Frankie was more popular with the dead than the living and this caused a few problems at home.
’It’s nice to be liked sometimes.’
’Maybe you should join a group then? ’ said her mother. What else could she say to this young woman, with her brown staring eyes?
‘Anyhow I met Mrs Smith again today and she showed me how to train Harry. She looked much better by the way and sent her love. Apparently I’m due to meet a dark haired stranger soon. Is there any more pasta please? ‘
The family carried on with their meal in silence. No wonder their father left home thought Frankie’s sister Alice. At least their holiday would take Frankie away from all this nonsense about interconnecting souls.
True, She has none of the affectations of my other children, and blessings are blessings after all, but still, I think there is something unfinished about her, wrote her mother in a small diary and showed it to her GP.
Her mother would have blamed the books her daughter devoured too, but really how could anybody blame Treasure Island for the wrong idea? And besides, as Frankie reassured her mother on a daily basis, her special friends were entirely the right idea.
‘You just need to shift your thinking mother.’
‘I am trying Frankie. Trust me. I am trying.’
‘My shyness is behind me ’
‘’That is wonderful ‘’said her mother. (Maybe that episode in the fog with Blind Pugh and the black spot had shifted something, somewhere-but where?)
‘I’ve been waiting to talk all my life’, said Frankie.
Three days before they were due to fly to the ancient city, Frankie sat on her packed case and read a large guide from the library. She volunteered to take the family on sightseeing walks, as long as she could use a clipboard and lots of hand gestures.
‘I am a story teller not a liar. Sono una narratrice, non una bugiarda. ‘’
‘I am pleased you are taking such an interest Frankie,’ her mother said.
‘We might meet my friend Arthur at the airport when we land. Actually, Arthur’s not his real name; he speaks several languages fluently too.’
‘How very talented of him. Does he live in the city then?
‘Sometimes, but he travels a lot and knows a great deal about bats. There is a special bat he’s promised to show me. ‘
Mother nodded. Her GP advised loving acceptance.
‘I think it’s a white bat.’
‘How pretty she sounds Frankie. ‘
‘He calls her Snowy.’
They arrived on a Friday evening and shared connecting rooms with balconies overlooking a small square thronged with cafes. Apparently Arthur would join them the next day once they were comfortably settled in.
’I didn’t know you’d spoken to Arthur Frankie.’
’I haven’t. ‘
’I see. ‘
Mother decided upon an early night.
At 7am prompt, Frankie begged an early morning espresso from her eldest brother Tom and sat out on her balcony waiting for news of her friends.
‘Weird’ said Tom, but still bought the coffee and lent her his new fountain pen. Frankie opened her journal and started to write in Tom’s dark ochre ink.
I do love Tom and I am not a liar. My mother calls me a liar even when she is asleep ‘My father shouted I was a liar and then left in the night with someone he met whilst walking Harry. ROT! Mrs Smith knows, so do all my special friends. I am a story teller not a liar!
Frankie stood up and shouted across the square:’Sono una narratrice, non una bugiarda!’
A couple eating breakfast glanced up and waved. Frankie waved back, and returned to her chair and pen.
Maybe it’s just because the world is FAR leakier than we pretend! It’s so much friendlier too. It depends upon the way we look at things. I find friends are everywhere, especially when I find my seeker’s glance. I’m imagining it here as I write. It’s the most perfectly lazy look. It’s easy though. I just lift up my eyes, glance slightly to the left and then (this can be the tricky bit) I ‘nod’ to the edges of things- to their periphery as Mrs Smith suggested. Then I wait.
Sometimes I can hear them before they appear, or I can even smell them. Mrs Smith told me she prefers to announce her arrival through music, Arthur assures me he smokes, though it’s no longer damaging to his health.
Frankie paused, blew on the nib and started a new paragraph.
Buried beneath all these swarming scooters (no helmets, just heels and loose hair), I can hear the stones breathing, talking to me, whispering out their regrets, their captured spirits still awaiting release.
For all space in this city is dedicated to greatness, to monumental ambition, to the visionary vanity of immortal life. Frankie went back and underlined this sentence as it sounded rather grand. She wrote on.
Even the crowded scents of this city remind me of the past and as I sit here I find myself making a list in my head like a prayer, so that this city becomes more alive! Orchid, citrus, now tuberose, leather, even saffron, vanilla.
Frankie stopped writing and leant out over the cool stone sill. Each scent now felt like a pulse in her head. She leant further out, and caught at a perfume of civet and was it dirty lavender? A friend was imminent. Frankie nodded. Imminent. Remember she told herself. Breathe in slowly and trust, just trust. T-r-u-s-t! Frankie smiled as Guerlain’s Jicky perfume finally reached her nose. Could this be her?
‘Bon giorno’ whispered Frankie to the air. ‘Ciao Bella.’
Below her balcony, a thin shawled figure knelt to stroke a terrier. The woman laughed as she tickled the dogs’ ears, and then after a while, slowly looked up at Frankie. A few moments passed before she spoke. Her eyes looked dark as chocolate.
‘I am a long way from home Frankie’.
‘Don’t worry, it’s all relative’ said Frankie who had rehearsed this line just in case. ‘You just need to settle in.’ Frankie adored the woman’s full fringe and bright stockings, and most especially her taffeta waistcoat. It looked purple. ‘I am SO pleased to see you!’
‘Grazie mille. Will you show me round this city Frankie? I feel a little lost – a little surprised, as I am sure you understand?
‘’Certo-of course!. You have arrived ahead of time- so we have even more time! Let me bring my brother Tom and then we can all get lost together… My Mother needs her rest. ‘’
‘I will wait for you both here Frankie. Perhaps I will even find a seat. I have missed coffee and …bread.’
‘Five minutes’ promised Frankie.
‘I have time Frankie. We have time. And the sun is shining for us.’
‘Ciao’ said Frankie, not risking a name.
