Late Night Shopping: (17 page)

Fortunately Annie had specified 'a big car' and a super-sized people-carrier was now pulling up in front of the house.

'Hello everybody!' Aunty Hilda called up from her wheelchair to the little crowd on the doorstep. 'Well this is quite a surprise, but Frank and I used to go to Italy every summer and I've always wanted to go back . . . just not on my own.'

And even Annie, who suspected this was because Aunty Hilda couldn't possibly have any friends, suddenly felt just a tiny bit sorry for the old dear.

Look at her, sitting in her wheelchair smartly dressed in a summer frock with a pink and white necklace, pink lipstick and sensible white shoes. Annie could always find sympathy in her heart for a woman who accessorized. Aunty Hilda's hair was a bit skew-whiff though, as if she'd done it before putting on her glasses.

In a flurry, the house was made ready and locked up while bags, luggage, children, wheelchair and Aunty were loaded into the people carrier. The plan was to stop off at Aunty Hilda's house as quickly as possible to pick up her passport and a few essentials.

'She
can
go to the bathroom herself, can't she?' Annie whispered into her mother's ear frantically as they said frantic goodbyes.

'Yes. But no stairs and she might need a hand getting out of the bath,' Fern informed her, adding nervously, 'I can't believe I'm letting you do this. Are you sure you're going to manage?'

'Of course, it's only for a few days and anyway, Connor's coming, he loves old ladies and Dinah's going to be there.'

Fern seemed to relax slightly when she was reminded of this. Dinah could be trusted not to do anything too crazy, whereas Annie . . . well, sometimes Fern wondered what was coming next with Annie.

With a final wave and a cry of 'Have a lovely time!' the taxi containing Annie, her family and their latest addition pulled off and disappeared round the corner.

Holiday Connor:

Loud Hawaiian-style short-sleeved shirt
(Paul Smith)
White jeans (Armani)
Sandals (last holiday – Morocco)
Foot wax and pedicure (The Men's Room)
Total est. cost: £230

'No bread, no pizza and no pasta. No wheat.'

'Hallelujah! This must be the place!' Connor enthused as he brought the mighty people carrier beast to a standstill outside a rather dingy-looking rustic-style restaurant bearing the sign 'Taverna' and a flickering light above the door.

Everyone was hot and exhausted, crammed into the car. Owen, on Annie's lap in the back, had puked six times between the airport, the villa and the restaurant.

To comfort him, Annie had had to give up driving on the twisty roads. She'd had to hold him across her lap as he groaned into a plastic bag for the grindingly long journeys.

A quick tour of inspection of their holiday home had found it pleasant enough but it was in such a remote spot that the village shops were a twenty-minute walk away and of course, on a Thursday evening, all shut.

'A restaurant?
Ristorante
?' Annie had begged the villa owner, adding theatrically and with a really very pretty accent, 'Sono mormorare di fame, dove manghi pronto,' which was supposed to mean, 'We are dying of hunger and need to eat straight away' but actually meant something like, 'I have been to murmur of hunger, he needs mangoes straight away', much to the villa owner's bemusement.

Nevertheless, he got the idea and gave them directions to a restaurant he assured them was not too far away.

A twenty-minute journey had followed, which had passed fairly quietly apart from Owen's nauseated groaning, Billie's incessant 'Are we nearly there yet? You said we were nearly there!' and Aunty Hilda's stream of disapproving complaints.

'Goodness me! Self-catering! Frank and I would never have done something like that,' she'd warbled from the back seat. 'When you arrive after a long journey, you want it all laid on for you. You want dinner to be served in a nice restaurant with no cooking and no washing up afterwards. I suppose it's too expensive for you though is it, Annie? A nice hotel?'

Annie had curled her fingers up into her hand and told herself that punching old women who were currently wheelchair-bound was pretty indefensible. Probably even more so in Italy, where grannies were sacred.

She looked out of the window and tried to make out something of the view, despite the fact that it was dark out there and she had an exhausted, limp figure on her lap who probably wouldn't be able to eat one mouthful and would still have to face the journey back home again.

Dinah was pale, Ed was quiet, only Connor in the driving seat was jollying everyone along. Hallelujah for Connor! Annie couldn't help thinking, not for the first time in her life.

Parked up in front of the Taverna, everyone piled out of the car. The place looked deserted. Fortunately, two waiters seemed to spring to life when the party entered though the creaky wooden door.

It was after 8 p.m., surely not too late for dinner in Italy? No, no, too early, Annie assured everyone. In her crazed Italian, she instructed the waiters that this was 'Many, many big family of London, much mangoes and very big wine.'

Nevertheless, they ushered everyone to the large table in the centre and hurried to bring menus, bread, olives and little earthenware jugs of water and wine.

Several platefuls of antipasti were also brought out without much delay, and once everyone had started digging into slices of salami and strips of red pepper a feeling of relief and relaxation spread over them.

Owen was thoroughly washed down in the bathroom and after he'd had a glass of water and a small piece of bread, began to perk up considerably.

