Free Papa Georgio by Annie Murray Page A

she’d never do it on purpose . I can see her sitting there, her sickeningly pretty face laughing as if I’d just said the maddest thing and saying, ‘Oh Janey, don’t be so barmy . Of course you’re my best friend!’ She probably just wouldn’t get it. And, to tell the truth I don’t want to drive her away. I couldn’t send her a card like she sent me. Just couldn’t. …Could I?... I don’t hate her really.
    Oh dang! I’ve gone and written all this in the front of my Log so now it’s all muddled up together. Dang it!
    **
    Charlotte me old pal!
    I got your post card. THANKS :-) a bunch!
    Venice is GORGEOUS! You’d like it extremely much. Shame you’re not here! How’s school? What am I missing?
    Today we drove a long, long way. I’m not sure of my Grandpa’s sense of direction. We went all the way to the east and now we’re going all the way back to the west – but we had to see Venice!
    My aunt’s making me do sewing. You know how good I am at sewing. :-( We’re doing a patchwork. It’s driving me crazy! I’ll be dreaming about hexagons and beehives soon.
    We’re by the sea now – a place called Marina di Massa. We’re going to the leaning Tower of Pisa and the beach….
    Oh! And just as I looked up for a moment, there it was, rocking across the field, ponderous as a maroon and white elephant – the Ship of Dreams with all its orange and green symbols painted along the outside! I forgot Charlotte’s postcard immediately.
    ‘Fizz!’
    My impulse was to jump straight out through the caravan door, but I stopped myself, feeling really stupid. Why was I rushing off to see Fizz as if he was an old friend? I hardly knew him, did I? Wouldn’t he think I was a bit weird?
    Brenda looked out of the window and said over her shoulder,
    ‘Oh my goodness, that’s all we need! Now, Janey, we don’t have to have anything to do with them just because they’re English. Let’s hope they park over there, out of sight.’
    Whenever we went to a new campsite Grandpa checked round for English number plates on the cars and avoided them like the plague.
    ‘I haven’t come to Italy to see them ,’ he’d say breezily. I wasn’t sure what he’d got against English people. Or people from Manchester for that matter. He’s just weird too when it comes to that.
    The campsite was long and thin, running alongside a pebbly beach. The caravans and tents and were pitched along each side of a track, with a tap provided every few vans and the toilets half way along. Behind our caravan, a scrubby area of wiry grass sloped down to the stony strand and then the sea. I watched, heart thumping with excitement as the Ship of Dreams lumbered past and pulled into a space not too far away on the other side of the track. And there was Archie Chubb clambering down from the driver’s seat and a moment later, out came Fizz, in his same scruffy green trousers, carrying baby Clarey round the front of the van.
    I had the oddest feeling. Fizz felt so familiar, as if I’d known him for years, forever. As he disappeared up the steps into the van I stood up, wondering what had got into me. This boy, Fizz – I didn’t even know what he was really called – I’d only seen once before, on the ferry. So why did I already feel that he’d somehow become part of my life – as if there was no one else I’d rather see - not even Charlotte?
    Something made me hold back though. Shyness maybe. I waited for an hour. The sun climbed higher and it was hot. Brenda kept saying, ‘Wouldn’t you like to go out dear, to the beach?’
    When I found the courage, I tapped, blushing, on the door of the Ship of Dreams, and Maggie appeared, in a floaty orange dress with thin shoulder straps. Across the orange, big red suns with long rays reaching right across the dress and Maggie’s thin body.
    ‘Oh, hello there!’ Freckles the colour of tea were dotted all over her long face. ‘Janey, isn’t it? Oh that’s grand - Fizz’ll be delighted. He’s been