Looking for a Hero (9 page)

‘With a big snog,’ said Brook.

‘Still no word from him?’ asked Leela.

‘Disappeared into thin air.’

When we got to our radiator, there were three girls from Year Nine lounging there.

Zahrah gave them a look as if to say, ‘That’s our place.’

They took no notice and a small blonde one nudged her friends when she saw me.‘Hey. Aren’t you India Jane Ruspoli?’

I nodded.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be in a coma?’ she asked.

‘She is,’ said Zahrah.‘She’s a zombie. The undead walking the corridors of school. I’d get out of her way now if I were you, before she rips off your arm and hits you with the soggy end.’

‘Take no notice of her,’ I said. ‘I was in a coma but my friends came in and sang songs from
The Sound of Music
to me and that brought me back.’

Zahrah,
Brook and Leela nodded. ‘It was like a miracle,’ said Leela in a trembly voice that sounded as if she was near to tears. ‘We thought we’d lost her.’

Brook burst into the song that the nuns sing in the movie.
‘Climb every mountain,’
she warbled in a silly voice.

‘Ford every stream,’
Zahrah and Leela joined in while I put my hand on my heart, nodded and looked gratefully at them.

The Year Nine girls’ eyes grew large and then the tallest of them screwed up her nose. ‘Pff. They’re winding us up,’ she said to her mates. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

They slunk off down the corridor, leaving us to lean up against the radiator and get toasty warm.

‘We really ought to have a system in place for the future though,’ said Zahrah, ‘so that we can see each other safely home.’

‘Seems mad to have to do that in broad daylight,’ I said. ‘I think the best thing is that, if we have to go home alone, we stick to the busier streets. I should have known better than to go down the road I did – it’s always quiet and there are a couple of alleyways there where people can hide.’

‘My mum makes me and Ranjiv carry two mobile phones since he got mugged last year,’ said Leela. ‘An old one that doesn’t work and isn’t worth anything in our pocket so that if anyone grabs us and demands our phones, we can hand them over. And she says to keep the good ones in our rucksacks.’

‘Good idea,’ I said. ‘I should do that and tell Dylan to as well.’

‘Yeah but I keep forgetting,’ said Leela, ‘and I carry both of them in my pocket. I won’t in future though. Talking of which, are you looking forward to Italy?’

I nodded. We were going later that day. I’d packed my bag the previous night, and Dad was going to be waiting outside school at the end of the afternoon with our cases to whisk us away to the airport. I couldn’t wait.

‘Will there be any boys at your grandmother’s party?’ asked Brook.

‘Maybe,’ I replied. ‘A few.’

‘Anyone you know or fancy?’ asked Leela.

I shook my head. ‘Not unless there’s someone new there – it’s mainly going to be family and I know most of my cousins.’

Brook looked disappointed. ‘No one?’ she asked. ‘There must be
one
boy over there.’

‘There’s Bruno. His parents own the hotel we’re staying at.’

‘Why are you staying in a hotel?’ asked Zahrah. ‘I thought you had loads of family over there.’

‘We do but Nonna’s house is packed out already. It’s going to be a big do. Loads of people will be staying at the hotel. Dad’s known the owners since he was a boy and I used to play there when I was little.’

‘Weeth Bruno,’ said Leela in an Italian accent.

I nodded.

‘Rewind a mo,’ said Brook.‘So who’s Nonna?’

‘Nonna is Italian for grandmother,’ I explained.

‘Tell us more about Bruno,’ said Leela.‘I like his name.’

‘You
so
wouldn’t be interested in him. He put a frog in my bed once and thought it was really funny. My main memory is of trying to get away from him because, when he wasn’t finding insects or creatures to annoy me with, he wanted to fight. I won once and he got really sulky and said that hair pulling, which was my technique, was girl fighting. But Bruno as potential boyfriend material? Never in a million years. He was a clumsy oaf with a face like a potato which, no doubt, he still has. He isn’t my type at all.’

Leela laughed. ‘Sounds like love to me,’ she said.

‘When did you last see him?’ asked Zahrah.

‘Ages ago. He was twelve and I was nine.’

‘Haven’t you been over there since then?’ asked Brook.

