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

  Connie shook her head. ‘No, Maggie, please don’t give me any more money. I’ve hardly spent any of my own since we left, and anyway I plan on staying out here for a while.’

  ‘You’re going to see what happens about Marigino, Connie?’ asked Gill.

  ‘Yes,’ Connie replied. ‘I thought I might try to get Bella up there, and stay for a bit.’

  ‘And decide what you’re going to do with it?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Just as well we’re going then,’ said Gill, attaching the lead to Toto’s collar. ‘Come on, Toto, let’s go for a nice walk around Sorrento, and tomorrow we’ll go home to Viareggio.’

  * * *

  It was their last evening together. After a long, leisurely lunch at their favourite restaurant, having taken Toto for a walk round some of the little narrow streets and down to the marina, they’d sat in the sun for a couple of hours.

  Now, windows and doors wide open, they sat sipping wine and chatting quietly.

  ‘You’ll come and visit us, won’t you, Connie?’ Gill asked.

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘Don’t suppose you will, Mags?’

  ‘No, Gill, I don’t suppose I will. But we can Skype and all that. I’ll need to keep an eye on you in case you’re ever tempted to that bloody awful beehive again. And now you’ll both have an excuse to make a trip to Australia.’

  ‘You might end up marrying the captain of the boat,’ said Gill. ‘Have you seen him? What’s he like?’

  Maggie laughed. ‘And end up living back here in Napoli again? Not bloody likely!’

  Connie was deep in thought. ‘You’re not the world’s best traveller, Maggie. Do you think you might be seasick?’

  ‘Very probably,’ Maggie admitted. ‘But they say you get your sea legs after a while. I’ve bought lots of pills, just in case.’

  Connie sighed. ‘This time tomorrow night you’ll both be gone and I’ll be sitting here talking to myself. I’m going to miss you both so much! And Toto too! That’s one feisty little dog, and a great judge of character!’

  ‘He’s a streetwise little guy,’ Gill said, lifting him onto her knee. ‘He knows who’s who.’

  * * *

  Maggie and Gill spent the following morning packing, a procedure that took Maggie about fifteen minutes, and Gill two hours. Connie took Toto for a walk, leaving Maggie in peace to check any remaining hiding places for forgotten notes. She’d need them all to start her new life in Australia, and Connie would be relieved to be rid of them.

  Tomorrow she would attempt to drive Bella up the narrow track to Marigino. Eduardo Pozzi had, much to her relief, offered to follow in his car in case there was a problem, and besides, he said, he was really curious to see the place. This evening she would send emails to everyone to let them know she planned to stay on for a little. And she’d keep the middle door closed so that she didn’t have to look at the two empty bunks with their new mattresses.

  Alfonso arrived in his BMW at three o’clock. It was a long drive and he was keen to set off again as quickly as possible. After he’d lugged all of Gill’s belongings into the boot and the rear seat he said, ‘We must leave, cara.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gill. She turned, moist-eyed, towards Connie first. ‘Thanks, Connie, for everything.’

  ‘Oh, Gill, it’s been fun!’ Connie tried to swallow back her tears. ‘I shall miss you.’

  ‘I shall miss you too. But we’re not far away so promise you’ll come to see us? And thanks again for bringing me here, and for my new life.’

  ‘You’re very welcome,’ Connie said, hugging her.

  Gill turned to Maggie. ‘I’m even going to miss you! Who’s going to sort me out and rubbish my hairstyles?’

  ‘Heaven only knows,’ sighed Maggie. ‘I expect you’ll go to wrack and ruin. But, Gill, you’ve found yourself a good guy there.’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ Gill agreed. They hugged each other, and then Gill picked up Toto and rushed for the car, wiping her eyes. Alfonso kissed them both, wishing them much luck, much happiness, and ‘thank you for bringing me my beautiful Geelee’.

  ‘Just as well he didn’t see her with the beehive,’ Maggie murmured as, with much waving, Gill and Alfonso and the little dog drove away.

  * * *

  Maggie’s boat was sailing at 7 p.m. She’d flatly refused to take a taxi because, ‘I’ve only got these,’ she said to Connie, indicating one holdall and one backpack, neither of which were full.

