stare, astonished, at my mobile for a moment. Something tells me this new sister of mine is going to take a bit of getting used to.
‘Thank you so much.’
I turn back to see the girl in the couple smiling at me and holding out her camera. It’s one of those big proper ones, with the lens that you focus manually, not like my little digital one that just takes snaps.
‘Would you mind taking it over here, against the sunset?’ she asks.
‘No problem.’ I smile, taking it from her and looking down the lens.
Then suddenly I pause. Rewind. Did she just say . . .?
‘Sunset?’ I gasp.
‘Yes, isn’t it amazing?’ Her face lights up as she gestures towards it. ‘Like the sky is on fire.’
Her voice is drowned out by the sound of my own heart pounding loud and fast in my ears as I look up. And there it is. Like a huge cinematic backdrop. A pomegranate sky streaked with pinks and reds and oranges, and the sun is a fiery orb slowly sinking down low behind the buildings.
Oh my God.
The legend. I have to meet Nate.
I turn back. The couple are still smiling at me, their bodies posed for a photograph, but now I’m all fingers and thumbs. I can’t even see to focus. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go,’ I gabble, quickly taking a picture and shoving the camera back at them. ‘I hope I didn’t cut your heads off.’ I throw them an apologetic smile, and leaving them looking at me in confusion, I turn and start racing down the alleyway.
I can’t be late. For once in my life I can’t be late. I have to be there on time. I have to—
Shit, where I am going? I stop dead, my heart racing, my mind helter-skeltering. Suddenly, in all of this, I realise I haven’t a clue in which direction I’m supposed to be heading. I haven’t a clue where the Bridge of Sighs is.
It gets worse. I haven’t even a clue where I am now. I’m lost. Without a map. And I can’t speak Italian.
Panic rises a notch and for a moment I stand stock still, like a rabbit caught in headlights. Even my Shredded Wheat rhyme isn’t going to save me now. Come on, think, Lucy, think. But I can’t think, my mind is blank, and in desperation I just set off running down twisting alleyways, past shops and restaurants, crowds of tourists and paparazzi.
‘Excuse me, do you know the way to the Bridge of Sighs?’ I pant breathlessly to other tourists, but they shake their heads apologetically.
I spot a bunch of men who look distinctly Italian. ‘Ponte dei Sospiri?’ I gasp desperately.
‘Ah, sì, sì.’ They nod and with a series of hand gestures point me in the right direction.
Relief floods, and thanking them profusely, I set off running through the crowded streets. It’s really busy now. The film parties are gearing up for the evening and paparazzi and film crews are buzzing everywhere. The whole town is lit up. Even the canals, I notice, reaching the water and spotting a gondola up ahead, the bright lights of a film crew on board shining on some celebrity or other.
And the bridge, I realise, looking past the gondola and seeing it arching across the canal. It’s the Bridge of Sighs.
I feel a rush of anticipation and wonder. It’s so beautiful. The white marble is like a blank canvas, reflecting the colours of the sunset and the ripples of the water beneath, and for a moment I stare at it, transfixed. The effect is almost magical.
I can’t stand here all evening, though. I’ve got to find Nate, and snapping back, I scan the crowds. I see him. A few hundred metres away upstream, he’s standing waiting by one of the smaller bridges from which you can catch the gÍ€n catch të€ gÍ€n condola. Even from this distance I can see the expression on his face and he doesn’t look best pleased. Spotting me, he glares at me furiously and throws his arms in the air as if to say, Where the hell have you been?
I rush towards him. Shit, I’m running out of time. The sun’s going to set. I’m going to be too late. Too late for what? pipes up a voice in my head. You still don’t have a plan. I ignore it. It’s not over yet. I’ve still got a few minutes, I tell myself frantically. There’s still time for a miracle.
Excusing my way