I smiled and nodded encouragingly. I’d had pretty much the same calorie intake for the past eight years and had no plans to start carb-loading my mornings, but Mia was so kind and sweet, I didn’t like to say. I didn’t want to burst her breakfast bubble.
‘Ooh, Holly, I nearly forgot,’ I said, unzipping my handbag and digging around. ‘I got you a little something. A few little somethings actually.’
‘A present? Yay, what is it?’
‘Sorry it’s only wrapped in brown paper,’ I said, handing it to her.
Holly peered in, then squealed with delight. ‘Club biscuits! Mint, salted caramel, orange – ahmagaddd, all the flavours! What an absolute treat! Thank youuu!’ she said, throwing her arms around me.
‘Your mum said you were missing them, so I brought you over a stash. I’ve also got some cheddar and a jar of Marmite in the depths of my suitcase somewhere, so you can have those later, too.’
Mia watched on, perplexed.
‘This is the best news I’ve had in months. Xavier is an amazing chef, but sometimes I really just want cheese and Marmite on toast. But it’s not very Italian. Or French.’
‘Or civilised,’ I said. ‘The complete opposite of Michelin-starred on the foodometer – but a failsafe hangover cure. You’ll have to save it for special occasions.’
Holly unwrapped a mint Club and took a bite. ‘I’m very glad you’re here. And not just for the biscuits and the cheese.’
I laughed. ‘For the Marmite?’
‘Yes. For the Marmite. Pool in ten?’
‘See you there,’ I replied.
‘Breakfast is seven till eleven and you have two keys, one for the front door and one for your room,’ Mia said, continuing her check-in speech. ‘And we have bikes you can borrow anytime, and yoga starting on Tuesday.’
‘Fabulous. Thank you so much, both of you. I love it,’ I said, taking the keys and switching on the air con.
‘The room looks really fab,’ Holly said, giving Mia a hug. ‘You’re going to have an amazing time here, Abs. Whether you want to, or not!’
‘Of course I want to!’ I said, affronted.
‘She’s holiday-resistant, this one,’ Holly whispered to Mia, as they walked to the door.
‘I’ll be out in a minute, race you to the pool.’
Holly closed the door behind her, and I pulled my dress straight over my head and hung it up in the wardrobe. I was too hot to think so I jumped in the shower, letting the cold water massage my travel-weary body, while the air con cooled the room. I felt the London tension leave my shoulders as I lathered myself up in lemon blossom shower gel. I was here. In Tuscany. Ready for a productive fortnightdoing Italy. I had two weeks to get it all done, but I could probably do it in one.
Eight
Monday 5thAugust
Holly was meeting me for breakfast. We’d already had one of our marathon catch-up sessions and spent all afternoon in the pool, but I wanted to make the most of our time out here together. The bathroom was tiled wall-to-ceiling in a turquoise mosaic, and the shower was big enough for two as I stepped in, already feeling like a new woman after ten hours sleep in my cloud-pillow of a bed. I decided on a pink dress with off-the-shoulder puffed sleeves; it felt nice to get out of my London black and wear something colourful for once.
The sun was already up – so that was one sunrise I wouldn’t see – and the morning light snuck in through the elaborate balcony doors, in tiny pinpricks, speckled across the walls. I threw them open and stepped outside for a moment, to take in the view. Every shade of green you could imagine, for miles. Fields of vines in regimented lines, surrounded by dusty, olive trees. In the far distance, a smattering of buildings with clay rooftops led up the hill to the town, increasing in number as they got closer to the towers. Jasmine filled the air from the patio below, and Holly was already down there waiting for me, with an orange juice on the go. She spied me from her seat.
‘Buongiorno, Abi,’ she called, holding up her glass, as I leant over the balcony and waved.
‘Wherefore art thou Romeo?’ I called down.
‘Can’t help you with a Romeo, I’m afraid, but thereartsome delicious breakfast cakes here, if you fancy eating your feelings instead?’
‘Definitely not,’ I said. ‘Cake is never a good move first thing in the morning.’
‘I think you’ll find cake is a good move any time of day,’ she said, putting a big chunk of lemon drizzle in her mouth.
I shut the balcony doors and made my way downstairs. The farmhouse had a fresh feel about it, despite its shabby-chic appearance. The plaster on the walls was peeling in places, but there were modern paintings on canvas, tacked up on nails throughout the house. My spidey-artist-senses started to tingle, as Paolo appeared alongside me with a tray full of watermelon.
