The Getaway Girls: A hilarious feel-good summer read Read online

  * * *

  Connie woke at nine o’clock, having got back from the concert at 2 a.m. She was still on cloud nine and longing to play one of the CDs. But there was no movement from Maggie, just silence everywhere as last night’s audience caught up on their sleep. She made a cup of tea. The teabags were running low and she hoped that somewhere they’d find a grocer who sold boxes of Twinings or something. They’d soon be in Rome, where there was bound to be a great selection of everything. That was if they could ever persuade Gill to leave Tuscany. What with Alfonso and the wretched dog, Gill had taken root in Alfonso’s house. She wondered, not for the first time, if Gill fell for every man she met. And what about the famous Fabio in Rome?

  Nevertheless, Alfonso did seem besotted by her. Maggie dismissed the romance as Gill being ‘just desperate to get her knickers off one last time before she has to start wearing incontinence pads’. Connie wasn’t so sure.

  Maggie, a lapsed Catholic, was keen to go to the Vatican. Gill wanted to see the Colosseum by moonlight, hand in hand with a Latin lover, although she hadn’t specified which one. And Connie just wondered if they’d ever be able to find a parking spot somewhere reasonably close to the city. And would Ringer find them there? If not there, then he probably would in Amalfi, their final destination. No doubt Pam had told him that.

  It would be the end of the road, with nowhere left to run. They could be in big trouble. Ringer might be the villain, the robber, the baddie, but nevertheless they were all the receivers of stolen goods. They could end up in jail. Connie looked at her beautiful sea-green dress hanging up on the outside of the wardrobe and shuddered. She’d never enjoyed wearing anything quite so much as that dress.

  They’d lived well, eaten well, drunk well and bought anything they fancied, so surely they were all criminals? They’d probably be arrested when they set foot back in the UK, if Ringer didn’t finish them off first.

  And they’d soon be in Amalfi or somewhere in the area. She had forwarded some money along with all her particulars and made an appointment with Mr Pozzi, so she hoped that he might have some good news for her.

  Connie was on her second mug of tea when Maggie surfaced.

  ‘God, it’s hot!’ she said, as she filled up the kettle. ‘It’ll be like an oven in Rome. When are we leaving by the way?’

  ‘When Gill gets back,’ Connie replied. ‘Alfie said they’d be here around lunchtime.’

  ‘What’s the betting Gill doesn’t want to leave?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine. It wouldn’t be the same without her though, would it?’

  ‘No. She drives me nuts half the time, but I’d really miss her,’ Maggie admitted.

  * * *

  ‘He said he’d come to see me in Naples or somewhere,’ Gill said later, drying her eyes as Alfonso, following a tearful farewell, drove away with the dog barking out of the window. ‘And I’m going to stay with him on the way back.’ She looked at the others, expecting some reaction. ‘And he’s going to keep Toto for me,’ she added.

  ‘Perhaps you won’t want to see him after you meet up with Fabio in Rome again,’ Connie said.

  Gill sniffed. ‘I’m not that bothered about Fabio any more.’

  ‘Ah, but you won’t really know for sure until you see Fabio again, will you?’

  ‘It’s just that I love Alfie so,’ said Gill, dabbing her eyes again. ‘And Toto.’

  Maggie groaned and rolled her eyes.

  ‘He thinks I’m lovely.’ Gill blew her nose. ‘It’s centuries ago since anyone thought I was lovely.’

  ‘Due in no small part to me hacking off that awful busby you used to call a hairstyle,’ said Maggie. ‘You owe me; I should be chief bridesmaid or something.’

  ‘You have to get a dig in, don’t you?’ Gill looked as if she was about to start weeping again. ‘Can’t you just be pleased for me?’

  ‘Dear God!’ Maggie placed a comforting arm round Gill’s shoulders. ‘I’m only teasing! Honestly! But it’s true, you look one hundred per cent better with your new short hair and your tan. No wonder he fancies you!’

  There was silence for a minute before Gill, blowing her nose lustily, said, ‘That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!’

  ‘Well, you’re not such a bad old bird!’ Maggie conceded.

