Page 41 of A Wedding in Tuscany

‘Oh, uh … I don’t know. Most are animals of some kind?and one’s a wave, I remember that.’ I look up at the banner. ‘An eagle?’

‘Could be. You know you sound like a tour guide,’ says Jaelee. God, I’m obviously being too didactic.

‘Sarah was a tour manager all around Europe, remember?’ says Cat.

‘Oh, yeah, right,’ Jaelee replies.

‘It’s very interesting, Sarah,’ says Mum. Only I’m not sure that it is.

‘Let’s just go.’ I stride off at a cracking pace, expecting the others to follow. As I walk, I realise that what came across in emails and video chats as ‘direct’, ‘forthright’, and ‘all business’ is just Jaelee’s personality?she’s like that in person too. I probably shouldn’t take it personally?especially as she insisted on hugging me when we met, even though I was all sweaty.

A few turns later, I lead our party of four down a broad set of stairs and we emerge into the piazza. Even having been here many times before, I’m taken aback by the enormity of it. And its beauty. It really is breathtaking. ‘So, they have a horse race here?’ asks Mum. I’m not sure if I should continue my ‘tour guide’ commentary but Mum seems interested enough.

‘Yes. So, they’ll make a track around the perimeter of the piazza, laying down sand, because I guess it’s better for the horses, and there’s a huge crowd that watches, a lot of them from the middle of the track or from these buildings. There’s also a pageant with the flag bearers from each Contrada.’

‘Looks dangerous,’ says Jaelee, casting her eyes around the piazza.

‘Yeah. I’ve never been, but … some of those turns …’

‘That’s what I mean.’

‘Do people die?’ asks Cat. ‘Do horses die?’ she asks, clearly thinking that’s worse.

This conversation has turned markedly morbid?hardly where I’d hoped it would end up. ‘Nope. No horses die and no people. It’s run every time without incident and everyone lives happily ever after.’ When I glance at Mum, she’s smirking. It’s not like I’ll think they’ll believe me?I’m just eager to change the subject.

‘Hey, can you take a picture of me?’ asks Jaelee. She adds, ‘Please,’ as she hands Cat her phone, then walks off and stands arms out and hip cocked like one of those models on The Price Is Right. Cat takes a few photos and gives Jaelee the nod.

‘We should get a selfie too,’ says Jaelee re-joining us. She holds her phone up to the four of us, but like Cat, she’s quite small and her arm isn’t long enough to fit us all in.

‘Do you want me …?’ I ask.

‘Sure.’ I take the photo?four smiling women filling up the entire frame. We could literally be anywhere. ‘Okay. That’s done. So, shopping?’ she says.

Right, so incredible medieval square, lots to see, but we’re done now. Tourist, I think unkindly. There are travellers and tourists in this world and Jaelee is definitely a tourist. Cat has her phone out and opens Google Maps where she’s dropped pins for dress shops?mostly bridal, some not. She shows it to me and points to the nearest pin. ‘Where’s that from here?’

‘As in, you literally have Google Maps open and you want me to direct you instead of her?’

‘Yes.’ She blinks at me. I look at the map again?I am particularly skilled at map reading?then lift my head seeking the best way out of the piazza. ‘This way,’ I say, sounding exactly like a tour guide. I should stop and buy one of those sticks with a pom-pom on top.

Wedding dress shopping in Italy?a Mecca of the fashion world?should be at least a little bit fun. But with a time-crunch and a picky bride (with a modest budget), it is so far from fun, I’d rather be at the gynaecologist. We’re at the third atelier and have exhausted all the options in Cat’s price range. Every dress is either too ‘meringue’ or too tight across the bust or too ‘gapey’ at the bust or too long?mostly too long, as Cat is a petite five-foot-one.

When we end up back on the cobbled streets, empty-handed for the third time, the collective frustration is palpable. I check my watch. It’s coming on two and there must be more than a little ‘hangriness’ contributing to our tetchy vibe. ‘Lunch?’ I ask, brightly.

‘Oh, thank god,’ says Jaelee.

‘That’s an excellent idea, Sarah,’ says Mum.

‘So, what, I’ll be wedding dress shopping with a food baby?’ Bridezilla alert! Actually, that’s not fair. I’ve seen glimpses of that (terrible) reality show and those women chuck full-on tanties because the napkins are coloured ecru and not eggshell.

‘Catherine. I know we said we’d wait until after you found a dress, but we have to eat, darling. Just have something light, all right?’ Thank god for Mum and her sense of reason.

‘All right,’ Cat agrees with a hefty dose of reticence.

I lead us away from the centre of town, knowing that if we get far enough from the hubbub, we’ll find somewhere the locals frequent. Less than ten minutes later, we are seated outside a tiny trattoria, our knees practically touching as we crowd around a small square table. Our waiter is efficient and friendly in the way that Italian waiters are and he drops four menus on our table?in English?as he bustles past on his way to take an older couple’s order.

‘I’m having pasta,’ declares Jaelee, her eyes widening as they scan the menu. ‘No, gnocchi. And wine!’ Cat throws her a look that I can’t interpret.

‘The sea bass for me,’ says Mum.

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