I like this time of year. The beginning of September always feels optimistic to me – like a new year is starting, rather than winding down to the end. Think it’s left over from the way a new school year starts at this time.
Because it’s not just a new term. It’s a whole new beginning. There’s all the excitement of making new friends, new subjects to study, new stationery to write on and, like a proper New Year, dreams and resolutions are drawn up for the next four months.
Normally too, I feel really energised to do things – but this year I… well, I think the word “pressurised” has taken over. I keep talking to the wishing fairies in the kitchen, hoping they will somehow come up with some solutions, but so far they’ve failed to come up with anything.
Other than to remind me that for me personally, my Shirley Valentine year is going well – it’s other people’s lives that are the problem. Putting on the pressure. Oh well, short of giving up on my gap year and returning home immediately, there’s not a lot I can do to influence things at the moment.
2nd September.
Managed to write one feature and organise the research for several other short ones this week, and pitched ideas to various magazines. OB tells me Jessica’s Jaunts is gaining more fans and more responses from readers, but I’m going to need to earn more now I’m officially a single woman. My redundancy money coupled with the house money is going to need a boost when I get back on the mortgage carousel next year.
It’s been bothering me about where to live when I go back. Only thing I know for sure is I don’t want to be in the same area as Ben and Samantha. Can’t bear the thought of bumping into them and baby Eric in the supermarket.
3rd September.
Jamie rang me today. Apparently he’d been out water-skiing with friends in Nice the morning I’d texted him. He was back home before he read my message. Couldn’t have been his car I’d seen.
‘No problem. Have you heard how things are in Bristol?’ I asked. ‘Katie rang to tell me she’d arrived safely and that she’d got an interview for the job she wanted. Since then though, I haven’t heard anything.’
‘I don’t hear much from Matt either,’ Jamie said. ‘But they both seem to be enjoying life – and being in love.’
There was a bit of a pause after he’d finished speaking, and to me it felt awkward. ‘Jamie, are you not happy with them being together?’
‘To be honest, I wish Katie had been able to find her own place rather than move in with Matt so quickly.’
Didn’t quite know what to say to this as I felt the same. ‘They did seem very happy together here,’ I finally said. ‘Fingers crossed for them.’
4th September.
Nino phoned this morning. Apologised for not making the party last week and invited me to lunch in Cannes. He’s there helping prepare the yacht for the Cannes Boat Show. Apparently, as it’s the manufacturers’ latest model, they’ve asked for it to be their showboat this year. He apologised for not being able to pick me up, but he doesn’t have any transport for the moment.
Looking forward to seeing him again. Eliosa says she thinks things are coming to a head between him, Paola and Giovani. Can’t imagine what the fallout is going to be like.
Eliosa has definitely got her old spirit for life back. Her arm has healed beautifully and she’s always just going to or coming back from some do or other when I see her. I bumped into her today on her way out for coffee with a friend.
She looked so stylish in her cropped white trousers, silky pale green top and ballerina flats. All topped off with a large floppy brimmed straw hat and big sunglasses. Wish I could look that stylish. She’s got to be what,fifteen even twenty years older than me, but she still turns heads.
‘You look amazing,’ I told her. ‘Is husband number five on the horizon?’ I couldn’t resist teasing.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I like this one too much to marry him,’ she said seriously. And she was gone on a wave of Chanel No.5.
Ah, so she has met someone new. Wonder when I’ll get to meet him.
Right, I’m off to Cannes.
5th September.
Nino was waiting as promised when I stepped off the bus in Cannes. I’d forgotten how handsome and Italian looking he is, and I have to admit my heart lurched a little lot when I saw him standing there.
A couple of Gallic cheek kisses and we were crossing the road towards the large pizza restaurant overlooking the harbour.
‘This place does the best pizzas,’ Nino said.
After we were seated and Nino had poured us both a glass of wine from the carafe the waiter had placed on the table, I thanked him for the postcards.
‘Sardinia looks a beautiful place.’
‘It is. I brought you back a little present,’ and he pulled a small bag out of the denim jacket he’d hung around the chair back.
Carefully, I pulled the drawstring neck of the bag and drew out a blue lace sliced agate necklace hanging from a twist of suede and blue ribbons.
‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’ The table between us stopped me reaching across and giving him a thank you kiss. Probably just as well.
We were eating our pizzas – which incidentally were humungous and delicious – and laughing together over something Nino had said, when he muttered ‘Damn, why the hell did he have to be here today?’ as a stocky, bald-headed man approached our table.
‘Nino, my boy. You’re back. How’s the season been?’
