Free Looking for a Hero by Cathy Hopkins Page B

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