Page 16 of One Hot Summer

I picked up another biscotti.

“Eat something proper for breakfast, or you won’t have any energy. I imagine we’ll be wandering around the colosseum for ages. Especially if it’s busy and we’re in a crowd of people.”

“Yes, Mum.” I picked up another biscotti and shoved it into my bag along with the sandwiches.

Sarah, being the more sensible of us that morning, picked up the pastries and wrapped them in tissue, putting them in her bag for us too. Her phone buzzed again. She pulled it out of her pocket to read the message. Judging by the grin on her face, it was a good one.

“It’s Alessandro. He can’t do tomorrow after all, but was wondering if I want to have dinner with him tonight instead.” She bit her bottom lip and sat down on the bed. “What do I say?”

“You say yes!”

“Are you sure you don’t mind? It is supposed to be our girly getaway. I feel awful abandoning you.”

“Well, why don’t you suggest that we all eat together? Then I can come back here with an excuse of being tired or something.”

“No, I’ll tell him that you and I are eating together, but we can meet for drinks afterwards.”

“That sounds perfect. A good compromise.”

She made her arrangements with her Italian man-friend and then we finished getting ready for our outing and set off to find a bus stop. Sarah had all the information on where we were going, so I was just following her. Her mood had definitely lifted since arriving here. Max The Wanker had done a good job at breaking her spirit.

I’d arrived home from work later than normal. I had been stuck with a customer who just wouldn’t stop complaining about everything. Eventually, Samantha had stepped in to finish the meeting for me so I could leave, as the caretaker had arrived to start locking up the building. My drive home was no better. I hit every set of roadworks possible on the way. It was as though all the temporary traffic lights saw me coming and switched to red. Why do they all come at once?

“Sorry I’m late!” I called to Sarah. She had been staying at my house for the previous three weeks since being forced to leave her home. I had been working overtime, trying to keep her spirits up as much as possible. It was a big change for her, downsizing from her three-bedroom detached house and into my spare room. We’d had an amazing Christmas, despite the Santa incident, and we threw a New Year’s Eve party together. It was just like when we were living together at university. “How about fish and chips for tea? I can nip back out.” I hung my coat up in the hallway, and walked into the living room, but she wasn’t there. “Sarah? Are you in?” I was sure I’d seen her car parked on the road.

I walked into the kitchen, but she wasn’t there either.

“Hello?” I called out again.

“Here.” A muffled voice came from upstairs.

My first thought was about the house she was trying to buy. She had found a bungalow not far from here that she loved. It was the perfect size for her, affordable thanks to the bank of Mum and Dad, plus the small amount of equity she had been paid from the sale of the old house. I hoped her offer hadn’t been declined. That was not the kind of news she needed.

“Where are you?” I walked up the stairs and into the spare room. She was sitting at the end of the bed. Her tear-stained face was red and blotchy. “What’s happened? Is it the house?” I sat down next to her and put my arms around her, but she didn’t say anything. She just stared at the wall. “Sarah, talk to me. What’s happened?”

“It’s not the house.”

“Then what is it?” I was wracking my brain, wondering if she had told me that her elderly grandma was ill, or if it was that time of the month.

“Max.”

“What has that wanker done now?”

“She’s pregnant.”

“Who’s pregnant?”

“The child bride he left me for. He’s got her pregnant. Stupid, fertile child.”

Ah. Max’s twenty-three-year-old girlfriend was knocked up. Damn.

She handed me her phone, which had Facebook open. A mutual ‘friend’ had shared Max’s post announcing the news, with a photo of the happy couple holding a sonogram picture together.

“Oh, I see.”

“He told me he didn’t want children. Not for years, anyway. ‘They tie you down,’ he always said. Didn’t want them interrupting his precious career, so I was the moron who had the implant all those years to keep him happy. I wanted kids. I couldn’t wait to have kids. I put it on hold for him and his fucking job, which he’s packed in now, apparently. He’s not even moving to Canada anymore. They’re staying here to raise their mutant baby and I am just single, thirty, childless and homeless.”

How can a man be so determined to do one thing and live a certain way, and then so easily change his mind as soon as he gets into a new relationship?

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