In any case, now isn’t the time for grown-up humor: today is about the kids. I gesture to the Tower, before any of them spot the men and their penis.
“Get a load of it in close-up,” I say. “It’s even more amazing.”
“Butwhydoes it lean?” asks Archie, tilting back so he can take in the length of it.
“I think it’s a mistake, squirt,” Theo responds, lifting off his Panama and wiping the sweat from his brow. “I read somewhere it was built on soft ground that couldn’t take the weight of the marble.”
“So it happened naturally?” asks Mabel.
“I think so,” says Theo, putting his hat back on.
“Then how can it be a mistake?” Mabel counters.
Theo cocks his head. “Good point.”
“And it’s proper famous,” adds Callum. “If it was straight, nobody would bother coming to see it.”
“So maybe it isn’t a mistake,” I suggest. “More a happy accident.”
Everyone nods, satisfied with that assessment.
“What do you think?” says Theo. “Shall we go in?”
On the way back, we call at Viareggio. Theo had the idea of playing a game of football on the beach—mainly to persuade Callum to come on board for the sightseeing—and packed a ball, beach towels and bags for life to use as goal posts.
“It’s alright,” he says to me, “you just sit at the side and enjoy the sun. Nobody expects you to play.”
A few days ago, I told Theo how I feel about football. He was understanding and apologized for trying to persuade me to play on the pitch in Camaiore. I’ve no idea what he’s told the kids, but this time I don’t feel any sense of dread.
As it’s nearly five o’clock, most people who’ve spent the day on the beach are leaving and we’re able to park the car in one of the side streets just off the front. We find a stretch of sand, Theo sets up the pitch and I make sure everyone’s wearing suncream—especially Callum, who’s stripped off his shirt. I can’t help noticing that the exercise program Dom gave him has started to pay off, and he’s filled out ever so slightly—and this has made a big difference to the way he holds himself.
I take the bag, spread out my towel and sit down. But as the kids start discussing teams, I’m surprised to find myself wishing I could join in.
Callum runs over and rummages in the bag for a drink of water. “You know if you change your mind, we’d love you to play,” he says. He quickly adds, “But no pressure.”
I crinkle my nose. “Thanks, but I’m really crap.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he says, snapping the lid shut on his water bottle, “I’m sick. So if you come on my team, we’ll balance each other out.” He smiles at me—a wide, uninhibited smile that reveals his braces. And I’m not sure I can resist.
“Go on, then.”
I haul myself onto my feet and Callum punches his fist in the air. “Guess what, everyone? Adam’s playing!”
The other three cheer loudly and I can’t stop a grin spreadingacross my face. Not for a moment does it occur to me to think back to my schooldays.
“It’s me and Adam V,” Callum announces. “And we’re going to proper batter you!”
“Alright, steady on,” I joke. “Don’t oversell us.”
“Don’t worry,” chips in Mabel. “I’m not that good but I never let it stop me.”
“What’s important is we all have a good time,” Theo says, smiling. “Ads, I’m over the moon you’re playing.”
And there he is—my dad.
But the vision isn’t given time to linger.
“Give me five,” says Archie. He’s holding up his arm and I oblige. “I promise I won’t tackle you,” he says. “But only for the first five minutes.”
