Page 13 of One Hot Summer

“Definitely, ahh.” A blister on my little toe had popped, and the sock felt like it had been cemented to it. “Oh, that stings.”

It had just turned five o’clock. We had two hours to go before we were meeting Alessandro at the bistro down the street. That meant I had two hours to soak my feet in ice-cold water in the hope that they would forgive me. I have put them through some tough times in my life, but this was their limit.

“Are you having another shower?” Sarah asked.

“I think I will.” Rome in June was proving to be a hot one. Especially when walking around as much as we had been. “Shall I go first?”

“Yes, I’ll try to get online and book tickets to the Colosseum.”

We had already made it to the Colosseum earlier that afternoon, hoping to get in, but we had never seen queues like it. The worst queue I had ever witnessed until then was the day the final Harry Potter book was released for sale in Waterstones, but this was unbelievable. There was no way in hell we would have made it inside before it closed. And with the sun belting down on us, it wouldn’t have taken long for us to melt. We had heard an older couple in the queue arguing with each other because the wife had apparently instructed the husband to book the tickets online, but the husband didn’t, because he insisted she had not told him to do anything of the sort. The husband then got an earful, before loudly asking a passing tour guide if the lions were still in the pits so he could throw his wife in. They both looked miserable in each other’s company. We sat on a wall in some shade and took out our jam sandwiches to eat whilst watching the drama unfold.

Before I stood up from the bed, taking deep breaths in anticipation of the pain that was sure to shoot through my feet as soon as I placed them on the floor, I had a quick glance to the coffee table.

“Is that new biscotti?”

On a white plate, with gold paint intricately decorating the edges, was some chocolate biscotti.

“That woman is a biscotti baking machine!” Sarah said, picking one up and taking a bite. “Wow, these ones are good.”

“Anything made of chocolate is good.” I hobbled to the table and helped myself to one. Sarah was right. The last batch had barely been touched, as they were rock hard and had too many almonds in them. I suspected these ones wouldn’t last the night. “Right, I won’t be long in the shower. Then you can start glamming yourself up.” I winked at my nervous friend and took my hot, swollen feet to the bathroom, feeling instant relief as I stepped onto the cold marble floor.

“I have heard of Halifax.” Alessandro was leaning across the table, gazing at Sarah. “I visited London some years ago and think I saw Halifax.”

“Oh, Halifax isn’t in London,” Sarah said.

“Hmm, I thought I saw a sign, with a big blue cross.” He held his arms in front of him to form an ‘X’ shape.

“Ah, I think you mean the bank. There will be a lot of Halifax banks in London. Our Halifax is a town in Yorkshire, up in the north of England.”

“Okay, okay.” He seemed embarrassed. “I am sorry, my mistake. In that case, I have not seen Halifax.”

“That’s okay,” Sarah said. “It’s an easy mistake to make.” She pointed at me. “This one thought Pisa was down the road from here.” They both laughed and were staring into each other’s eyes like two teenagers scared to admit they fancied each other.

Even though I had my own man at home, I could still appreciate how gorgeous this man was. He must have been in his thirties, like us. He dressed very smartly and seemed quite well off. I tried to pay for a round of drinks for us, but he would not allow it. I liked him even more after that.

Conversation between him and Sarah seemed easy, despite the slight language barrier. He spoke really good English. I didn’t actually mind that I was playing the gooseberry this evening. Sarah lost her twinkle after Max The Wanker broke her heart, but this evening her eyes were shining again. I could feel her coming back to me. It was great to witness. Apparently, the cure to a broken heart was a sexy Italian man.

As happy as I had been to witness Sarah’s comeback, I realised it was getting quite late, and I wanted to phone Zack for a quick chat. I was about to make my excuses and leave, when Alessandro stood up.

“I will be back, mi scusi, ladies.”

He wandered to the back of the bistro to the gents’ toilets.

“Jen, how’s my hair? Do I have anything in my teeth? Is my make-up okay?”

“You look gross. Total train wreck.”

She slapped my leg. “I’m being serious! He is so yummy, and I feel like a sweaty, horrible slob. It’s so humid here.”

“Sarah, you look fabulous. Your hair is glossy and enviably perfect, despite the humidity. Your make-up hasn’t smudged, and he seems so besotted with you. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you. Enjoy it.”

“Okay, okay. I just feel so awkward chatting and flirting with a guy. I’ve not done this for years. I feel so out of practice. This is the first guy since, you know who, that I haven’t wanted to kill.”

“Well, you’re doing amazing for someone who up until now has wished death on anyone with a penis. Including Santa.”

“That pervert deserved what he got.”

I don’t think I will ever forget the image of horrified children as Sarah threw eggnog in the face of the poor Santa who was handing out candy canes and sharing sweet words of Christmas cheer last December. ‘And here is one for the pretty lady. Merry Christmas!’ is all he’d said as he had handed some candy to Sarah with a cheery smile. One eggnog shower later and we were both escorted out of the shopping centre by security. We have not been back since.

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