  Twenty-Three

  THE ETERNAL CITY

  The signs flashed past. Follonica, Grosseto, Civitavecchia. Even on the coastal road, the drive south towards Rome was manic after the relatively quiet roads of rural Tuscany. For the first time in days Connie felt nervous. She’d got this far without mishap, but could their luck hold out much longer? Although she’d got used to driving in Europe again, she still hated heavy traffic, with drivers all hooting each other, changing lanes every few seconds – most driving with one hand and clamping a phone to their ear with the other. Furthermore, they were unlikely to find a leafy layby in which to park anywhere near the Eternal City, and they hadn’t pre-booked a site. Now it was late afternoon and still very hot.

  Then Gill, who was in the back, leaned forward and piped up. ‘Alfie thinks we should head towards Ostia, because it’s on the coast and we’re more likely to find somewhere to park up there. And there are trains into Rome.’

  ‘I reckon we’re going to need at least three clear days in Rome,’ Connie said. ‘So we need at least four nights somewhere.’

  ‘Alfie said we should have booked,’ Gill added helpfully.

  ‘Now you tell us!’ Maggie snapped. She was sitting in the passenger seat and had been studying the list of campsites on her phone, having little idea of where they were or how to get there. ‘Looks like it might have to be a roadside stop for tonight as no one seems to have any vacancies.’ She continued tapping.

  Half an hour later Connie saw the sign for Ostia.

  ‘I’m following Alfie’s advice,’ she said to Maggie as she turned off.

  Maggie wondered if Ringer could possibly find them in Ostia. If he was on their tail then he’d be likely to head for Rome, as he knew they were heading south. Rome was a huge city so it was unlikely he’d ever find them there. She’d said nothing to the other two but she’d wondered from time to time if he might have fixed some sort of sensor onto Bella, so that he could trace their whereabouts. She’d even surreptitiously checked the outside of the vehicle, realising at the same time what a crazy idea this was since, if he ever got close enough to fix a sensor, then of course he would have found them! I must be going nuts, she thought. Was the rest of her life to be spent on the run?

  * * *

  It was dark when they finally found a site close to Ostia. The place was fully booked but someone hadn’t shown up and the manager insisted they wait until midnight to make absolutely sure that they didn’t. Fortunately the people concerned eventually phoned to say their plans had changed and they weren’t able to come, and so Bella, at half past eleven, finally found a home. Connie, exhausted, backed into their allotted space and managed to hit the wall behind, which she couldn’t see in the dark. She prayed she hadn’t done too much damage to Bella, but was too tired to go looking.

  All three were exhausted. Connie and Maggie hadn’t got back from the concert until the early hours and sleep had plainly not been one of Gill’s priorities. After a long, hot and dusty drive, followed by a lengthy wait for their pitch, they all collapsed. It was the first time in days that all three were sleeping overnight in Bella.

  Connie woke at nine. It was already hot, she had a headache and, more than anything, she’d have liked a quiet day, somewhere in the countryside, doing nothing. But it was not to be. Rome beckoned, the other two hadn’t been before, and there was a lot to see. She ventured outside to see if she’d damaged Bella and found, to her relief, only a small dent.

  When Maggie emerged she said, ‘Gill’s snoring at full throttle again.’

  ‘Wonder how Alfie coped with that?’ Connie mused.

  ‘Don’t suppose they did much sleeping,’ Maggie muttered. ‘Or perhaps
he was even louder. Now, where’s Rome?’

  * * *

  It was nearly midday before they emerged from the Termini station in Rome and, having had little breakfast, their first priority was to find somewhere to eat. There was going to be a lot of walking involved and Connie said she hoped Gill’s sandals were up to it.

  Gill had spent most of the morning on the phone to Alfonso. ‘I wish he was here!’ she moaned.

  ‘What about the famous Fabio?’ Connie asked.

  ‘Who knows, you might fancy him even more,’ Maggie added. ‘So why don’t you phone him? He might even have a nice big car like Alfonso had, and we could do with some further chauffeuring around.’

