Girl Online: On Tour (20 page)

Never going online, Penny . . .

Instead, I turn out the light and settle down under the covers, my mind filled with filters, photos, and all the treats that Rome has in store, and fall fast asleep.

•  •  •

The next morning I gather together my camera and bag, and head downstairs to the reception lobby. Noah isn’t there. A worrying niggle gnaws at my stomach, and I pray that this isn’t a repeat scenario of Berlin.

“Penny.” Noah appears next to me with a somewhat less excited expression than the one I am wearing. He frowns. “I can’t do today after all. Dean wants me to do a press junket and this is the only time I can do it.”

I try to remain calm, but I can feel the anger rising and my face burns with heat. “OK,” I manage through pursed lips.

“I’m sorry. Are you annoyed?” He tries to hold my hand but I snatch it away.

“No, really, I’m fine,” I say. I play with the strap on my bag, trying desperately to think of a way to leave this situation before my emotions explode in a bubble of hot lava.

“Oh, all right then. I’m glad you’re cool,” he says, smiling down at me.

But, like a burst pipe, I can’t contain myself. “NO, NOAH. I’M NOT FINE. CLEARLY I’M NOT FINE.”

“You just said you—”

“GIRLS ALWAYS SAY THEY’RE FINE, BUT YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO TELL I’M NOT FINE. THAT’S WHAT BOYFRIENDS DO! And do you know what else they do? They don’t let their girlfriends down every chance they have.” My voice is shrill and squeaky but I can’t stop now. “Yes, this is big and scary for you, but this is big and scary for me too. I gave up a huge chunk of my summer holiday to be here with you, because you told me we would have the time to do these things, Noah. You promised me. I am jumping through hoops for you here and it’s exhausting. I feel like a piece of your kit that’s being carried from one venue to another.”

By this point, Noah’s mouth has dropped open and everyone in the lobby has turned to look at us.

I try to lower my voice, but the anger still comes through just as loud. “I’m
not
a piece of kit, Noah. I’m here and I want to experience this with you and I want to have at least
one
day with you where we can do the
one
thing you told me
we would be doing.” I stand there, breathless, waiting for a response from Noah, but instead he turns and walks out of the hotel’s front door.

My feet are glued to the spot and I feel a heavy tear roll down my cheek as I watch him jump in a waiting taxi and drive off. Curious eyes burn into me from every corner of the lobby and, without making contact with any of them, I hold my head up high and strut to the lift. I walk in confidently when the doors swoosh open, then I stand back and watch the doors close, maintaining my poise . . . and then I burst into uncontrollable tears: snot, red face, heaving chest, and all.

I hate arguing.

(No, I don’t.)

Yes—I really, really do!

I go out of my way to avoid confrontation. Milkshakegate was the first time I’ve stood up for myself in years. And, even though it felt so good at the time, it hasn’t made confrontation any more my friend.

When I get angry, I crumble. I cry.

And arguing with Brooklyn Boy?

That’s practically unthinkable!

How can I argue with someone I love so much? We’ve been nothing but happy and carefree ever since we met.

I guess that means it was inevitable that one day our smooth sailing would hit a rocky patch.

Today just happened to be that day.

Imagine a luxurious and very grand hotel reception lobby in Rome: tall marble pillars and a domed ceiling painted with a beautiful fresco. Imagine the echo that would create. Now throw in an angry five-foot-five, auburn-haired sixteen-year-old and her cool, laid-back rock-god boyfriend looking charming and dressed down as always.

Now imagine my raised voice bouncing off the walls for the entire reception to hear. I don’t have to imagine it—
I’m remembering it.
At the time, I didn’t care about the commotion I was causing, but it has just dawned on me that I will need to go down through the reception lobby again to leave the hotel at some point. Mega cringe.

My parents hardly ever argue. I occasionally hear my brother fight with his girlfriend, but it’s only ever over really stupid things like, “No, I told you I would call you back AFTER the football game.” I feel like those things are little disagreements, while what’s just happened between Brooklyn Boy and me was a rather large step up from that.

In fact, can you really call it an argument if there is only one of you doing the shouting? I think BB’s sole contribution was a lot of blinking back at me. Was I being ridiculous?

All I know is that arguments sometimes need to happen in order for things to be OK again, and, like the mature, responsible grown-up I am, I am going to make sure things are OK. Find me a couple who haven’t been through a simple argument. Actually don’t. (Wiki, I’m looking at you.)

So, just for future reference, I’m going to make a list of things I’ve learned NOT to do in an argument:

1. Don’t argue in the reception of a hotel—pick your moments and your location. Not everyone needs to know the ins and outs of why you’re mad.

2. Understand that your voice is probably a little louder than it sounds in your own head.

3. Don’t downplay how annoyed you are or say that you’re fine. Not everyone is a mind reader.

4. Try to be cool, calm, and collected. Emphasis on the word
try
because by this point you may be about to explode.

5. When your boyfriend leaves without saying a word after your outburst, don’t stand there cemented to the spot for too long. You will feel and look like an idiot.

6. When you have a big, snotty cry in the lift afterwards, expect that someone else might join you from another floor on your way up. That’s what lifts are for.

7. Saying you have severe hay fever makes you look like a fool. It’s pretty clear you are crying, so you may as well embrace it and accept the tissue from the middle-aged Italian man.

