Papa Georgio (11 page)

Grandpa told us that the ‘soldier-boys’ as he calls them, used to say, ‘See Naples and die. Smell Naples and you will die.’ Brenda said, ‘I see what they mean.’ We drove through a long tunnel where the air was choking blue.

Then, when we came out of it we saw the sea sparkling in the sun, very blue and over the other side, purplish, was the volcano, Vesuvius. Grandpa says we’re going to climb up it. Brenda said, ‘Oh dear.’

We’re in a campsite near Sorrento. Grandpa said I could put the legs of the caravan down and that we’ll keep them down for a few days, which is a relief. The camp is run by a family called the Sacchettis. They have three big boys and two girls. The young one, Maria Grazia looks a bit younger than me. She doesn’t speak much English but she’s got lovely long hair and she showed me her photo album which had crackly rice paper between the pages. The pictures were of her in a white dress in church with a veil and flowers in her hair. All the Sacchettis were in the pictures, looking very solemn. One of her brothers, Giuseppi, looks like a pirate with a big black moustache. I thought it looked like a wedding but Brenda told me it would have been her First Holy Communion in the Catholic Church.

Maria Grazia taught me to say, ‘
Come si chiama
? – What is your name?’

She’s OK. It’s nice to have someone to play with. We played catch and sort of tennis. But what I
really
wish is that Fizz was here. Will I ever see him again?

IV.

We spent a couple of days exploring Sorrento and its pretty fishing villages. In a fit of missing Charlotte I sent her a post card edged with lemons. I was her friend even if she couldn’t be bothered with me, I reasoned.

Then Grandpa started
seriously
sloping off.

The first time he wandered off and stayed away for several hours.

‘Whatever is he going to come back with this time?’ Brenda wondered.

First she was put out, then angry, and then worried.

‘Where on
earth
can he have gone? He really is naughty going off without saying.’

‘He’s probably found some old chaps in a bar to have a drink with,’ I told her. I was sitting with my legs dangling over the step of the caravan, trying to lure a dusty little white kitten closer to me. ‘You know how he likes boozing and speaking Italian.’

Brenda laughed, so unexpectedly that the kitten fled in alarm. I turned to look at her. She looked so nice when she smiled or laughed.

‘Yes, you’re probably right dear!’ Her voice was lighter now. ‘Old wartime cronies. But he is the end, he really is. I’d hoped to get out and see some more of the sights.’

‘Well why don’t you?’

Brenda sat down carefully by the table. I could see the veins in her ankles, above her white sandals.

‘Oh I couldn’t – not on my own.’

I felt sorry for Brenda. She was so frightened of everything.

Later I explored the camp, which was on three tiers, down a steep hillside. Each level was edged by a rickety wooden fence and some bushes. At the top was the entrance to ‘Camping Sacchetti’ and the Sacchetti’s house, restaurant and shop. On the next level down, where we were parked, were the toilets. Quite often a strong whiff of drains carried from them across the camp, but they got high marks as toilets go. They were decorated with green tiles so when you went inside it felt a bit like being under water, and dotted around were tiles with painted fish on them – sea horses, fat blue and orange fish, octopuses and crabs.

The ground outside was bare earth. Green, speckled salamanders shot in and out from stone to stone and scuttled through the undergrowth at the edges. Sometimes you’d turn round just in time to see the point of a long tail disappearing into a crack in the earth or the wall of the Sacchetti’s shop.

On the lowest level were more caravans and tents, splashes of orange, green and white against the sandy-coloured ground. Far in the distance, when I looked over the edge, no more visible than a blue haze, was the sea.

I’ve found a place right at the top of the camp where you can get away from everyone, where there’s a sort of ledge, like a seat at the edge and you can sit and look over at everything. So I’ve brought my Log up to write. It smells nice up here, herbs and things.

Where’s Grandpa?
I’ve been wandering around bouncing a tennis ball for ages but there’s no one to play with. Maria Grazia’s not here and I feel
very cross
.

Why does he have to keep going off? He could at least have taken me with him! What’s happened to all the adventures we were supposed to be having together?

