I have at least five important in-person work meetings, and, crucially, an appointment with a gold-dust plumber to have the leaking tap in my kitchen fixed. The plumber’s part of a highly successful women-only plumbing company and she has a nine-week waiting list. I need to be there when she arrives because last time she came, I was out, and my neighbour, who had recommended her, slept through the doorbell, and that was that. The tap still leaks and the drips still stop me getting to sleep and the tiles underneath are getting wrecked (and I still had to pay the one-hundred-and-ten-quid daylight-robbery call-out charge). I’ve tried and failed to find another good plumber and Ineedher.
I also have Azim’s daughter’s christening at the end of next week and I have to be there because I’m a godfather.
And most importantly of all, I need to get back to Thea; I can’t be away from her for too long.
I do therefore very much want to go home.
Maybe I don’t have to go with Emma, though. Maybe she isn’treallymy only option.
An image of Janet comes into my head. Janet is always right. This morning, for example, as predicted by her, there were apparently no free taxis in the whole of Rome, hence my three-mile sprint.
One of her last messages yesterday was:
Your ONLY hope is to find a car share with someone who does not mind your VERY INCONVENIENT lack of driving licence.
(Janet can be very emphatic.) She went on to reiterate the lack of trains, boats, coaches, taxis, and non-driver car shares, and the total lack of response to her registration of my plight with the hotel reception, the British embassy and all online sites.She also told me that she’d fruitlessly explored buying a car and paying a driver.
On my side I messaged literally everyone I know asking about friends of friends who might happen to be anywhere near the Rome area and heading for London.
Janet’s view is that I’d be insane to pass up a lift, even if it’s in an ancient camper van. She thinks Emma is my only option.
She’s obviously right.
So either I stay in Rome indefinitely or I grow up and deal with spending two days in a van with someone who is in fact just an ex from a very long time ago. That’s all.
I can absolutely do it. I was being irrational before, from shock.
OfcourseI can do this.
I googled the journey yesterday. It’s sixteen hours on the road, which I’m guessing will be two eight-hour days. There’s no need for us to talk beyond basic pleasantries. We don’t have to eat together this evening or tomorrow morning. We don’t even have to stay in the same hotel. It will be absolutely fine.
I can definitely do this. Definitely.
As long as Emma’s happy to.
2
EMMA
No. No, no, no, no, no, no,no.
Itishim.
Even though it’s unimaginable that the Callum I knew –myCallum – could possibly have turned into this smooth-looking man – I mean, he’s wearing a navy Ralph Lauren shirt, the smartest pair of dark jeans I’ve ever seen, brown suede loafers (possibly Prada) and an insanely tidy haircut – itisCallum Harding. I know –knew– the bones of himsowell, and his face is older but it is still him. The same impossibly square jaw and deep green eyes and gorgeous, perfectly arranged, slightly imperfect features.
It’s him.
I have offered to drive Callum Harding all the way back to London.
As in the two of us alone together in the van for days and days.
I can’t do it. Certainly not. No, no, no.
I feel myself frowning as I try to work out how this has evenhappened.
I think back to the call from Azim. When he asked if I could give a friend of his called Callum a lift, I told himNo problem, because of course I’m happy to help a friend of a friend. Very, very stupidly I did not say:What’s his surname and did I ever spend two years joined at the hip with him?
Azim is my very good friend Becca’s husband. Becca and I met just after Callum and I had our on-a-break split (which turned out to be permanent without either of us ever acknowledging it). She and Azim met and got married in a real whirl quite recently, while living in New Zealand, and I only met Azim after they arrived back in England, with their gorgeous baby, Rose, in tow. I liked Azim immediately and trust his judgement, and obviously I trust Becca.