  ‘I’m feeling very nervous about this,’ Gill admitted. ‘It’s been such a long time, and maybe his number’s been changed.’

  ‘Well, there’s one way to find out,’ said Maggie as she perused the menu. ‘What the hell is a “gamberetto”?’

  ‘It’s a shrimp,’ said Connie. ‘I think I’ll have the veal. That’s “vitello”.’

  ‘It’s ringing, I think,’ Gill said with the phone to her ear. ‘It’s a different sort of ringing tone to what we have at home. Oh, hello, yes, buongiorno! Um, can I speak to Fabio? Fabio Moroni?’ she repeated loudly. ‘Is he there? I’d like to speak to him.’

  ‘Many peoples would,’ said the woman at the other end. ‘He is important man. He has been retired for several years and right now is on his yacht in the marina close to Ostia.’

  On his yacht! Near Ostia! Oh my God!

  ‘Ostia!’ Gill could scarcely believe what she was hearing. ‘But that’s where I’m staying! I’m an old friend from London, you see. So, could you tell me the name of his yacht and I’ll pop along to see him?’

  ‘No, I cannot do that.’

  ‘Oh, please!’

  The woman sighed. ‘I will telephone to ask if he wishes to see you. Are you a business colleague from our London branch?’

  ‘Yes, yes!’ Gill said impatiently. ‘From London.’

  ‘What is your name? Please hold.’

  Gill gave her name and waited anxiously. Would he remember her? Probably not, but it was worth a try anyway.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘Shhh, I’ll tell you later.’ Just wait, Gill thought, until I tell these two he’s only got a yacht. And, much as she fancied Alfie, here was a very important man with a yacht, a very rare species indeed and non-existent in Gill’s social circle. Anyway, Alfie was away up in Viareggio, so it would do no harm whatsoever to renew an old acquaintance. With a yacht!

  ‘Signora?’ The woman’s voice cut into Gill’s reverie. ‘Signor Moroni will see you tomorrow briefly before they sail. One of his crew will meet you at the entrance to the marina at 11 a.m. You understand?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Gill. And, hey, she thought, Fabio wanted to see her before he sailed, so he must remember her even after all these years! Of course he remembered her! They’d had such great sex day after day!

  ‘You look like the cat that’s stolen the cream,’ Connie said.

  ‘Let me tell you what’s happening tomorrow!’ Gill said, and then proceeded to give them both a detailed account of her conversation, and how she was going to see Fabio, in his yacht, the very next day.

  After they oohed and aahed at her good fortune, they walked to the Colosseum, where Gill had once dreamed of walking in the moonlight with Fabio. Instead, she had her photo taken, at vast expense, with a ‘gladiator’ who pinched her bottom and made her day complete. They were too late for the English guided tour, but paid to go inside anyway; they were overwhelmed by the sheer size and structure of the ancient arena with its underground cells and tiers for spectators. In their imaginations they were transported back to the world of ancient Rome with its gory gladiatorial triumphs and the so-called ‘entertainment’ of mass slaughter.

  ‘I can just see that lovely gladiator facing a lion down there,’ said Gill, still pink-faced from her flirty encounter.

  ‘That so-called gladiator out there couldn’t scare a pussy-cat,’ Maggie said. ‘He’s probably a student on a holiday job and doesn’t get paid unless some idiot comes along to have a photo taken with him.’

  ‘And another idiot pays for it,’ Gill retorted.

  Connie bought a guide book and they gave themselves a brief tour of the Forum, where they all had photographs taken amongst the pillars, before heading towards the Vittorio Emanuele monument, known locally as ‘the wedding cake’.

  ‘It’s just like walking around in a film set,’ Maggie remarked. ‘All these ancient ruins! All that history! I can’t quite believe it’s real!’

  Almost everywhere they went they came across an ancient excavated cave, a pillar or an archway, presided over by the magnificent, lofty Mediterranean pines.

  ‘It’s the most fantastic place I’ve ever been to,’ Gill agreed. ‘If only it wasn’t so damned hot!’