  ‘You certainly don’t look like an emigrant,’ Connie said.

  ‘I must give you some money to have that fixed,’ Maggie said, pointing to where the shower door was dangling from one hinge and refused to shut at all now.

  ‘No way!’ Connie protested. ‘It’s only me who’s going to be using it and I shall keep it as a memento of our trip together. I shall think of you every time I have a pee.’

  ‘Quite right too,’ said Maggie.

  They were strangely silent as they sat opposite each other on the train, each engrossed in their own thoughts. Connie was trying to imagine what it might feel like to even contemplate a new life on the other side of the world at the age of seventy. But Maggie had a son there, and she was a brave little thing anyway. She looked across and tried to mentally photograph her, so she could remember her like this. Maggie had put on some weight, she was deeply tanned and, since Ringer’s arrest, she’d already lost some of that nervous edginess that once defined her.

  Yes, it had been wrong to steal the money, Connie thought. But I’m beginning to appreciate why she did it. There’s right and there’s wrong, and there are innumerable shades of grey in between. And thank God for Alfonso! As an ex-police chief himself, he had obviously been able to convince the local police that these three inglese were totally innocent. Maggie had gone along with the story that Ringer had been pursuing them because of his great love for her, and because of his suspicions that she’d taken off with another man. Passione was a word that was used a lot, Maggie told them later, and one of the only words she understood in the police station. Perhaps the Italians would empathise with that more easily than their British counterparts.

  Now, as the train pulled into Naples, Connie contemplated returning to Sorrento alone, and how strange that was going to feel.

  As they walked towards the docks, Connie said, ‘Oh, Maggie, this is all so final. Unless you can overcome your fear of flying, it’s unlikely you’ll ever come back to the UK again.’

  ‘No, I won’t be back,’ Maggie said. ‘I won’t see London again, and I won’t see Glasgow again. But just as well I didn’t know that I was seeing those places for the last time because I’m rubbish at saying goodbyes.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Connie, feeling tears prickling behind her eyes again.

  ‘I’m going to have so many lovely memories of this trip,’ Maggie said. ‘Remember that gay bar in Paris? You couldn’t make it up!’

  ‘Claude and his lavender,’ Connie prompted.

  ‘And lecherous Larry! And that concert in Tuscany; that was one of the best nights ever.’

  They stopped outside the customs area.

  ‘You won’t be able to come any further,’ Maggie said, removing her backpack and fishing out her passport and paperwork.

  They stood smiling at each other for a moment before they hugged.

  ‘I shall miss you, Maggie.’

  ‘I shall miss you too. And thank you, Connie,’ Maggie murmured. ‘Thank you for letting me come along. Thank you for the fun we’ve had on the way, and thank you for my future, because you’ve given me a future.’

  ‘No, Mags, you’ve given yourself a future. I’ve just transported you towards it.’

  ‘Promise you’ll keep in touch and maybe visit sometime?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ Connie said.

  They stood apart, then Maggie picked up her bags, blinked furiously and, turning abruptly, disappeared into the customs building.

  And Connie, tears streaming down her
face, turned the other way and headed back towards the station.

  Twenty-Nine

  MARIGINO

  It had been a struggle to ease Bella up what amounted to little more than a rough track. Eduardo, true to his word, folded himself into and led the way in a Fiat 500, which arrived relatively unscathed, while poor Bella ploughed and scraped her way behind, scattering stones and branches in her wake. But at least they’d got here, even if Bella had acquired some scratches and Connie some near heart attacks. Bella was now resting in front of the olive trees next to the ruins of the house, and Eduardo could see no reason why she couldn’t be left there for the time being, but recommended that Connie had the vehicle stored in a safe compound when she flew back to the UK. That, he said, was if she intended to keep it, otherwise he could arrange for it to be sold.

  For the moment it was still home. Of course, if she did eventually decide to rebuild the house, then in all probability Bella would have to be sold, but she didn’t want to think about that. The legal side, Eduardo informed her, could take some months, so there was no need for any hasty decisions. Best of all, Connie discovered a footpath of sorts which zigzagged its way down to Amalfi. It was a fifteen-minute walk but at least it gave her access to the bus to Sorrento and the train to Naples if necessary, as she had no wish to subject Bella too often to the tortuous drive back down to the main road.

