant that certain behaviours were indoctrinated. When someone gave you a set of instructions, you affirmed you had heard and understood them—at least that’s what I tried to drum into my pupils.
We entered the Vatican at 7:45am and by 10:00am, we were wandering around Saint Peter’s Cathedral with a free pass to do as we liked for the rest of the day. Lou and I had decided on a day of sightseeing, which Jaelee allowed on the proviso that we’d meet her and Dani mid-afternoon for shopping, then prosecco.
I wasn’t sure if I was up for the shopping part, but we were halfway through the tour and I thought it would be nice to spend some time together, just the four of us. I’d given Jason and Craig the restaurant’s address, so they could meet us there at seven.
It was going to be a huge day.
I loved the Sistine Chapel, by the way. We only got to spend about ten minutes there, and it was a lot smaller than I’d imagined, but that ceiling. Unlike the Mona Lisa, it was not over-hyped; it was breathtaking.
And the whole time we were there, as I drank in as much detail as I could, I couldn’t get it out of my head that it had been painted without the ability to step back and make sure the perspective was right. He’d painted it on his back. He’d just known how to make it seem like the figures were three-dimensional, reaching for us mere mortals on the floor. Incredible.
Vatican
Sistine Chapel
Saint Peter’s
***
“I have wanted to do this forever!” Lou was so excited about the Trevi Fountain, it was infectious. She had her three coins at the ready—all one-euro coins—she refused to scrimp. She turned away from the fountain and, like I’d done the day before, closed her eyes and tossed them one at a time into the fountain. Three coins, three wishes.
She opened her eyes and grinned at me, her shoulders rising in excitement. “We need a selfie. Come stand here.” She pulled me into position and swivelled her phone’s camera to take the shot. “Awesome,” she said, then pocketed her phone.
I had a sudden realisation. “Oh no, Lou. I didn’t get a photo with Jean-Luc last night! Oh, how stupid.” I tapped on my forehead with my palm.
“Is now a good time to tell you I have two photos of you together?”
“You what?” I was getting jostled by the swelling crowd of people. Lunchtime at the Trevi Fountain was obviously a popular time.
“Let’s get out of here and I’ll show you.”
I trailed Lou through the hordes into a side street where it was more subdued. She leant on a wall and scrolled on her phone. “Here.”
She handed it to me and there was a grainy photo of Jean-Luc and me from the night before, kissing. “Huh. Well, that’s not pervy at all.” I gave her a “please explain yourself” look.
“Okay, it’s weird, I know. But that’s your first kiss. And when I send it to you, you’ll have a photo of your first kiss!”
It may have been misguided, but she was right. “Well, that’s true. Uh, thank you, I guess. And there’s another one?”
“Yes.” She took her phone and scrolled some more, then turned back it towards me. “This one.” It was Jean-Luc and me in the Irish pub. We were seated at the table alone, so it was after I’d had my swooning episode, and we were smiling at each other. It was lovely.
“Oh, Lou.” I blinked back tears that came from nowhere. “Oh, thank you. I—wow. Thank you.”
She took her phone back, tapped on it a few times, and my phone beeped. “I’ve sent it to you. I would have given it to you before, but I didn’t want you to think I’d been all stalkerish and I thought you’d probably get some photos last night. It was just back-up.”
I hugged her, tight and quick. “You are the best. Right, now. I want to show you the Pantheon—you’re going to love it—and this incredible fountain—a different one. Then we can look at what else is on our list, all right?” I got my bearings. “The Pantheon’s this way,” I said, taking the lead.
Lou loved the Pantheon and I loved seeing it again. We stayed longer than Jean-Luc and I had, reverently talking in low voices as we stood in front of every statue and pointed out details to each other. She also loved Piazza Navona and we decided to stop there for lunch before we made our way to the Spanish Steps.
With so many choices for lunch, we chose the closest restaurant and sat side by side, looking out over the busy piazza. We knew we’d overpay for lunch, simply because of the location, but we didn’t care. It was noon on a bright sunny day in one of the world’s most beautiful cities. We could spring for a pricey plate of pasta.
A waiter approached and brought us two menus in English. Was it that obvious? I’ve sometimes been told I look Italian—also Greek, even Lebanese—but, clearly, to the practised eye of Giancarlo, not so much.
“Only a couple of days left in Italy. I’m having pasta,” said Lou.
“Mmm. I know what’s in store for dinner. I’m going with the Caprese salad.”
“Oh, should I have something light? Breakfast was, like, ages ago. I’m kinda starving.”
“True.” Breakfast had been at 5:30am and it was only sweet rolls. My stomach gurgled and I looked at the time. We wouldn’t be eating dinner for nearly seven hours. To hell with it. I was having pasta too. When Giancarlo came back, I ordered the Napolitana and Lou ordered the Carbonara. I added still water and a carafe of white wine to the order—in Italian. Bad Italian, but Giancarlo didn’t laugh at me or even wince, so I did all right.
“I want to know everything,” said Lou. We’d been on the go for hours and this was our first chance to properly talk. I waited as our waiter put bread and oil on the table, then poured our water and wine before he disappeared. Italian waiters were so efficient.
“I’m not sure where to start.”
“Start with what you wished for,” she said, a cheeky grin on her face. “Was it to marry Jean-Luc and have his beautiful babies?”
“What’s with everyone asking about the damned wishes? And no, I didn’t wish for that. What did you wish for?” I retorted.
“Nope. You first. I didn’t spend last night with a hot French guy.”
It wasn’t like telling Lou my wishes would make them not come true. But still, there were more interesting things to tell. I started with us meeting up and pointed to where Jean-Luc had been standing when I’d first seen him. She nodded as though she could visualise it. I also told her about how I’d nearly cried at the wine bar—and why—then about the meal at Anna’s, and finally Jean-Luc’s confession.