8. When making a grand exit, make sure you have your room key. After all, you will look ridiculous if you have to go back down to the reception to get another one issued.

9. Don’t overthink the situation once you’re sitting alone in your hotel room.

10. Don’t eat ice cream in a hot, steamy bath—it’s not that easy, especially when it’s melting at lightning speed. I find pretzels to be a great alternative.

I’ll leave it there for now. It’s too cringey for me to want to write about it any more, and now that I’m seeing it all laid out in black and white I know I need to apologize for my way-too-public outburst.

Because, with any relationship, there will always be challenges that you might have to face together. It’s just about being strong enough to know that an argument (even a mega-big one) doesn’t have to mean the end.

Girl Offline . . . never going online xxx

Chapter Thirty

After publishing my blog post, I close my laptop and feel as though a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. There is a reason I love writing and filling my little (private) corner of the Internet with life musings and advice: it’s so therapeutic. When I next see Noah, I’m going to apologize for how I acted in the hotel lobby, and I’m confident he’s going to apologize to me too. We’re going to get through this.

I look out of the small window next to my bed and notice all the people below wandering the streets in the blazing sun.

I’m in Rome.

Rome.

A city I’ve only ever dreamt of visiting. This is the home of Michelangelo and Raphael and Sophia Loren! I can sit here and go over our argument for the rest of the day, or I can make the most of Rome and clear my head—even if it means going it alone. I can hear Elliot’s voice in the back of my mind, yelling at me to go out and explore the city. This time, I’m going to listen.

I roll off the bed and drag myself to the mirror. I look a
sorry state. I wipe a tissue underneath my bleary eyes, then have a confident Ocean Strong moment surge through me.
It’s nothing a pair of oversized sunglasses can’t hide
, I tell myself. I scrape my hair back into a messy bun, grab my bag (making sure to take my room key this time), and rush out of the door before I can convince myself otherwise. I pass Larry on my way out.

“Penny? Where are you going?” He frowns, concerned.

“Out, Larry. I’m going out. If I have to sit and look at the walls of my hotel room any longer I’ll go insane.”

“Let me come with you. What if you get lost? Do you have a map?”

A map? I hadn’t even thought about it. My inner Ocean Strong wavers, but I tell her to pull herself together. I shake my head. “Honestly, I’ll be fine. I think I just need a bit of time on my own to clear my head. If I get lost, I’ll be sure to call you or grab a taxi and come straight back. I’m a big girl, Larry.” I smile at him and move to continue down the hallway.

“At least take this.” Larry digs a battered guidebook for Rome out of his jacket pocket. When I raise my eyebrow at him, he shrugs and says gruffly, “I just like to do my research. Have fun, won’t you? My suggestion is to eat all the pizza and gelato you can. There’s no problem that carbs and sugar can’t solve.”

•  •  •

Standing under the enormous dome of the Pantheon, I send a whisper of thanks to Larry for his guidebook—without it, I would have never found any of the sights. Rome is breathtakingly beautiful. It seems like there’s something magical
round every corner. When I first left the hotel, my camera might as well have been glued to my face. I kept wandering along the cobbled streets, thinking I was heading in the right direction, but when I ended up at the same fountain for the third time I decided to relinquish my pride and consult Larry’s guidebook. I finally managed to make my way to the Pantheon. It’s full of tourists, but the same feeling of sacred wonder descends on all of us as we enter the huge building, which is an oasis of quiet from the hustle and bustle of the streets outside.

From the Pantheon, I wander along the tourist trail down to the Colosseum and sit on a bench in the park outside to eat a huge slice of takeaway pizza. It’s so surreal: I feel like I’m trapped in the pages of a history book, or maybe a TV show. I try to imagine what it would have been like to enter the Colosseum as a spectator, watching the gladiators enter the arena or maybe a dramatic reenactment of a sea battle. It would have been a bit different from the concerts I’ve been going to—but, then again, some of the fans at Noah’s gigs are so rabid they might actually be out for his blood at times.

The illusion is suddenly broken when I am surrounded by a gaggle of Italian women dressed in their Sunday best. As they chatter away in feverish Italian, gesticulating wildly, I try to spot the object of their attention. Then I see her: a beautiful bride having her photograph taken with the Colosseum as a backdrop. Now
that’s
an epic wedding photo.

The groom steps back into the frame, and the couple look so happy together, clutching each other’s arms as they pose for their photographer. I snap a cheeky picture of my own,
if only to show Mum. Weddings always make me think of her, and she would love to see these two in such a grand and dramatic setting. Next up, a line of bridesmaids sweeps across the grass, all in long pink satin dresses. They’re much more flamboyant than the more traditional bridesmaids’ dresses I’m used to seeing in England. Once again, I know it’s something Mum would love.

I feel a smile spread across my face as I remember Mum and Dad’s wedding album. Mum had just given up her acting career for wedding planning—so, of course, they had the most extravagant wedding ever! They opted for a Royal Wedding theme, which in the late eighties meant over-the-top-Princess-Diana style—not chic and understated Kate Middleton. There’s no way Princess Diana would have been upstaged by her sister’s bum! Whenever I see pictures of Mum’s dress, I can’t help but giggle. It was essentially reams and reams of cream satin, inlaid with clusters of tiny seed pearls, and had the biggest shoulder puffs I have ever seen, each one close to the size of her head. Apparently she bounced down the aisle looking like a giant marshmallow.