In Italy for Love

Chapter 7

7

Jules awoke to her alarm the following morning, fumbling groggily for her phone to switch off the annoying tone. Arco barked for good measure and she rolled over and fumbled to quiet him too. With a flash of goosebumps, her memories of the night before washed over her: talking and laughing; blue eyes she hoped she never forgot; eager kisses and intimacy that had left her drained and melty.

The most striking image was the last: Alex standing in his doorway half-naked, looking lost. It felt strange that she’d never see him again. But at least she’d leave Italy with a favourable impression of one man at least – and an accordion player at that!

After slurping two coffees and hastily consuming as much of the sweet breakfast buffet as she could in half an hour, she stuffed her things into her backpack while Arco wolfed down his own breakfast. Then she hauled the shopping bag full of dog food onto one poor shoulder and trudged downstairs to pay her bill.

She’d chosen the cheapest B squat, bushy trees with twisted trunks and swing-cap bottles full of cloudy olive oil with handwritten labels.

Thinking of farms just reminded her of the tomato banter from the night before and she shook off those goosebumps again as she walked steadily onwards.

The plain seemed to unfold endlessly once she’d cleared the outskirts of the city, knobbly hills of vineyards, topped with crowns of forest, stretching to the horizon. Clouds hung suspended in the wide sky. The trees were every shade between green and brown: orange oak, evergreen cypress and yellowing birch trees with white trunks.

There was no footpath to speak of, so Jules had to juggle Arco on a short lead and the bag of dog food that kept slipping off her shoulder. Only her sheer determination and the changing colours of the russet hills kept her spirits up.

She wondered if there were traffic-free footpaths amongst the trees and vines but she couldn’t risk getting lost, so she stuck to the road, the cars zipping by too fast, puttering motorini – the iconic scooters that dominated Italian roads – and industrial and agricultural vehicles of all shapes and sizes forcing Jules and Arco into the damp grass. Her trainers were quickly soaked, although they hadn’t been in great shape anyway.

Roads grew sparse two kilometres out of Cividale, and trees plentiful. She upped her pace even though her backpack had grown heavy and the dog food now sagged in its bag, hanging from her elbow. Her hair tickled her face and her brow was muggy with sweat, despite the cool October day. Dapper and well-dressed Luca would be horrified to see her now.

But hey, she’d had a great time in bed with a guy last night, she thought with a rather manic laugh to herself – or perhaps at herself. Alex hadn’t minded that her hair could do with a conditioning treatment and a pair of straighteners, and that all her clothes were crushed. Hopefully Maddalena, the women who ran the olive farm, wouldn’t mind either.

When she took her last turning – onto a concrete road barely wide enough for a single car, cracked and potholed and muddy – she experienced the first inkling of suspicion that this farm stay might not turn out quite as she’d pictured it.

A faded sign announced her destination: Agriturismo Azienda Agricola Biologica Due Pini. The stone wall along the road had fallen down in places, destabilised by tree roots. Those roots belonged to the farm’s namesakes, two tall stone pines, their dark green crowns fanning out so high up that Jules had to crane her neck.

The farmhouse was a large building – possibly an old barn – that had been rendered and painted rusty pink. Wooden eaves and shutters completed the bright picture, but when she looked more closely, she noticed that the render was criss-crossed with cracks and the vintage farm equipment dotting the yard was more of a tetanus hazard than charming decor. There were checked tablecloths hanging from each window and also strung up under the pergola. A goat was gnawing peacefully on the one flung over a bush along the drive.

As she trudged down the cracked driveway, a chicken scampered across her path. A donkey watched Jules’s and Arco’s progress towards the farmhouse, only flicking its soft grey ear once or twice but otherwise not moving. As Jules spotted the olive trees and several rows of vines, an enormous flock of crows took flight, colouring a portion of the cloudy sky black.

When she’d pictured an organic farm, Jules hadn’t imagined the animals would be free-range as well.

‘Welcome to Two Pines Organic Farm,’ she muttered to herself, holding Arco firmly on a short lead as he skittered restlessly.

Arco was gleefully alert, sniffing under every plant and giving the goat a wide berth, which Jules understood. There was something just wrong about goats’ eyes.

Approaching the farmhouse, she wasn’t sure where to enter, as there were several doors. One set of sliding doors was closed, frilly curtains drawn. A heavy wooden door with a wreath in autumn colours was also firmly shut. But a third door was ajar, a bead curtain moving in the breeze.

The sharp smash of glass breaking – a lot of glass – stopped Jules in her tracks. Cursing in a woman’s voice followed immediately, then, drowning out the voice – and the chickens and the goat – came the splutter and buzz of a chainsaw.

With a grimace, Jules gingerly nudged aside the strings of wooden beads and called out ‘Hello?’ hoping she could be heard over the loud drone of the power tool. Taking a step inside, she startled a woman with greying light brown hair, a wild look in her eyes.

The woman blinked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, clutching a broom handle and brushing absently at her apron and long skirt.

‘Hi,’ Jules began. ‘Er, I’m Julia Volpe. Are you Maddalena?’ She took a step forward to awkwardly offer her hand.

‘Stop right there!’

Jules froze, less regimental soldier and more rabbit-in-the-headlights. ‘What?’

‘Non muoverti! Hold the dog!’

The panic in the woman’s voice snapped Jules into action and she snatched Arco off the floor and into her arms, even though her knees complained about his weight, on top of her luggage.