‘Good.’
Silence. The man stared at me before turning back to Nino, clearly excepting him to introduce us. When Nino didn’t, the man’s eyes narrowed as he said, ‘Been home lately?’
‘No.’
‘I’m on my way there this afternoon. Your father wants me to try and sort things out.’
‘Good luck, but you’ll find it’s too late to sort. Only one possible ending now,’ Nino said.
A torrent of Italian erupted from the man before he turned and stormed out of the restaurant.
Nino visibly exhaled. ‘Sorry about that. I’d forgotten this was one of his favourite places.’
I looked at him. ‘What mess is he too late to sort out? Who is he?’
‘My father’s oldest friend – and his notaire. And the mess is my so-called marriage to Paola.’
Ah. That explained him not introducing me, although it might have been better if he had. It wasn’t as if we were on a secret assignation or anything. We were just friends having lunch together – in a very busy and public restaurant. Weren’t we?
‘Shall we get out of here? I need to talk to you properly.’ Nino slung fifty euros on the table, raised his hand in acknowledgement to our waiter and we left.
Five minutes later and we were on the quay in the middle of the chaos of last minute preparations for the boat show.
‘When does it start?’ I asked, narrowly missing tripping over a pile of wire and rope left in the middle of a narrow walkway.
‘Tomorrow morning,’ Nino said. ‘Come on, the yacht’s down on this pontoon.’
Once on board, Nino told me to make myself at home while he organised coffee. ‘Unless you’d like wine?’
‘Coffee’s fine,’ I said, wandering out on the deck. A quiet five minutes while Nino made coffee would give me time to try and sort my thoughts out. Decide what to do next.
How the hell had I become involved with a married man? “Involved” though is not strictly the right word, is it? We’re still at the getting to know each other stage. Apart from one fleeting kiss, Nino has never made a move on me.
I fingered the agate necklace in its bag. Was this present a signal that he hoped we’d become more than friends?
‘Coffee’s ready,’ Nino called from the aft deck.
I made my way along the deck to the outside seating area at the back of the yacht and sat in one of the comfy cane chairs arranged around the glass topped table. A picture of the very first time I’d set foot on this boat with Bella back in April surfaced in my mind.
Nino poured a coffee from the cafetiere and pushed the cup across to me before saying quietly, ‘Paola’s left me.’
My instinctive reaction was to cover his hand with mine as he fiddled with his cup and to say ‘I’m so sorry, Nino.’ Simply because I know how it feels being left. I squeezed his hand gently.
‘Thanks, but don’t be. I was expecting it. It’s not the first time – but this time I no take her back.’ Nino shook his head. ‘My father, he can bully me all he likes. I’ve had enough.’
‘What happens now then?’
Nino shrugged. ‘Suspect it’s going to get very heated when I go home at the end of the month.’ He gave me a hesitant smile. ‘You any idea what Italian families are like at putting on the pressure?’
‘Noisy?’
‘Goes without saying. Everyone has an opinion – particularly my father, when a plan of his fails to work.’
‘You married Paola because of a plan your father had?’
‘No. Paola and I were childhood sweethearts. The families always expected us to get married. Which we finally did, five years ago when Paola returned from the states.’
‘You didn’t rush into marriage then.’ I said. I figure Nino must be about my age, so he would have been in his late thirties when they married. ‘Not a teenage wedding. You were both old enough to know what you were doing.’
Nino laughed. ‘No, we didn’t rush. We just drifted back into our old easy relationship. Our mistake was giving in to the pressure from both families to get married.’
He topped up both our coffee cups before continuing. ‘I think in the end, the fact we knew each other so well played a big part in it all falling to pieces. Paola soon decided there was no excitement in being married to me, nothing new to learn. She’d grown up with me, and told me she could read me like a book. So she started looking for different books. Besides, there’s this man in California who she’d been involved with before.’
‘You said Paola has left you – has she gone back to California?’
Nino nodded. ‘Of course my father blames me. Says I should have given up the yachts and moved back to the farm. Taken over the management of the vineyard. Started a family.’
‘Is it too late to do that now?’ I asked quietly. ‘Do you still love her?’
‘Far too late. Although I expect my father and his friend the notaire will try and convince me otherwise.’ He glanced at me. ‘And no, I’m not in love with her any more.’ He finished his coffee and put the cup on the table.
‘Would you have given your husband a second chance if he’d wanted to try again?’
‘Well,’ I began cautiously. ‘We’d been married for a long time and initially when he left I’d have given anything for him to turn round and say it was all a big mistake. But now?’ I shook my head. ‘No. It all boils down to trust in the end, and I couldn’t trust him not to do it again.’
