‘Yeah, but you’re like a dog in heat. Stop staring at him so obviously,’ she hissed. ‘Talk about objectifying the blokes.’
‘It’s been happening to women for centuries,’ said Margaret. ‘It’s past time the tables were turned.’
Olivia’s woes were soon forgotten as she’d started to chuckle. She was actually so grateful to these women for scooping her up and keeping her safe. Especially when she felt so vulnerable. They asked nothing of her. They seemed to sense that she just needed some support, and to hear some of their dodgy jokes.
* * *
It was early evening when they disembarked the boat that brought them back from Capri to Sorrento, where they were based. They made their way towards the steps that would take them up to the town.
‘Fancy a wee aperitif before dinner?’ asked Isobel. Isobel was petite, had chin-length wavy dark hair and looked much younger than her fifty years.
‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ said Olivia. She was normally keen to get back to the peace and quiet of her cool hotel room. After a day of sightseeing she needed time to decompress. But tonight, she wasn’t quite ready for the day to end, which was a good sign. She was feeling a bit more like herself.
‘Isobel, come on. It’s this way.’ Margaret pointed towards the lift.
‘Come on, Granny,’ said Bella. ‘It will do us good to get a bit of exercise in after that big lunch we had earlier.’
‘Bugger that,’ said Margaret. ‘Are you trying to kill me off? There’s no danger I’m climbing all those steps.’
Bella tossed her ponytail in exasperation. ‘Och, Granny, what are you like?’
‘I’m with you, Margaret,’ said Olivia. Normally she would be the first to up her step count, especially as she usually had to be in shape for touring, but she was starting to relax her strict regime. There was nobody around to tell her that she needed to get to bed, no sharp intakes of breath when she was deemed to be eating too much. What a joy it had been to be here and actually enjoy food for a change.
She could still hearthatvoice telling her that she really needed to watch her calorie intake. He had insisted on doing the shopping and cooking so he could monitor what she was eating. Now in Italy, every time she thought about it, she would defiantly reach for another chunk of bread and a slab of creamy mozzarella. Then top up everyone’s glass with more wine.
Margaret put a hand on her arm, pulling her from her food dream. ‘Righto. That’s my girl. We’ll race you to the top,’ she said to the other two.
By the time Isobel and Bella got to the bar, Olivia and Margaret were on their second Aperol spritz.
‘Jeezo,’ said Isobel, her face flushed red. ‘I’m gasping for a drink.’
Bella seemed a bit perkier. ‘Think of how toned our butts will be after that workout.’
Margaret rolled her eyes. ‘Alfonso,’ she called over to the barman. ‘Same again,per fevore.’
He rewarded her attempts at Italian with a wink.
‘I think he fancies me.’
‘Och, Granny, will you stop it. Honestly, you and Mum are a total disgrace. I feel like the only responsible adult.’
‘We’re both free and single, Bella. Nothing to stop us admiring the goods on the market,’ said Margaret.
Olivia loved their camaraderie, the way they easily joked with each other without anyone going off in a serious huff. From what they had shared with her so far, she knew that Margaret was a widow, and Isobel had had someman trouble. What was lovely was that the three women belonged together. Which made her wince in sorrow. Where did she belong? She noticed Bella staring at her and then furrowing her brow. So far, the conversation had been fairly superficial, and Olivia had managed to dodge questions that were too personal. She had a feeling that was about to change.
‘So, what’s next for you then, Olivia?’ asked Bella. ‘When do you go back to New York?’ She tried to imitate Olivia’s American drawl as she said it.
Olivia took a sip through her straw, which gave her a few seconds to gather her thoughts. ‘I’m not sure yet. I may stay on . . . I’ve not decided.’
‘If only you could find yourself an Italian stallion and enjoy a summer of wild sex,’ said Margaret.
Olivia almost spat out her drink.
‘Or . . .’ said Isobel, ‘if you can’t get a man here — though I’m sure you’ll bag one no bother, a lovely girl like you — then you should come to Scotland and get yerself one there. You know what they say about a true Scotsman, don’t you?’
‘Och, Mum,’ said Bella. ‘It’s not like they’re all wandering around with their kilts on. Let’s face it. A lot of them are total prats. You stick with the Italians, Olivia. Don’t listen to what she says.’
‘But a good Scots bloke is maybe what you need. They’re not all bad,’ said Isobel.
