Page 12 of One Hot Summer

I can always fit you in, I’ll be on hand for all of your needs when you get back. Enjoy your day :) Xxx

When Sarah and I were finally ready, we set off walking in our comfy trainers. Once again, Sarah’s hair was elegantly flowing in the light breeze, slipping off her shoulders as she walked, and mine was already starting to stick to me. I knew wearing it down would be a bad idea, so I pulled the spare bobble off my wrist, quickly tied it all back into a makeshift bun, and pulled out my handheld fan to waft my neck.

“Has Alessandro replied yet?”

“No, not yet. He probably won’t. I bet he was just being nice to the two lost tourists last night. He’ll do it all the time. He won’t have been serious about meeting up.”

“Of course he was being serious. Why else would he give you a card with his phone number on it? He’ll reply.” I wasn’t used to seeing Sarah lacking in confidence and being so down on herself. This wasn’t her, and it was difficult to witness. “Sarah.” I held out my arm to get her to stop walking and turn to face me. It was pep-talk time. “You’ve been through one of the worst years ever. First, Max The Wanker had an affair and subsequently ended your engagement. Then, he fucked up the mortgage payments so you had to move out of your dream home with very little notice. You deserve to have some fun. You deserve to have a hot Italian guy flirt with you and take you out for drinks. He will reply, and tonight you are going to take back your happiness. It’s been gone for too long, and I miss my friend, Sarah. She has got to make her comeback.”

A small tear escaped her eye, making its way down her cheek. She wiped it away and managed a smile.

“Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve sulked and moped about all this for long enough. It’s time to move on and stop feeling sorry for myself.”

“Yes, it is. And don’t say sorry. I’m always here if you need to talk, but you need to get back on the horse. Or mount a stallion. Now, let’s get to the fountain. My feet aren’t aching yet, so you’ve got plenty of time before I start moaning at you.”

I linked my arm in hers, and we carried on with our journey, smiles on our faces.

“What do you mean you have to move?” I asked Sarah, as she frantically cried down the phone to me.

“Max hasn’t been paying the mortgage.” She took a deep breath. “And he’s had all his mail redirected to his new place, so I haven’t known about any of this until now.”

“But you’ve been paying your share, haven’t you? Can’t they take that into account?”

“The payments come out of his bank account. I’ve been transferring my share to him so payments can be made, but he hasn’t been passing them on. Just pocketing my money. I’m screwed.”

“What a wanker! What does your letter say?”

“That I have thirty-one days to vacate. On my thirty-first birthday I get thirty-one days to vacate, before they seek possession and send the bailiffs. What am I going to do?”

“Don’t you have any rights? You kept to your share of the payments, you have proof, it’s not your fault he stole your money.”

“Apparently there’s not a lot I can do. I called them this morning. They don’t care about personal disputes. They just want paying, or they repossess the house. There’s no way I can pay all this. I wouldn’t even be able to afford to buy him out to take it on myself.”

“What an absolute cockwomble!” I was filled with so much rage I could have burst into tears myself, but I had to be strong for my friend.

“I’m going to be homeless!” she cried. “How? How could any of this have happened?”

“No, you’re not going to be homeless. No one would ever let that happen. You can stay with me. I have plenty of room. I can clear out the spare room for you, there’s already a bed in there. Zack will help bring your things across. You can stay for as long as you need to. We’ll sort this out together.”

“Oh, thank you.” She struggled to talk through the tears. “I can’t believe it. I’m losing my home. First, my fiancé, and now my dream home. What else can that guy do to me?”

The Trevi Fountain was, as the Italians would say, ‘amaze-a-balls-a’. No other words could adequately describe it. We stood in silence for what felt like hours and hours, just taking in all the detail.

“Well,” Sarah said. “Now that’s a fountain. Trafalgar Square, eat your heart out.”

“It sure is.”

Above the sea of heads were smartphones on selfie sticks, like balloons on a string floating above us. Hundreds of them. No one seemed to be taking in the sight with their own eyes, they were just looking through the cameras on their phones. Well, the younger lot were. The older generations were enjoying it, like us. Oh my God, are we now classed as the older generation? Hell, no. I pulled out my own phone and started snapping away, taking photos of the fountain and the odd selfie, some of Sarah and me, and then Sarah on her own. Then I saw it.

Over Sarah’s shoulder, on the other side of the fountain, I could see a man down on one knee with a ring in his hand, holding it up to a very emotional and happy woman in her twenties. Shit. Sarah did not need to be seeing these levels of romance. This holiday was supposed to make her forget that it was supposed to be her wedding week. We had to get moving. She could not see this.

I returned my glance to Sarah to suggest we should start our walk to the next location, when I saw the huge, beaming smile on her face. She was looking at her phone too, but not through the camera.

“Alessandro has replied,” she said. “He’s going to meet us later.”

By the time we got back to our hotel, my feet were throbbing. Even in my brand-new memory-foam Skechers, my feet were defeated. We must have walked at least ten miles in circles, going back and forth to see things we had missed. I couldn’t complain really, Rome was spectacular. And once Sarah received that text from Alessandro, she’d been practically bouncing from place to place. I had struggled to keep up with her.

“We can try the bus tomorrow, if you like?” Sarah watched me cringing as I carefully removed my trainers and gently peeled my socks off. “It might help our feet to recover.”

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