‘You don’t still love him then?’ Nino asked.
‘No. I’m hoping we can become friends again at some stage, because of Katie, but I suspect that’s a long way off.’
I glanced at my watch when Nino didn’t say anything. ‘Think I’d better be getting back. And you must have things to do too.’
‘I’ll walk you to the bus,’ Nino said, standing up. ‘When this show finishes, I take the yacht over to Monaco for their show at the end of the month. Afterwards I have a holiday due, so I go home to sort things. I will see you when I get back in October. OK?’
I nodded. ‘OK.’
When we reached the bus stop Nino kissed me again Gallic fashion on both cheeks, said ‘Ciao’, and set off in the direction of the marina.
Sitting on the bus coming home, I thought – what had really happened in the last couple of hours? Was there a subtle message in there somewhere that after October he wanted us to become more than friends?
The necklace I fastened around my neck, as the bus sped along the bord de mer, told me yes.
12th September.
Things feel a little flat around here now everyone has gone home. There are definitely less tourists about too. Have to say, the cooler autumn weather is welcome. Mind you, it’s still up in the mid twenties. I’ve been busy researching and writing up some Jessica’s Jaunts features. Nino has phoned a couple of times but I haven’t seen him since Cannes.
18th September.
Remember how I was waxing lyrical at the beginning of the month about how much I usually liked this time of year, but was feeling a bit pressurised and pessimistic this year? Well, I had some exciting news today and I’m currently doing a dance around the apartment right now because... oh, I’m too scared to even write it down here, in case it all goes pear-shaped in the next few days. But it’s really, really exciting. Hopefully I’ll be able to tell everyone all about it next week, once it’s confirmed in writing. Definitely by the end of the month.
If I’m honest, it’s not been a bad month so far. Katie rang to tell me she got the job she wanted in Bristol – something to do with PR, not sure what exactly but she loves it. And yes, she and Matt are fine. When I asked if she’d spoken to Ben, she said she’d tried but his mobile just went straight to voicemail. ‘And there’s no way I’m phoning the house in case “she” picks up’ she told me emphatically.
21st September.
Popped across to see Eliosa this morning. Was hoping she might have some news from Nino but she said she hadn’t. When she realised I knew Paola had left him, she did say, ‘Giovani says he should go home now and help sort it out but he says it’ll keep until the end of the month.’
She shrugged. ‘Poor Nino. I think I might go home too for a week then. Give him some moral support.’
24th September.
I’m officially allowed to tell the world my big secret today. I have a book deal! How fantastic is that?
It’s going to be based on my Jessica’s Jaunts column pieces and a new blog about life down here that the publisher wants me to write. Thrilled too that they are going to use my diary title of “Pretending to be Shirley Valentine” for the blog and the title of the book. They want to use my photos too. It still hasn’t sunk in properly, although OB assures me it’s true – and with a deadline of the New Year, I’d better believe it, get my fingers typing and get on with it.
I definitely owe OB big time, as it was him who pushed the idea to a publisher friend of his. I’ve asked him if he would like to be my agent officially, but he says no.
I have to work out a proper synopsis and send it to the publisher – then, because I’m over here, we’re having a video conference to discuss everything. I can see me being a slave to my laptop for the last couple of months down here.
30th September.
Bloody f.... hell!
I was just tackling a difficult bit of my book synopsis when there was a knock on the door, at about six o’clock this evening. I opened it to find Ben of all people standing there.
‘Can I come in?’
I was too stunned to argue, so I just opened the door wider and in he came.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.
‘Have you got a drink?’
‘Rosé all right?’
‘No whisky?’
I shook my head. ‘Nope.’ I poured him a glass of wine and waited.
The wine went down in one gulp.
‘Sam’s left me.’
‘Oh.’ I wasn’t expecting that. ‘Why have you come running to me?’
‘Had to get away.’
‘You’ve got somewhere to stay down here?’ This as I registered the rucksack on his back. Ben with a rucksack? No designer suitcase? That was a definite first.
‘Was hoping I could stay with you.’
‘NO.’ I shook my head. Both as in ‘No you bloody well can’t stay with me’ and also as in ‘I don’t believe you said that.’
‘Well, you can’t,’ I said again, just to make sure he got the message.
‘Please Jessica. I know I’ve been a fool and I’m sorry but... well, Sam has turned out to be the bitch from hell.’
I waited.
‘Turns out Eric’s not mine,’ Ben said. ‘More wine please.’