The devoted waiters, chatting to the children, charming the grown-ups, flirting shamelessly with Annie, went through the menu at length, discussing their recommendations in full in both Italian, which Annie went to great lengths to translate, and broken English.

A large selection of home-made pizzas and pastas was ordered to follow the antipasti, and when the fabulous pizzas were brought out they were on crusts so crispy and fine that even little Billie wolfed down the anchovy and caper toppings without blinking.

The problem wasn't with the toddler at the table. It was with Connor. He was trying to explain to one of the waiters that he couldn't drink any alcohol and he wasn't going to eat anything with wheat.

'No bread?' the waiter was trying to establish.

'No bread,' Connor confirmed, 'no pizza and no pasta. No wheat.'

'No pasta!' The waiter sounded utterly appalled. 'Perche no?! Che problema con pasta?!'

Then began a long, impassioned speech which seemed to be about how this was the best pasta in Le Marche, no one had ever said no to the pasta, it was his mother's own recipe, the most tender, delicious, light and flexible pasta once again, in the whole of Le Marche, if not all of Italy. It was an insult to his mother's memory not to enjoy the pasta, without doubt the best pasta in all of Le Marche. That was clear.

When one of the waiters held a plateful right up in front of Connor's face, twirling the moist quills round in the oily green sauce, then offering up the forkful to him with a look of pleading, he had no choice but to give in.

Everyone watched as he opened his mouth and the waiter fed him the forkful. He began to chew slowly and started to smile, then, sensing his audience's anticipation, went into full-blown raptures of delight.

'Oh! Mama mia! Fantastico!' he enthused, 'That is so good, brilliant. Bella! Bella! Delicious! I must have all of that!'

Everyone around the table began to laugh, even Lana, who seemed finally to be getting into the holiday spirit.

'How's Andrei?' Ed, who was sitting next to her, turned to ask quietly. 'Is he holding up without you?'

'He's doing OK,' she smiled at him. 'You can actually speak Italian, can't you?' she had to ask, suspecting this was why all Annie's attempts to do so were sending him into silent hysterics.

'Un po,' he confided in her.

'Why don't you tell Mum?' Lana wondered.

'What and miss out on all the fun?' Ed confided. 'Do you know what she's just told that waiter?'

'I think she wanted a fresh jug of water.'

'Yup, but she told him to bring her some rushed broccoli.'

Lana spluttered her drink.

'Oh, I love your mum,' he added, but Lana had worked that out a long time ago.

Meanwhile, across the table, the waiter was asking Annie, 'So you come to Ancona for handbag and shoes, no?'

'Si. Of course!' Annie told him and, remembering how much the Italians she had known had loved to show off what 'insiders' they were, she asked him, 'Where is the best place to go? I need to know the very best place.

Very best shoes and bags but at the very, very best price.

Best price
,' she thought she'd repeated in Italian, but the waiter wondered why she was talking about 'precious millet'.

'Yes, I go talk to my brother, we come back and tell you all best places.' He treated her to a showy wink, then asked, 'Shop? Or factory?'

'Factory?'

There was no mistaking the gleam in Annie's eyes as she asked, 'You can go to the factories?'

'Si, si,' came the emphatic response, 'big tourismo in the factories.'

Dinah caught the gist of this conversation and turned to Annie to confirm what she thought she'd heard. 'We can buy things direct from the factories?' When Annie nodded happily, Dinah had to agree. 'That's got to be worth a visit!'

The waiter returned with a list of all the best shops and factory stores in and around Ancona. Lana wanted to take a look through the names and even Aunty Hilda seemed to fire up with enthusiasm.

'Frank bought me a beautiful navy crocodile handbag when we visited the lakes, oh back in the sixties. Navy crocodile, so hard to find, goes with everything. I still use it. Not like you girls – ' she directed a sharp look at Annie and Dinah – 'a different bag for every outfit. And they're not cheap, I know that.'

'So I think it's going to be just you and me exploring the territory around the villa tomorrow then,' Ed informed Owen, 'unless Connor, of course . . .'

'No, no, I'm with the bag ladies,' Connor told him without hesitation.

* * *

When Annie had booked the three-bedroomed villa, she'd thought Bryan, Dinah and Billie would all share the biggest bedroom and she and Ed would be in the other double. Then, she'd planned for Connor and Owen to have the room with the single beds and Lana, the fold-away sofa bed in the sitting room.

Now that Aunty Hilda was with them and obviously needed a large ground floor bedroom to herself, everything had been thrown into disarray.

Annie went through every possible combination in her mind, but the best she could come up with was Lana, Dinah and Billie in the family room, Aunty Hilda in the other double, Owen and Connor still sharing the singles . . . which left Annie and Ed on the sofa bed.

'No! Have our room,' Connor had offered. 'I can slum it on the sofa bed and we could make Owen something comfy on the floor with the sofa cushions.'

But Annie thought there was going to be quite enough chaos in the villa without creating a boy's dorm right in the middle of the sitting room.

Lying uncomfortably beside Ed on the sofa bed's thin and narrow mattress that night, she regretted her generosity to Connor and Owen.