  ‘It is high summer,’ Connie reminded her. ‘And if you were in London right now you’d most likely be sheltering from the rain. Take your choice!’

  ‘Even the ordinary streets look like theatre scenery,’ Maggie observed as she photographed a square of ancient buildings in terracotta and gold, with their shuttered windows and tiny wrought-iron balconies filled with potted geraniums and the inevitable washing lines.

  Connie found her Twinings teabags, Maggie found a postcard to send to her friend Pam, and Gill sampled three different flavours of ice cream.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Connie, ‘we’ll do the Spanish Steps and the Trevi Fountain.’

  ‘And I’d like to go to St Peter’s one day,’ Maggie said. ‘I may not be a good Catholic these days but I couldn’t come to Rome and not see St Peter’s and the Vatican.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Gill, ‘I shall be on board a luxury yacht.’

  * * *

  On their return in the early evening they found their campsite heaving with families and the aroma of cooking smells permeating the air. Gill was inside washing her hair and Connie was preparing to shower, while Maggie collapsed on one of their folding chairs, which they’d erected outside, with an Aperol and soda, which was fast becoming her favourite drink. She put her feet up on one of the other chairs and lay back listening to a mother shouting at her child in the next-door caravan. The child answered back and then a male voice, presumably the father, joined in the general discord, before another child started crying. In spite of the cacophony she decided it would be an opportune moment to call Pam to see if there was any further news of Ringer in the media. She fished her phone out of her bag and switched it on. Almost immediately the phone started ringing and she saw a number she didn’t recognise.

  At first she didn’t recognise his voice either. Then, with horror, she realised who it was.

  ‘Don’t hang up!’ Ringer begged. ‘Please, Maggie! I need you to listen to me!’

  ‘I’m listening,’ she said icily.

  ‘I’m in hospital,’ he said.

  ‘Oh yeah? And where might that be? And what’s wrong with you?’

  ‘I’ve had a big heart attack, Maggie. I collapsed in the street a couple of days ago, here in Rome.’ He sounded breathless and very subdued but Maggie remained suspicious.

  ‘And what exactly were you doing in Rome, Ringer?’

  ‘I was hoping to see you, Mags. I guessed you might be here. It’s not just the money, you know.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’ He coughed. ‘I was in intensive care for twenty-four hours. They’ve put it down to stress because I’ve been very very stressed. I know, I know, I’ve been unfaithful, and I’m really sorry. That’s all over now, but she wasn’t a patch on you anyway.’ He was breathing heavily. ‘They say I could have another heart attack any minute, which most likely would carry me off. I miss you, Maggie, and I just want to see you again. One more time. Please come to see me!’

  ‘Where are you, Ringer?’

  ‘Oh, Santa Maria Something-or
-other. Nuns everywhere. Hang on and I’ll get the proper name and the address. He shuffled some papers. ‘You got a pen?’ He read out the address. ‘And I’m in Ward Eight, “numero otto”, that is.’

  Maggie was silent as she wrote it down.

  ‘I don’t care about the money,’ he said. ‘What good’s money to a dead man, Mags? Mind you, I don’t know exactly how much all this is going to cost me, so I may need a euro or two. But Maggie, I need to see you! It might be the last time – please!’ Maggie said nothing. ‘Oh, hell, I have to go – there’s a tiny wee nun heading my way with a bloody great syringe!’

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ Maggie said, and clicked off as she saw Connie emerging from Bella’s doorway clutching a bottle of prosecco.

  ‘Who were you chatting to?’ Connie asked, sitting down opposite and pouring herself an Aperol topped up with prosecco.

  ‘Oh, just Pam,’ Maggie replied. ‘Weather’s lousy at home.’

  * * *

  Maggie cried off the supper they’d planned to have at the local pizzeria. ‘I’m still full from lunch,’ she lied, ‘and I’ve got a bit of a headache. It must be the heat. I think I’ll have an early night if you two don’t mind.’

  Connie produced some paracetamol and Gill appeared with a glass of water. ‘Take a couple of these,’ Connie said, ‘and do have that early night. Are you sure you don’t mind us going out and leaving you?’