Page 9 of One Hot Summer

“I wonder what this old building is.” I didn’t respond. I could feel myself getting grumpy. The heat. The sweat. The hunger. The feel of hard stone beneath my flimsy sandals. I needed to find somewhere to sit with a cold drink.

Sarah seemed to pick up on my deteriorating mood. Luckily, she knew how to handle such a tricky and delicate situation.

“Let’s walk around that way to see what it is, and then we can head for food.”

It sounded like something you would say to a whining child to stop them from moaning, but it worked. I would be finally getting my Italian pizza, cooked by an Italian chef in the heart of Italy, and hopefully a bucket of ice for my feet to sit in.

We followed the path to the end of the road and rejoined the crowd, following them like sheep to the front of the building. And… wow. This was not just any old building.

The enormous roof was being held up by rows and rows of pillars. I couldn’t make out the wording that was carved on the front of the building, but it didn’t stop me attempting to read it out loud. There were hundreds of people standing in and around the pillars, taking photos, touching them, leaning against them, sitting on the floor next to them. All in different poses for selfies, alone and with friends. The Pantheon was something else.

“Well,” Sarah said. “Wow.”

CHAPTER TWO

“How much?” I exclaimed.

We had managed to pull ourselves away from the Pantheon, through the crowds. There was a gelato stand not far from where we were, and I was busy reading the menu board.

“Why is it so expensive?” Sarah whispered.

“I don’t know, but I’m not paying that much for a bottle of water,” I said, not as quietly as Sarah. Hot, hungry me could not be silenced. “It’s bloody mental!”

It was going to cost nearly fifty euros for two bottles of water and a scoop of gelato each. We’d agreed not to skimp on this trip, but I would not paying those kinds of prices, even if I was beginning to feel dehydrated. Prices were often higher in capital cities in the tourism hotspots, but we weren’t expecting this.

“Come on, there must be a little shop or something around here where it is a lot cheaper.”

“Mi scusi, ladies?” a deep voice said from behind us.

We turned to see who was talking to us. If they were even talking to us. There were so many people around us that we could have been mistaken. Then he stepped forward. I don’t know how he was able to cope in his suit with this heat, but there was not an ounce of sweat on him. His long, black hair was swept back, and he had beautiful skin. His hair was beautiful. He was beautiful.

“I’m so sorry, ladies,” he said in very good English. “Please, come.”

He gestured for us to follow him away from the crowd.

“Is it safe?” I asked Sarah, whose lower lip was almost touching the floor.

“If he wants to kidnap me, he can. Come on.”

She grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd to follow the mysterious Italian man. He did not lead us down an abandoned alley. Instead, he took us away from the hoard of people, into a more open area closer to the Pantheon.

“I’m sorry, I can see you are on holiday so I no bother you for long, but my advice? Don’t buy from ’ere.” He pointed to the gelato stand where we had just been, and to the other vendors scattered around. “You should buy from less busy place. Outside the main part of the city. Is cheaper. These prices? Crazy.”

“Ah, right,” I said. Sarah was in a trance, listening to him speak. “Thank you. It’s so nice of you to tell us. We’ll find somewhere else.”

“How long you been in Rome?” he asked.

“We only arrived this afternoon. We were just going to have a walk before finding somewhere to eat. Where would you recommend?”

“You will find lots of places hidden in the old roads. If there are tourists? Keep walking. If there are Italians? You know is a good place.” He had a great smile. His white teeth stood out against his olive skin.

“Thank you.” Sarah had finally woken up from her man-coma. “Are you from Rome?”

“No, I am from Foggia, a little bit south of ’ere. I now live in Rome, for work.”

“Ah, that sounds wonderful. What a beautiful place to live.”

They were staring deeply into each other’s eyes. A subtle smile, and the odd twinkle, definitely a connection. All thoughts of Max The Wanker and the abandoned wedding had clearly been pushed well out of Sarah’s mind, thanks to our new Italian friend.

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