‘Yeah, we go every year to see Nonna, but he’s been away when we’ve visited the last few times – at summer camps and on school trips, stuff like that.’

‘So he’s three years older than you,’ said Zahrah. ‘He’ll be eighteen or nineteen now and might have grown up to be a babe.’

I laughed. ‘Bruno? Hah. I think you can pretty well see how boys are going to turn out, so – fanciable?
No
way but hopefully there will be some other boys there. You never know.’

The afternoon flew by and, by four o’clock, Kate, Dylan and I were squashed in the back of the car and Mum and Dad were in the front. Lewis was meeting us at the airport and Aunt Sarah, Ethan and his wife Jessica and their twins had gone out on a morning flight. Kate and I did a good cruise of the airport shops once we got to Heathrow and I bought a magazine for the journey and some lip-gloss at duty free. On board the plane, I fell asleep for what felt like a few minutes and then we were landing at Naples airport.

‘Hope the brakes work,’ said Dylan when we touched down with a soft thud and the noise from the plane engine grew into an earsplitting roar as we careered down the runway.

After getting off the plane and collecting our luggage, we made our way out to the car park where the black Mercedes that Nonna had sent for us was waiting. Once in the car, we settled back into the leather seats, and Kate and I listened to our iPods for a while, then Dylan and I played word games to pass the time because it was dark outside and we couldn’t see anything out of the window. Usually this is my favourite car ride in the world – the Amalfi coastline is stunning. On this particular night, all we could see were the lights of Naples in the distance, more lights as we drove past Sorrento, Positano and Amalfi and fewer as we got on to a mountain road which wound around and around up to Ravello.

‘Here at last,’ said Dad after an hour and a half and we saw a dimly lit narrow cobbled street in the near distance.

Our driver drove into the street through an ancient-looking archway then parked the car and we all got out and stretched our legs. I breathed in the air. It smelled different immediately, fresh and fragrant with a scent I couldn’t place – something herby and sharp. A middle-aged man appeared from nowhere and he and the driver unloaded our baggage on to an open trolley like the ones you find at the airport, only this one had a driver’s seat at the back, like on a tractor. After the cases were all piled up, the man began to drive along the street in the direction of our hotel. Everything for that end of town goes up on these trolleys because the streets are too narrow for cars, and it is a regular sight to see trolleys loaded down with boxes of supplies going past.

Dad was beaming from ear to ear.‘OK, everybody follow me.

Dinner in the square before we go up to the hotel.’ He put his arm around Mum and off they marched.

Kate, Dylan, Lewis and I followed him into the square where we soon saw people we knew sitting at one of the open cafés that surrounded the cobbled piazza. It was a warm night and felt more like summer than November. Dad was in his element going from table to table hugging and smiling as he greeted old friends. It seemed like the whole Ruspoli family had gathered there: aunts, uncles, cousins, Ethan, Jessica and the twins – and Nonna, who seemed overjoyed to see all her family. She’s a tall handsome woman with silver-grey hair pulled back into an elegant bun. She wrapped me in her arms when she saw me.

‘India Jane, look how tall you have become since last time. And beautiful,
bella’,
she said with a smile.

I hugged her back and then, as others came forward to greet her, I moved away so that they could have their turn. It was then that I spotted a boy at a corner table and my heart stopped. He was a total babe, so good-looking he had to be a model. Tall with a mane of dark hair and a chiselled jaw, he was wearing a tweedy overcoat with a red scarf and jeans and exuded glamour and elegance. He glanced over when Dad called for me to sit at the table next to his and then he did a double take.

‘India Jane!
Chi e? E tu?’
he asked.

I felt myself blush as I tried to muster up my Italian. ‘Do I know you? Er ... Si ... Lo ... Ti
conosce?
Is that right? Do I know you? Er . . .
Mi dispiace ma non parlo Italiano bene. Infatto e robaccia.
Ohmigod! Bruno!’

Send photos!
demanded Erin, Brook, Leela and Zahrah after I’d texted to let them know that Bruno had grown up to be a love god.