I stopped writing, my mind drifting, gazing over at the trees, the distant sea… Things buzzed round me and there were noisy cicadas somewhere nearby. I didn’t like being on my own for too long. That was when I started thinking about Daddy…Parents are like a set of double doors. When one is lost, there’s a huge gap which lets too much air in, icy and heartbreaking.

I wanted Grandpa. I wanted Fizz. Now Fizz wasn’t here, I realized that we shared something that neither of us had put into words. Something I couldn’t name, but it was there. I could feel it.

When Grandpa came back that evening he was not, as we expected, looking roguishly excited and carrying something he’d bought from an Italian dealer. Instead, he looked weary and sad. He said he was sorry to have been away for so long, but he wouldn’t tell Brenda where he’d been. He just said, ‘Oh I’ve been having a look round.’

Later, when I was tucked in behind the grey curtain I heard a sniff, then a sob. Just one quiet sob.

‘I’m sorry my Little Dear,’ I heard Grandpa say. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about. But there are certain things I came down here to do and I have to do them. There are memories here my dear and I have to lay them to rest. I shall tell you in due course, I promise.’

His voice was so sad that I couldn’t get it out of my mind. For a long time I lay in the dark with my eyes open, hearing the crickets making their scraping noises between the dry stalks outside.

The next morning I stepped out into sunshine and into happiness.

I wandered round the camp as it came to life, sucking an orange so that the juice ran down my chin and wandered up to the edge of the top level to look out. A salamander shot along the top of the fence, stopped for a second, its throat pulsing, then plunged away down the fence post. When I looked over, a wonderful, almost unbelievable sight met my eyes. I blinked. Was I seeing things? No – it was true!

The Ship of Dreams had appeared since the night before and was parked right down below on the third level! A red plastic bucket stood outside at the back, but there was no sign of anyone. They must have come in late last night and still be asleep.

Still holding my orange peel I skipped back to our caravan. Fizz is here, Fizz is here!! I was fizzing inside myself with every skip.

Brenda was laying the table with bread and cherry jam and there was a smell of coffee.

‘They’re here – the Chubbs!’ I gabbled at her.

For a second I saw her glance across at Grandpa, who was just packing away his shaving things. Both of them had a funny look in their eyes.

‘Oh,’ Brenda said, carefully. ‘That’s nice.’

‘Nice lad that,’ Grandpa said, reaching up to put his wash-bag into the overhead cupboard.

‘Just go carefully with them,’ Brenda said, without looking at me.

What did she mean,
carefully
, I thought crossly. Why the warning? But I wondered if they heard anything the night of the row. I didn’t think they had but I wasn’t sure. I ate my bread and jam, twitching with impatience to see them, although very nervous too, after what I had heard that night.

‘Go on with you,’ Brenda said kindly as I crammed the last piece of bread into my mouth.

And I was off, tearing down to the lower level just in time to see Maggie coming out with Clarey in her arms.

‘Hello!’ I cried, skidding up to her. ‘Is Fizz up?’

Maggie turned from closing the door and I got a shock, seeing the blank, tired look on her face. She had no make-up on and there were dark rings round her eyes. But she made herself smile, as if strings were tweaking the ends of her lips.

‘Hello there darlin’! So you’re here as well are you? Fizz’ll be pleased to see you. Hold on there…’

She opened the van door again and hissed, ‘Fizz! Janey’s here to see you!’

Turning back to me she said, ‘Archie’s still asleep. We didn’t get in until late.’

She was as friendly as ever, but there was something about her today. Something felt wrong.

Fizz came leaping out in his shorts and T-shirt, his hair all tousled. At first he looked solemn, and sleepy, but then a big smile spread across his face.

‘’Ello!’ he said.

And then I felt better. It was all going to be all right.

And for the first couple of days, it was.

V.

Grandpa and Brenda were acting very kindly to Fizz all of a sudden.

The next day Grandpa took us into the nearby town called Pozzuoli.

‘Pots-Worly,’ Fizz said, in his Manchester accent and Grandpa laughed. A nice laugh though. Grandpa was kind, even if he did have some weird prejudices.

