Nick sighed. ‘The queues are ridiculous.’
‘You can head back to the hotel if you want and I’ll go on my own,’ I suggested, sort of hoping that he’d think that was a brilliant idea and leave me to it. Then I could go at myown pace and possibly be quite late back so that I didn’t have to spend an hour navigating the planned pre-dinner drinks session.
‘No, no. I promised I’d come out with you so that’s what I’ll do. Come on, it’s this way.’
I reluctantly tore myself away from the square, vowing to come for an early-morning walk the following day and experience it on my own. I wanted to waltz across the cobbles, looking up at the sky, imagining what it must have been like to be a member of the Medici family. Perhaps stopping for acioccolataat one of the cute cafés lining the square. I was used to travelling on my own and almost always preferred it that way.
Nick set off at his usual speedy pace. He never ambled anywhere or – I thought – really took in his surroundings. He was rushing through Florence in the same way he rushed through life (and, come to mention it, our relationship), not truly appreciating anything because he was already thinking about the next thing. I was the opposite. I liked to savour the moment. Enjoying the feeling of just being somewhere was always more important to me than any of the photos or footage I took. Funny, then, that I’d ended up shooting videos for a travel show and often only saw places as locations rather than lapping up the atmosphere like I might if I was on holiday.
I reminded myself that thiswassupposed to be a holiday and that I was under no obligation to do anything for Tim. But then bubbling away in the back of my mind was an idea. Something I’d been thinking about a lot, recently; a venture that might just get me out of Holiday Shop. It wouldn’t hurt to have some Florence footage to play around with, just in case.
I lengthened my stride to catch Nick up, veering left toavoid a horse and carriage carrying a couple of tourists who probably hadn’t realised they’d just been conned into paying about twenty-five euros to be taken a short distance they could easily have walked.
For some reason that even Nick couldn’t explain, there was absolutely no queue for the Galleria dell’Accademia. We were whisked through security, with me having to have my bag checked (and subsequently apologising for the amount of useless stuff I’d accumulated and that the poor security guard had to pick through). Then we entered the main hall of the gallery, which Nick told me had been specially built to houseDavid. Strange to talk about a statue as if he was a real person, but that’s how ‘he’ felt, I thought immediately as we walked down the long corridor, withDavidstanding majestically at the end.
There was something church-like about this gallery, giving me the weird sense thatDavidwas waiting for me at the altar. The atmosphere was magical; hushed voices, domed ceilings, just the right amount of light falling perfectly and flatteringly onDavid’s marbled body. Nick was marching ahead, of course, but I took my time. Other statues were displayed to either side and I had a quick look, but I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off the main spectacle.
As I got closer, I got my video camera out. It seemed unusual to be here without hordes of people blocking my view, so I supposed I might as well take advantage. I started the shot just aboveDavid’s head, panning slowly down, over his curly hair, his slingshot and his very impressive abs. He was holding something in his right hand, but I couldn’t see what it was through the lens. And then something caught my attention just behind it. Looking directly down the camera at me, with bright eyes that rivalledDavid’s focused expression, was Aidan.
I dropped the camera to my side. And then Nick slipped his arm around my waist and whispered in my ear.
‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘Worth the hype?’
Suddenly I couldn’t focus onDavid. I wanted to, but it was hard to concentrate with Aidan bobbing about in the background. He had headphones in, so I assumed he must be listening to some kind of audio commentary and he seemed to be spending a lot of time looking atDavid’s right hand.
‘Definitely,’ I said, my voice coming out all breathy.
‘Oooh, are you getting all emotional?’ teased Nick, running his thumb across my cheek as though he was soaking up tears. ‘There, there …’
‘Don’t, Nick,’ I said, pushing him away.
‘People do actually cry when they see him, you know?’ he said, looking up atDavid’s face with his hands wedged on his hips.
For all his high-brow visits to Florence, Nick looked like any other British tourist with his chinos and his boat shoes and his sunglasses plonked on his head. When I involuntarily glanced at Aidan before realising what I was doing and focused onDavid’s thighs instead, I noticed he looked like he always had: just the right side of edgy. Cool without trying too hard. Hair shaved at the sides but a little longer on top; a sort ofTop Gunvibe.
Nick was now looking at a plaque on the wall, presumably gleaning some information onDavid. I made my way over to join him.
‘Did you know Michelangelo made him out of an old piece of marble that nobody else wanted? It was too big, you see, and not particularly smooth. Other artists didn’t know what to do with it,’ said Nick, squinting to read the text.
‘When was this?’ I asked, having been terrible at historyand knowing barely anything about art other than whether I liked it or not.
‘Fifteen hundreds, I think. Let me have a look so I can tell you for sure,’ said Nick, scanning the words on the plaque. ‘Yes! I was right. Built between 1501 and 1504.’
‘So he’s over five hundred years old?’ I said, too scared to look atDavidagain in case Aidan was in my eyeline.
I was still in two minds about whether to say anything to Nick about Aidan. I should, I supposed, because if he found out now, it would seem strange, as though I had something to hide. It was difficult to wedge it into the conversation, that was all. How would I start it off?Oh, see that really good-looking guy hovering behindDavid’s right shin? I had the best sex of my life with him until once day he ghosted me and I never saw him again?
Nick looked at his watch. ‘We ought to go. Mummy’s booked a restaurant for eight and we’ll need to get ready. She says it’s not dressy, but you know what she’s like, it’ll be pearls galore.’
It was no good, I was going to have to say something. I tried to keep it casual. ‘How come you’re calling your mum “Mummy” all of a sudden?’
Nick looked embarrassed. Perhaps it was an involuntary thing and he hadn’t even noticed. ‘Am I?’
‘Yes.’
Nick laughed hollowly. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Because it makes her happy, I suppose.’
I frowned at him, still not quite getting it.