‘You know, Laura, I’m still surprised your parents let you go. Perhaps this was one thing they’d forgotten to pack away for the winter. But then, it was January, and all the resorts were closed. The beach was empty: no deck chairs, umbrellas or the usual summer paraphernalia. ‘Wonder if there’re more?’ Her ebony eyes scanned the coastline ahead. ‘Does it belong to a resort or something?’ she added. I envied her being able to stay out in the strong Australian sun, whereas my pale skin turned pink within five minutes. Her dark exotic looks were in stark contrast to my coppery locks and lavender-coloured eyes. That’s classic!’ Beth said while clawing away tendrils of her long, black hair the wind had whipped around her face.īeth’s family had migrated from Mumbai when she was three, and their house was only a street away from mine in Earlwood. ‘Must be anchored to a rock below the waves or something.’īeth and Angie squeezed in next to me and stuck their heads out the window. An artificial tropical island!’ I said and pointed. I glanced out the window just as we passed a secluded cove and the gentle undulations of an inflated palm tree close to the shoreline caught my eye. She chose our hotels and even paid for mine. Our parents made up the shortfall, as did my aunt Judy, Dad’s sister. All through our senior year we’d planned this trip to celebrate the end of high school, worked at part time jobs and saved as much as we could. We linked arms, jumped up and down on the spot and squealed. I couldn’t wait to start our Amalfi holiday. At school we’d been nicknamed “The Three Amigos.”Īnd this was our very first trip overseas. We’d known each other since seventh grade, and there was rarely a weekend the three of us didn’t have a sleepover at one of our homes. My two best friends, Beth and Angie, also hopped up from their seats to lift their bags down. ‘Sorrento, next stop!’ I said with a smile, then left the window and pulled my bag down from the overhead shelves. Jagged cliffs dropped away inches from the iron tracks that barely clung to the rocky earth. In the distance, the Mediterranean Sea sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine as our train snaked around the narrow precipice of the southern Italian coastline.

I’d already taken off my coat, scarf and woollen cap, and my angora jumper was scrunched up on the seat. It was refreshing after sitting for an hour in an overheated train compartment. The wind bit my face and made my cheeks tingle. Although it was January, I wanted to breathe in the wintery air. I opened the train window and the cool air rushed in.

Laura's Locket by Tima Maria Lacoba