  Now Connie felt she belonged here. Her great-grandparents had built this house, and Maria and her brother had been born here. Connie would try to restore the place to its former beauty, in their memory, for Maria and for her own family as well. But the view needed no improvement; it was as it always had been. She was looking out at exactly the same vista as her grandmother had.

  Connie stretched out on one of her canvas chairs and poured herself some wine. She watched the sun slowly dipping towards the horizon and noticed several boats out there. She wondered then how Maggie was getting on. She’d been gone several days now; would she be in the Suez Canal yet? Connie knew she’d hear from her, and Gill too, eventually. They’d promised to keep in touch. For now this was enough.

  Andrea Bocelli was singing ‘Che Gelida Manina’. Connie’s hand wasn’t very tiny, and it was far from frozen. She took another sip of wine and raised her glass to the future.

  If you loved The Getaway Girls and can’t wait to read more about Connie’s adventures, you can find out how her journey began in The Runaway Wife, another inspiring and joyously uplifting novel from Dee MacDonald. Get it here!

  The Runaway Wife

  ‘OMG!… It made me howl with laughter and it made me sob my heart out… I absolutely adored every single step… had my jaw dropping!!… one of my favourite books of the year.’ My Chestnut Reading Tree, 5 stars

  * * *

  Get it here!

  * * *

  One evening in early August, while mashing the potatoes for dinner, Connie McColl decides she’s had enough…

  * * *

  Connie is tired of solving one family crisis after another - usually involving her unruly grandchildren - while her husband Roger spends all day at his beloved golf course. Surely it must be time for her to shake off her apron and start living again?

  * * *

  So Connie packs a bag, gets in her little green car and drives off...

  * * *

  As Connie journeys from England to Scotland on an unexpected adventure, she finally begins to rediscover herself. And she starts to wonder, will she ever be ready to return home? Or will this summer change her life forever?

  * * *

  The Runaway Wife is an inspiring and joyously uplifting novel about being true to yourself. If you loved The Kicking the Bucket List and The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry this book is for you.

  * * *

  Get it here!

  Hear more from Dee

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  A Letter from Dee

  Dear Reader,

  Thanks so much for reading The Getaway Girls, and I hope you enjoyed sharing in Connie’s run to the sun. If you haven’t yet read The Runaway Wife, I’d love it if you did, and then you’ll see why Connie’s been enjoying her independence so much!

  And, if you’ve enjoyed this book, and want to keep up with Connie or similar publications, you can sign up to the following link: Dee’s email sign up

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  Also, if you feel like writing a review, I’d love to know what you think, and feedback is invaluable. You can get in touch via Facebook and Twitter.

  Dee x

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks to my brilliant editor at Bookouture, Natasha Harding, and to my wonderful agent, Amanda Preston at LBA Books, for their invaluable help and expertise and, not least, their faith in me.

  Thanks too to the Bookouture team who put it all together: Kim Nash, Ami Smithson, Alex Crow and Jules Macadam, Ellen Gleeson, Lauren Finger and Claire Gatzen (with apologies to anyone I’ve unwittingly omitted).

  I’m particularly grateful for the patience, support and encouragement of my husband, Stan, and my son, Daniel, and his family. And a special thanks to my clever friend and critic, Rosemary Brown, without whose help the book would be knee-deep in unnecessary adverbs and clichés, to name but a few.

  Finally, a huge thanks to the women friends who’ve always been there for me over the years: Sylvia Morrell, Margaret Perkins, Maggie Boucher, Silvia Gridley, Jan Hunt, Sue Thomas, Carol Barnes, Angie Obbard, Sylvia Vaughan-Stanley and Linda Flynn. Where would I be without their humour, advice, wine, fun and encouragement? (And I won’t mention the shopping trips.) But I must admit none of them are anything like Maggie or Gill…!

  Published by Bookouture

  * * *

  An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

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  www.bookouture.com

  Copyright © Dee MacDonald 2018

  * * *

  Dee MacDonald has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  ISBN: 978-1-78681-478-4