We walked round streets full of loud voices, church bells tolling and the blare of horns from cars and motor scooters which pumped out blue fumes. Everyone seemed to shout at one another. We saw ladies offering bunches of flowers to statues of Mary. We ate spaghetti and ice cream.

The best place was the fish market, run by a man with a huge moustache.

‘Look at those!’ Fizz’s voice rose with excitement. There were dead fish lying glassy-eyed on piles of ice, but the best things were the rows of wooden tubs, all painted pale blue inside and full of swirling fish, glittering in the sunshine. There were shellfish like coloured pebbles, tiny silver ones darting and – best of all, the lobsters and octopuses.

‘They look very cross,’ I said as a huge, orangey-grey octopus glared up at us from amid a tangle of legs.

‘Look – this one’s escaping!’ Fizz cried, by the next tub. He seemed so excited about it. ‘Go on mate – you can do it!’

One long tentacle slithered over the side and felt around, searching for the ground like an elephant’s trunk, then another and another until the body plopped out. Then the octopus
ran
astonishingly fast to the edge of the harbour with the man who owned the stall started shouting and running after it and Fizz just behind it cheering it on. When the octopus dropped slitheringly over the edge back into the sea, Fizz gave a roaring cheer, arms up, beaming all over his face. ‘Score! He’s done it!’

The stall owner cuffed him round the head, but he was smiling too and his moustache made his smile look even bigger.

When we got back, Brenda surprised me by inviting Fizz in for cake and I realized it was the first time Fizz had been inside our van.

‘It’s nice, this,’ Fizz said, looking round as we sat at the table.

I couldn’t believe he really liked it. ‘It’s boring. Not like yours.’

Fizz gave me a patient look. ‘It’s
normal
.’

‘How are your mother and father?’ Brenda asked. She was at the back of the van, pouring water into the yellow plastic bowl.

‘OK.’ Fizz looked out through the open door, following the slender dash of a salamander. He had gone very remote suddenly.

‘I haven’t seen your father about much.’ Brenda said, drying her hands. ‘He’s not ill, I hope?’

‘A bit. He’s resting inside.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Brenda presented us with the bag of sewing. ‘Why don’t you show your friend the patchwork?’

Oh
cringe
! Embarrassment! I mean, Fizz was a boy! He wasn’t going to want to see boring old
needlework
! But it was too late because Brenda was already spreading it out over the table. Even I was amazed to see how much of it we’d done, all the bright colours unfurling in front of us. To my surprise, Fizz seemed fascinated. He examined the back to see how we’d stitched it together and stroked his hand thoughtfully over the garden of colours.

‘That’s right nice, that is.’ His tone was warm, with an edge of longing.

‘We’ve got this horrible green stuff to use,‘ I said, patting the folds of the murky green material. I was trying not to sound proud, although that was what I felt all of a sudden. I whispered. ‘It’s like the colour of snot, isn’t it? We don’t know what to do with it!’

Instead of laughing, Fizz moved it about, playing with it, then laid a strip of it, folded long and thin, like a green dart across the bright colours.

‘It’s a sally, that’s what.’ He looked at me very seriously. ‘A salamander.’

Brenda and I stared at it. As soon as Fizz said it I could see that that was exactly what it was meant to be.

‘If we could just get the shape right…’ Brenda said.

And I saw just how it might run, shimmering across the flowers and swirls and leaves in the background.

‘Fizz,’ Brenda said, ‘that’s a marvellous idea! Clever you – you could help us draw it.’

‘From one of your books,’ I added.

‘Make us a pattern,’ Brenda said.

Fizz lit up. ‘I’ll work on it,’ he promised.

And for the first time, I realized, I really loved Brenda. She did fuss around a lot, but really she was a nice, nice lady.

VI.

We spent a lot of the rest of the day playing. Or at least Fizz’s version of playing.

He took me to the toilet block. As campers wandered back and forth to the taps with water containers, pounded their washing in the wash bins and the toilets gave off their sputtering flush every few minutes, Fizz trailed round the pale green walls with his book of moths and butterflies. The enormous moths we found flattened against the wall were drawn in by the lights at night, where they fluttered like crazed scraps of paper. In the daytime they clung to shadowy bits of wall, confused and blinded.