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shouted back. “There’s a lot of it that goes on. You can buy cheap cigarettes on the streets or, you can buy the more expensive exact same packets in the tobacco shops. It’s something you get used to after a while.”
    As they got further into the ancient quarters of town, the Vespa travelled down ever narrower and darker cobbled streets all filled with litter and dark skinned youths who looked slightly wild astride clapped out scooters.
    Dark eyes stared at them menacingly as they passed by. Issy clutched onto Dan and to her bag as she tried to avert their piercing stares by looking down alleyways which opened out into piazzas, with beautiful but run down churches, some with bags of litter unceremoniously dumped outside.
    Finally, after navigating the chaos and darkness of numerous side streets they hit the motorway, which was baking hot as the strong midday sun, without the shade of the densely built palazzos, beat down fiercely from the middle of the sky. As the little yellow Vespa picked up speed, the breeze whipped their hair into distorted shapes until they looked like ice cream cornets from behind.
    Unlike travelling in the deli van with Gennaro, being on the Vespa with Dan was exciting and as they ate up the miles Issy felt an increasing sense of freedom and escape. She loved the proximity to the Mediterranean, and the uplifting effects of the sun on her face, her arms and her legs. She’d spent too many weeks recently in a flat in Oxford in the semi darkness trying to survive and being here with Dan in brilliant sunshine suddenly made her start to feel alive.
    As they got further away from built up areas around Naples, and closer to the town of Sorrento, towards which they were heading, Issy could see row after row of lemon trees clinging to the highest ridges of mountainous reaches either side of the road.
    “Look at those amazing lemon trees Dan, you can practically smell the juice of a lemon from here.”
    “I knew you’d love it,” replied Dan. “And you ain’t seen nothing yet. The best is still to come.”
    As they continued to follow the coastal road, thousands of bright red, pink, purple and yellow flower heads provided splashes of vivid colour with their heads up towards the sun – delicate but un-wilting they seemed to thrive under its brilliant intensity.
    Out and on past Sorrento, a new colour palette emerged as small pastel coloured villages in white, pale pink, the lightest shade of blue and eggshell yellow revealed them-selves one by one, nestling snugly into deep folds of a never ending and overwhelmingly beautiful coastline.
    Down way below, small shingly coves were dotted with deep orange and dark blue fishing boats. Some turned upside down with their underbellies drying out in the hot sun.
    “Look at that amazing village over there. It looks like it’s hewn out of the rock face.” Issy yelled as they blended their bodies to take a sharp corner in the road, whilst praying that the little yellow Vespa would hold up well to the twisting and snaking of the Costiera Amalfitana.
    “That’s Positano” Dan shouted back. “It’s where all the beautiful people used to come. Richard Burton visited here with Elizabeth Taylor. And you see that tiny little dot of an island over there?” Dan continued over the putting noise of the engine and the revving engines of the traffic.
    “What the little one directly below?” Issy asked.
    “Yes,” Dan replied turning his head to the side as much as he dared. Taking his right hand off the handle bar he pointed down over the sheer cliff face which had no visible safety barriers. “That’s where Rudolf Nureyev lives. He owns that small island and comes ashore for meals sometimes. He danced on the beach right there when I was having dinner earlier this summer – it was pure magic with the dark night sea as his backdrop.”
    Issy’s heart lurched at the drop to their right. Despite the proximity to potential death Issy was bearing up well. When