Papa Georgio by Annie Murray Page B

bushes. At the top was the entrance to ‘Camping Sacchetti’ and the Sacchetti’s house, restaurant and shop. On the next level down, where we were parked, were the toilets. Quite often a strong whiff of drains carried from them across the camp, but they got high marks as toilets go. They were decorated with green tiles so when you went inside it felt a bit like being under water, and dotted around were tiles with painted fish on them – sea horses, fat blue and orange fish, octopuses and crabs.
    The ground outside was bare earth. Green, speckled salamanders shot in and out from stone to stone and scuttled through the undergrowth at the edges. Sometimes you’d turn round just in time to see the point of a long tail disappearing into a crack in the earth or the wall of the Sacchetti’s shop.
    On the lowest level were more caravans and tents, splashes of orange, green and white against the sandy-coloured ground. Far in the distance, when I looked over the edge, no more visible than a blue haze, was the sea.
    I’ve found a place right at the top of the camp where you can get away from everyone, where there’s a sort of ledge, like a seat at the edge and you can sit and look over at everything. So I’ve brought my Log up to write. It smells nice up here, herbs and things.
    Where’s Grandpa? I’ve been wandering around bouncing a tennis ball for ages but there’s no one to play with. Maria Grazia’s not here and I feel very cross .
    Why does he have to keep going off? He could at least have taken me with him! What’s happened to all the adventures we were supposed to be having together?
    I stopped writing, my mind drifting, gazing over at the trees, the distant sea… Things buzzed round me and there were noisy cicadas somewhere nearby. I didn’t like being on my own for too long. That was when I started thinking about Daddy…Parents are like a set of double doors. When one is lost, there’s a huge gap which lets too much air in, icy and heartbreaking.
    I wanted Grandpa. I wanted Fizz. Now Fizz wasn’t here, I realized that we shared something that neither of us had put into words. Something I couldn’t name, but it was there. I could feel it.
    When Grandpa came back that evening he was not, as we expected, looking roguishly excited and carrying something he’d bought from an Italian dealer. Instead, he looked weary and sad. He said he was sorry to have been away for so long, but he wouldn’t tell Brenda where he’d been. He just said, ‘Oh I’ve been having a look round.’
    Later, when I was tucked in behind the grey curtain I heard a sniff, then a sob. Just one quiet sob.
    ‘I’m sorry my Little Dear,’ I heard Grandpa say. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about. But there are certain things I came down here to do and I have to do them. There are memories here my dear and I have to lay them to rest. I shall tell you in due course, I promise.’
    His voice was so sad that I couldn’t get it out of my mind. For a long time I lay in the dark with my eyes open, hearing the crickets making their scraping noises between the dry stalks outside.
    The next morning I stepped out into sunshine and into happiness.
    I wandered round the camp as it came to life, sucking an orange so that the juice ran down my chin and wandered up to the edge of the top level to look out. A salamander shot along the top of the fence, stopped for a second, its throat pulsing, then plunged away down the fence post. When I looked over, a wonderful, almost unbelievable sight met my eyes. I blinked. Was I seeing things? No – it was true!
    The Ship of Dreams had appeared since the night before and was parked right down below on the third level! A red plastic bucket stood outside at the back, but there was no sign of anyone. They must have come in late last night and still be asleep.
    Still holding my orange peel I skipped back to our caravan. Fizz is here, Fizz is here!! I was fizzing inside myself with every skip.
    Brenda was