‘Is your friend the security guard?’ I scoffed. ‘Or the bin man? Do we have to throw ourselves headfirst down the rubbish chute?’
Tony looked hurt. ‘No,’ he said, tightly, ‘but if you don’t want to go, that’s fine.’
‘Are you serious? You’re not having me on?’
‘Of course not. I wouldn’t joke about something like that – I know how much you want to go.’ He shrugged and stood up. ‘But it’s cool, I’ll just call him back and cancel.’
‘No, no, no. Sorry, don’t cancel,’ I said, panicked and excited all at once. I jumped up and fumbled into my flip-flops. ‘You mean today?’
Tony softened at my sudden change in energy. ‘Yep. This afternoon. And if we’re going, we sort of need to go, like – now,’ he said. ‘Can you be ready in ten minutes?’
‘I can be ready in five! Ready and waiting downstairs,’ I said, with a salute. I couldn’t believe it. How had he managed this miracle? There wasn’t time to find out now; I had to get myself together. I threw my arms around him, forgetting I was only wearing a bikini, and he held me in his big arms and squeezed me tight. Skin to skin.
‘This is so cool,’ I said, as I grabbed my Kindle and sarong, and flew up to my room for a shower. I decided on my spotty dress and wide-brimmed hat, then had a fleeting moment of panic as I ran downstairs, imagining Tony waiting for me astride his Vespa. But it was short-lived, as I opened the front door to find him sat smiling behind the wheel of Paolo’s car.
‘Ciao, bella,’ he called through the window, jumping out to open the passenger door. ‘No Vespas,’ he whispered as I got in and pulled my skirt into my lap.
‘No Vespas,’ I repeated, touched by his thoughtfulness. I hadn’t had to tell him twice, and he hadn’t asked for an explanation – he just knew it was important to me and that was enough.
We drove off with the windows down, the wind whipping through my wet hair and working hard as nature’s hair dryer.
‘It’s about an hour’s drive, but I’ve brought some friends along to keep us company,’ Tony said, grabbing a bag of CDs from the back seat. ‘The Uno isn’t Spotify friendly, I’m afraid, so we’ll have to go old-school.’
‘As long as it gets us there, that’s all that matters,’ I said, sliding Kylie into the slot. ‘I’ll be DJ, if you have any requests.’
‘I’ve also been packed up with snacks and drinks,’ he said, pointing to the back seat. ‘Mia insisted.’
‘I’m glad she did – sounds like we’re all set for the perfect road trip,’ I said, happily as we padam-ed our way through the winding Tuscan roads towards Florence.
*
I couldn’t believe I’d never been before. Work had been getting in the way of too many things for too long. Josh and I had always planned to go to Florence together, then after the accident it felt wrong to go ahead with our joint plans on my own. But he’d have wanted me to come here. Josh knew more than anyone how much art was a part of my life – part of my soul. We drove into the city and along the River Arno, the views of the old town spectacular as I took several bad photos from the car. It was impossible to get a good shot through the window. Everywhere I looked was picture-perfect, decrepit buildings lined the streets, in yellow and brown with terracotta lids, the sunbeams adding a soft light as they bounced off the water. The Ponte Vecchio stood beautifully elegant, as tourists poured over it, stopping to admire the view from the top of the bridge on both sides and take selfies.
Tony drove us through the shiny streets and down some terrifyingly narrow cobbled pathways that couldn’t possibly have been designed for cars. Thank God we were in the Toytown Fiat Uno. I had visions of us getting wedged inside a tunnel and needing a fleet of firemen and a can opener to get us back out. The Kylie tunes had got progressively raunchier and the atmosphere in the car had switched from fun to heated, so I was glad when Tony finally pulled into the car park underneath the Uffizi and cut the engine. We both took a breath.
‘Are you allowed to park here?’ I asked, surprised, as we unfolded ourselves from the car and got out. We were right in the centre of Florence. The equivalent of parking in Piccadilly Circus, or Times Square.
‘Yes, all good, don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Marco has sorted us out a permit.’
‘And Marco is your uni friend who works here as a…?’
‘Tonnnnyyyy!’ A man with a well-groomed handlebar moustache appeared out of nowhere and launched himself on Tony, wrapping him in a big bear hug. He was wearing a sharply cut crimson suit and beautiful leather shoes.
‘Ciao, Marco,come stai?’ Tony said, smiling from ear to ear. ‘This is my friend, Abi.’
Marco held out a welcoming hand. ‘My pleasure to meet you,’ he said. ‘I am Marco Colombo, director and curator here at the Uffizi Gallery.’ I stared at him, completely gobsmacked. The curator? Of the whole museum? Tony gave me a cheeky wink. He’d deliberately kept that one quiet.
‘The pleasure is all mine. Thank you so much for letting us visit when the gallery is closed,’ I said, stumbling over my words.
‘Not at all, anything for my old friend, Almagno.’ He laughed, slapping Tony on the back as he swiped his pass and ushered us into the museum.
A shiver went down my spine as we crossed the threshold, onto the marble floors of a place I’d dreamt about my entire life. The home of so many paintings Mum and Dad had meticulously talked me through as a child. I cursed myself for having never been before. It had almost felt too special. I’d been frightened of ruining the illusion, but there was no chance of that – I could see that now. Even the car park was a work of art. Marco ran us up a set of steps and onto the ground floor of the museum. I couldn’t believe we were being walked in by theactual curator.
‘Excuse the noise,’ Marco said, a persistent drill buzzing in the background. ‘They are working around the clock to get us back open as soon as possible.’
‘What happened?’ Tony asked.
‘One of the walls crumbled and we’ve had to rebuild it completely,’ he said, talking as fast as he walked. ‘It has been a PR disaster but can’t be helped.’
