‘You’re notcarryingthem,’ she insists. ‘Gimme.’ She wiggles her fingers at me. I toss them over and she stuffs them into the bag. ‘Okay, that should be everything… Oh! Don’t forget your motion-sickness pills,’ she says, spying them on the bedside table.
‘Oh, right.’ I grab the packet, popping out a tablet and swallowing it dry.
‘Let’s bring the whole the packet – just in case,’ she says, dropping it into the bag. ‘Ready?’ she asks, heaving the bag onto her shoulder.
‘Only if you let me carry that,’ I say, reaching for it.
Delaney looks at me for a moment and I’m positive she’s going to refuse – Pippa almost always turns down my offers of help – but then she breaks into a grateful smile and hands it over.
‘Sure – thanks.’
And that smileshouldn’twarm me through – just like I shouldn’t think she’s cute or enjoy playing proxy for her best friend – but it does.
Two days out from my would-be wedding day.
Shit.
* * *
Delaney chats to me all the way to the marina, and I do my best to hold up my end of the conversation, only I keep getting distracted.
By her.
The funicular ride becomes an entertaining commentary on everything she sees: a cute dog wearing a bow tie; an elderly couple holding hands as they stroll; a rooftop bar where people are dancing; a falcon riding an updraft; a street performer with a puppet…
When we catch sight of a red Vespa winding its way down the hill, she exclaims, ‘It’s so Capri!’ and I can’t help but laugh, sharing the joy.
This is so different from travelling with Pippa, who sets these ridiculously high expectations, leaving her constantly disappointed when reality differs from what she’s imagined. Pippa would never just drink in her surroundings, finding a dozen things to get excited about on a short funicular ride.
But it’s grossly unfair to compare them. There’s so much I love about Pippa – and nobody’s perfect.
Delaney walks half a step ahead as we make our way through the throngs to the marina and, as she seems to know where she’s going, I happily trail behind.
‘That’s us,’ she says, pointing at a sleek motorboat. It wouldn’t look out of place in a Bond film shot on the Grand Canal in Venice. It’sbeautiful.
‘Wow,’ I say, and she grins up at me.
‘Nice, huh? Told ya True North was going all out. Hey,’ she calls out to the skipper, a distinguished-looking bloke who’s holding a sign with our names on it. ‘We’re Delaney and Nick,’ she adds, gesturing between us.
‘Buongiorno,’ he says, a friendly smile settling on his tanned face. ‘Welcome aboard.’
He signals for us to take our shoes off, which we do, then holds out a hand to Delaney, helping her onto the boat. He turns to me, offering his hand.
‘All good,’ say, figuring I can manage on my own.
But the moment I step onto the boat, one foot still on the pier, the wake of another boat makes this one rock. Under normal circumstances, my balance is excellent – I’ve walked a tight rope across a canyon – but these are not normal circumstances. I have almost zero experience climbing aboard a small boat and there is a torturouslylong moment where I’m straddling a widening gap between the boat and the pier. I’m a micro-second from doing the splits when the skipper grabs my hand and gives it a hard yank. I tumble into the boat, landing on my arse.
He and Delaney look down at me, both suppressing smiles.
‘Way to make an entrance,’ Delaney teases. ‘And I thoughtIwas a klutz.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ I say, getting up and steadying myself.
‘Maybe you should sit,’ she says, pointing to the bench seat along the stern.
‘Good idea,’ I mutter, duck waddling over and plonking down.
Delaney sits next to me and the skipper takes the helm, then looks over his shoulder. ‘Okay?’ he asks.