‘I broke glass – una damigiana, a big glass!’

The back door swung open suddenly and another dog shot in, making the woman shriek again and brandish her broom at the animal. A man tumbled in after the dog, dark hair falling over his eyes.

‘Mamma!’ he cried, followed by more words Julia struggled to catch, although one of them sounded like ‘fiasco’ which she thought was rather appropriate.

Arco must have scented the big black dog because he began to wriggle so wildly that Julia was afraid she’d drop him. When he barked, it was loud enough to ring in her ears. The other dog strained at the hold on its collar and the poor woman with the broom swept as though possessed, the clink of heavy glass shards barely audible over the canine chorus.

‘I can’t hold him any more,’ Jules said through gritted teeth just as the woman had contained the shards in one corner of the room and stood guard. Arco leaped out of Jules’s arms and bounded straight for the other dog, tail wagging. She stumbled after him, her backpack making her whole body list to the left. Before she could restrain him, Arco had stuffed his nose into the other dog’s privates. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she panted, fumbling with the lead. ‘He has no manners.’

Before the man could reply, his dog gave a low growl that quickly progressed to baring teeth and a sharp bark that gave Jules a shower of misgiving down her spine, but it was too late. The black dog raised its paws and snarled at Arco, barking furiously. Arco zipped away, tugging on the lead so suddenly Jules tumbled over, landing helplessly on her backpack.

The other dog shook off the man’s hold on its collar and leaped right over Jules, its claws finding grip in her jacket as she cowered, covering her face. To a chorus of howling and barking – and alarmed shouts and oaths from the room’s other two occupants – the two dogs nipped and sparred and expressed their clear dissatisfaction with each other.

‘Basta, Fritz! Basta!’

Jules managed to unclip her backpack and stand up and then Arco leaped at her. She caught him somehow, despite her shock at his panicked behaviour, and he trembled violently in her arms, whining pitifully.

‘Mi dispiace tantissimo,’ the man apologised, approaching with a grimace.

The back door banged open again to reveal a man in overalls brandishing a chainsaw – exactly what Jules’s day had been missing.

‘Nonno!’ the younger man exclaimed. ‘Metti giù quella cosa!’

Put that down! The man’s somewhat standard Italian, even if the consonants sounded a little chewed, made more sense to Jules and she shook her head to clear her thoughts, breathing hard.

The man with the chainsaw flipped open the tinted visor of his helmet to reveal a pair of kind brown eyes and a prodigiously wrinkled, smiling face – in contrast to the power tool held carelessly in his other hand.

‘Ah, la signorina!’ the old man said, tossing the chainsaw into his left hand to extend his right. ‘Mandi! Welcome!’

‘Uh,’ was all Jules said, rather rudely, although she managed to shuffle Arco in her arms to poke out a hand for him to shake.

‘Oh! You are Julia!’ the woman said in English, running a hand through her hair in agitation and leaving it standing up in a curly mess. ‘I forgot you are coming today. Oh dear, I— Davide, take Fritz away, please !’

Mouthing ‘sorry,’ the younger man shepherded the black dog back outside and shot her a quick smile. She couldn’t be certain whether he was apologising for the behaviour of the dog or for leaving her alone with this eccentric pair who were apparently his mother and grandfather, if she’d caught the Italian correctly.

Between the chainsaw welcome, the broken glass and the fierce dog, if she’d had any other options for a place to stay, she would have considered turning around and marching back to town.

‘Yes, I-I’m Julia,’ she stammered, stumbling as Arco wriggled in her arms.

‘I’m afraid I have bad news,’ Maddalena said, her eyes a little wild – at least Julia assumed the woman was Maddalena, even though she hadn’t introduced herself. Julia’s stomach sank as she waited to hear the next stumbling block on the road out of Italy. ‘A pipe burst last night and the bunk room was flooded. The wiring is unsafe and I don’t know how or when?—’

The woman looked entirely at the end of her tether and despite the panic rising in her throat, Jules felt a stab of sympathy.

She set Arco down, keeping him on a short lead. ‘Sounds like you need help.’

‘You see, Maddalena!’ the old man said, raising his hand for emphasis. ‘Dut va ben!’ It sounded enough like ‘Tutto va bene’ that Jules assumed the old man actually thought everything would be all right. That made one of them. Putting down his chainsaw, he approached with a wide smile, clutched her shoulders and pressed a kiss to each of her cheeks. ‘Juuulia,’ he said, drawing out her name almost… fondly? ‘We are so happy you are here.’

She blinked at him. She was here for free accommodation in exchange for work. She wasn’t a long-lost granddaughter.

‘Papà! I don’t have a room where she can stay! The wiring is a mortal danger and the floor is more crooked than one of your jokes. As much as we need the help, I have nothing to offer in return. Dear,’ she said, turning earnestly to Jules, ‘it will be best if you continue with your travels. I’m so sorry.’

Jules allowed her eyelids to fall shut, unbearably weary.

‘But she doesn’t need to go anywhere,’ the old man said, cryptically. Why he was still smiling was beyond her. ‘Why stay on the farm here when there’s a perfectly warm bed waiting for you, eh?’ He patted her arm as though he couldn’t contain his excitement and Jules began to wonder if he had a screw loose. Turning to the equally puzzled Maddalena, he said, ‘She is the answer to prayer!’

When he continued, his explanation knocked the breath out of Julia’s lungs.

‘ This is Alex’s girlfriend!’