She sighed. “It’s just, well, I’ve always wanted to go on a gondola.”
I was frowning at her, confused and a little annoyed. “Right, and …?” I said in my best kindly-sarcastic-and-ever-so-slightly-passive-aggressive (a.k.a. English) tone of voice.
“And we always said we’d do that for our tenth wedding anniversary. It was supposed to be Paris, Florence, then Venice.”
Well, I was a total cow. I’d forgotten.
“Oh Lou! I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She brushed off her feelings and I tried my best not to be annoyed, because her feelings were important. I looked at Jaelee and Dani for support. Nope. Nothing. Jaelee seemed extremely uncomfortable and Dani, perplexed. It was all on me.
“Lou, seriously. If it’s too much, we can skip the gondola.” She was avoiding eye contact, but I tugged on her hand and she looked at me. “Really. It’s fine.” It wasn’t really fine, but sometimes being a good friend takes priority.
A frown scuttered across her face for a second. Then she shook her head, tucked her hair behind her ears, straightened herself to her full five-foot-ten and said, “No. We’re going. I was supposed to go up the Eiffel Tower with Jackson, and I did that by myself. The Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe, the Duomo, all of it—all supposed to be with him on our second honeymoon, but he messed it up. He did this to us. I know, I know in my heart of hearts, it’s an illness, that he’s sick, but isn’t there something inside him that’s supposed to take responsibility? Do I have to be the grown-up the whole darned time?”
She had worked herself up and I felt for her so much, my heart was breaking. Lou. Our Mama Lou. Lou, who was always generous and sweet and kind. All she wanted was for someone to be there for her, for her to have someone to lean on. And she deserved that. After being so strong for Jackson. After being so good to us—strangers only a week before—she deserved something just for her. I reached up and hugged her tight as the tears started streaming down her face.
“Oh, Lou,” I said, my voice muffled by her shoulder. “We’re taking you on a gondola!”
And we did.
Apparently, gondola rides are something else you should book ahead in Venice. But most people didn’t have Dani. Dani had mad skills when it came to online searches and figuring out how to get to or into places. She found us a gondola ride for four on Viator. It left twenty minutes after she booked it, and we had to speed walk to the dock, but we made it.
We stood between two lines of red velvet ropes as though we were queuing to get into a nightclub, and I noticed Jaelee keeping a sharp eye on the gondoliers. “What are you doing?” I whispered.
“I want a hot one.”
“What?”
“I want us to get a hot gondolier,” she said pointedly.
I looked at the tightly packed gondolas and the group of men who leapt between them, some pushing back from the dock and some docking their gondolas, all working with grace and ease. They each wore the traditional uniform: black pants, striped shirt and red kerchief. All of them were young(ish), all had jet black hair and olive skin, and there wasn’t one among them who wasn’t at least attractive.
They were like a boyband—something for everyone.
“Well, does it matter? They’re a nice-looking bunch.”
She looked at me as though I’d said, “They all bathe in rubbish and have citrus reamers for penises.”
We moved to the front of the line and a gondola manoeuvred into place. Our gondolier smiled at us, and the ticket taker helped us on one at a time. We got seated and settled, which was when I learnt two things. One: Dani had sprung for a bottle of prosecco, which she held up with a smile. And two: Jaelee did not think we got a “hot one”.
“Buonasera,” said our gondolier. He said some other things in Italian, which could have been him reciting his shopping list for all I cared. He was lovely.
Then, as we rounded the corner of the nearest building and glided into a smaller canal, he started singing! And not just any singing, opera. And he was good! With the acoustics in the canal, his voice echoing off the walls and accompanied by the mesmerising sound of the gondola slipping through the water, it was simply beautiful.
“I wanted a hot one,” hissed Jaelee.
Three pairs of eyes pinned her to her seat. “What? There were way hotter ones. I mean, come on.” The eyes remained fixed on her. I gave her what I hoped was my best teacher glare. She rolled her eyes in reply, unapologetic.
“That’s enough,” said Lou in a low growl I hadn’t heard from her before. “This ride is not about you wanting a hot one. This is about the four of us experiencing something special together. And, darn you, he sings like an angel!”
Jae put her hands up in surrender and the tension dissipated. Though it may have been because Dani chose that moment to crack open the bubbles. She poured it into four plastic cups and handed them around.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” she said. “To quattro bella.” Jaelee started to correct her syntax, but she closed her mouth when I flashed her a look. I didn’t know enough Italian—or Spanish—to know what Dani was supposed to say, but I understood the toast. I tapped my plastic cup against the other three and drank to that. Four beauties. My friends. My bus besties.
My phone beeped in my bag and on reflex I pulled it out and looked at it.
Mum had finally scanned Jean-Luc’s letter!
Chapter 14
Ma très chère Catherine,
I have exciting news. I received an acceptance letter from the University of Lyon to study ethics and foreign relations. I think I said to you this was my first choice, so I am very happy. I was also accepted into the University of Reims and the Sorbonne, which is an honour, but of course I want to stay closer to my family, especially my mother.
She says she wants me to be close. She will miss me too much. This is okay. Lyon is the best choice for me.
My father does not understand. Who turns down the Sorbonne? Me! Maybe I am crazy, but Lyon has a very good ethics program. I will learn to solve all the problems of the world – so much work to do! Maybe Australia needs an ethicist? (a look-up word)
It is hard to believe that you have already been studying for a few months. I wish the European academic year was sooner. I want to start immediately, but you know that is me—impatient!
I will spend the summer in the south. My father has a friend who is the manager of a resort in Nice. I will work there in the bar and they will give me a small room to share with someone else. Maybe it will be a cute girl. I am joking. Unless she is from Australia and called Catherine.
The wages is not a lot of money, but there are gratuities (another look-up word). I will save money and buy a car for university. My father says he will give me the same money I save to buy it—so I do not think he is very mad about the Sorbonne. It is possible I will make so much gratuities, I will buy the Venturi Atlantique. If I do, maybe I will let you drive it when you visit. Ha ha.
PLEASE come for Christmas!!! My family wants to meet you. Also I miss you. Three years is a long time. My friends here are not the same as you. You know this, but I can tell you things that I cannot tell them. It’s hard to talk to them about things that matter—like pressure from my parents to take different paths. I wonder if they talk to each other at all (my parents).