An Italian Dream

‘Just like your Lottery win.’

Stella raised her glass but looked bashful.

Fern changed the subject and talked about what they were going to do after they’d finished their meal. Work off all the food with a walk, she thought as the waiter returned with their main courses.

Stella gave a gleeful chuckle as she sliced into her grilled swordfish with olives and capers. Fern’s plate of linguine with squid and prawns was almost too beautiful to eat – almost.

‘I’m in heaven.’ Stella sighed and took another mouthful.

They focused on their food for a moment, nodding in appreciation at the deliciousness of what they were eating. The flavours were fresh, the sweet juicy tomatoes complemented by the saltiness of the mussels and prawns. The voices of other diners filled the air, along with the clink of cutlery. The aroma of grilled fish and lemon drifted on the light breeze. Since they’d arrived, the sky had darkened, making it difficult to see where the sea ended and the sky began.

‘What do you think about this yacht trip?’ Stella broke their silence.

‘I, um… I’m not sure.’ Fern wrinkled her nose. She knew how she felt about it but was conscious of not wanting to disappoint Stella.

‘It’s okay,’ Stella said. ‘You can be honest. It’s not your scene, is it?’

Fern wound linguine on to her fork. ‘No, not really. It would have been years ago though.’

Stella snorted. ‘There’d have been no stopping you – straight on that party boat for a few boozy days. We’d have had a competition to see who’d pull the quickest.’

‘When did I become so boring?’

Stella looked at her through unblinking eyes. ‘You’re not.’

Fern didn’t believe her in the slightest. ‘I am, and you know it.’

‘You’re not boring.’ Stella placed a cool hand on her arm. ‘You’re sensible and have responsibilities now that you didn’t have when we were in our late teens.’

‘You have responsibilities too. Doesn’t stop you having fun.’

‘There’s nothing stopping you besides yourself.’

Fern looked away, shocked at the truth of Stella’s words and how much they hurt.

‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound the way it did,’ Stella apologised.

‘It’s fine, it’s the truth. We both know it. Maybe I don’t want to acknowledge how much I’ve changed. I mean, everyone does, but I’m nothing like who I was when I was eighteen.’

They continued eating, their forks scraping against their plates.

Stella put her fork down and looked across the table. ‘Why don’t you go on that art retreat?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You know, the place that woman told you about on the ferry over. Take her up on her offer. I know you’d prefer that to a boozy couple of days on a yacht.’

Fern stabbed her fork into a large prawn. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘Why on earth not?’

She shrugged. She had no good reason, other than feeling bad about being a party pooper. She was married, while Stella, Amber and Chloe were single and blatantly up for a good time. She knew the appeal that good-looking Italian blokes had on them all.

‘We can always do another day trip – you don’t have to miss out. I just want you to be happy and do what you want for once. Think about yourself. It’s not selfish.’

‘It seems wrong to go off on my own when we’ve all come out here together,’ Fern admitted.

‘Doesn’t mean to say we can’t do our own thing for a few days. Honestly, Fern, if it’s something you want to do, then do it. This is our time, remember. It’s what this holiday is all about. The girls can come with me.’