We had spent a fab night having supper in the square and, because there were so many people to see and catch up with, I only got to talk to Bruno for a few minutes. However, every time I glanced over at where he was sitting, he looked up and caught me watching him. Or he’d been glancing over and I’d turn and catch him. It happened so many times that it was impossible to pretend that we weren’t totally checking each other out. In the end, we both laughed and when the meal was finished, coffees and limoncellos had been drunk by the adults and people were beginning to wander off in the direction of their hotels, he came over to me and gave me a warm hug.

‘Non fa niente. C’incontriamo eparliamo domani. D’accordo?’
he asked, which I quickly translated in my head to mean: Let’s get together and catch up properly tomorrow, shall we?

‘Si, d’accordo,’
I replied which I hope meant OK. ‘Um . . . as long as there are no . . . oh what’s the word for . . .’ I made a noise like a frog. ‘A . . . you know, frog?’

‘Frog. In Italian is
rana.

‘Oh yes.’

‘Is OK, speak English with me. It is good for me to practise,’ he said.

‘And my dad would say it’s good for me to practise my Italian but I doubt you’d understand much.’

‘Then speak English. I won’t tell him. So you were saying? Frogs?’

I nodded. ‘Yes, I’d love to catch up as long as there are no frogs and no fighting. Er let me see if I can say that. . .
Si, d’accordo. Ma senza rane e senza pugnati.’

He laughed. ‘Very good. Ah
si,
I remember – I used to put them into your bed.’Then he looked directly into my eyes and I felt my insides melt. ‘No frogs,’ he said. ‘I promise.’ His expression grew cheeky. ‘Unless . . . there’s one that needs kissing to turn him back into a prince.’

I looked around the square as if I was searching for someone. ‘Can’t see any frogs,’ I said.

‘Shame,’ he said, then he made a frog noise which made me crack up laughing. ‘OK. Night, India.
Ciao, bella.’

‘Ciao,’
I said, and I inwardly punched the air as he walked away and disappeared up one of the narrow streets that led away from the square.

Kate came over and looked after him.‘Well, get you,’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked and tried to sound innocent, but I knew that I had a great big smile on my face.

‘Bruno, huh?’

‘We were just chatting. Er . . . What’s he up to now?’ I asked because I’d seen her talking to him over supper.

‘Student,’ she replied.‘Doing business studies. He wants to go into hotel management, follow in the family business. He’s going to be a very rich boy one day – his dad owns three hotels in the area now.’

‘Three? Wow. Er . . . Do you fancy him?’

Kate looked in the direction Bruno had gone off in. ‘Who wouldn’t? But chill, it looks like he only has eyes for you so you’re safe. Besides Tom would kill me.’

Phew,
I thought. I’d hate to compete with Kate. She wasn’t just stunning to look at, she could also out cool anyone and most boys seemed to love that. Luckily her relationship with Tom seemed back on track.

Our hotel was behind a tall wall on the hill beyond the main square. I woke the next morning, scrambled out of bed and flung open the shutters to a picture-postcard view of brilliant blues and greens – fields on the mountain opposite were terraced all the way down into the valley, sea in the distance where boats looked like toys, the jagged coastline jutting out and stretching on into the distance.

‘India,’ groaned Kate as she pulled a sheet over her head. ‘Close the shutters.’

‘Oh come on, Kate, it’s a beautiful morning. We’re in Ravello —’

‘And India has the hots for a local boy so has to wake up the world,’ said Kate, looking at her watch. ‘It’s eight-thirty. Go and get me a coffee and maybe I’ll forgive you.’

I pulled on my jeans and a red jumper and happily set off to get breakfast.
I feel on top of the world,
I said to myself as I hopped down the stairs,
which is funny because I almost am.
The hotel hadn’t changed since my childhood. The interior was dark and cool in contrast to the sun sneaking in through the open windows and casting its light on heavy walnut furniture and marble floors. I had always liked the fact that the hotel had the look of a private house with antique-looking books stacked here and there and sepia photos of unsmiling people looking out from silver frames. I often wondered who they were – they looked like farmers from a long gone era, dressed in their best black with stiff collars for the photo. As I passed through the hall, I noticed a huge bowl full of oranges and their scent which filled the air.