11
Hit Me With Your Best Shot
The tables at the café near Georgia’s office leant like the Tower of Pisa, the lone fan on the ceiling did nothing to cool the place down and the waiters didn’t speak English, but Luigi’s was always packed because it served the best penne all’Amatriciana this side of Naples.
It was Tuesday lunchtime and Georgia and I were squeezed around a table for one. Our knees kept knocking and if I twisted my head fully to the right, I’d be kissing the mug shot of Frank Sinatra on the wall. Before she had the twins, we’d see each other every week. Now, a monthly lunchtime catch-up was the best we could manage. Thankfully, she’d been free when I rang this morning to convene an emergency session.
‘So,’ she said, putting her phone on silent. ‘How’s Simon?’
‘Divorced and moving back to England.’
Her eyebrows disappeared under her fringe. ‘Pissing hell, you work fast!’
A waiter set down two mugs of sploshing tea. ‘Very funny,’ I said, mopping up the spillage with a paper napkin. ‘We’re just friends.’
‘You’ve been grinning like an idiot since you got here. Come on, spill it.’
‘He came round last night.’
She leant forward. ‘Oh aye, keep going.’
‘He made me moussaka.’
‘Is that Greek for orgasm?’
I laughed. ‘No! He made the dish moussaka, from scratch. Or rather, we made it together.’
‘Sounds intimate, especially in your kitchen.’
‘It was... nice.’
A waiter arrived with our pasta before I could elaborate. Georgia’s eyes were as wide as the plates Luigi junior set down in front of us.
‘Nice? Please tell me it was a night of unbridled simmering sexual tension.’
Luigi was taking an age grinding parmesan onto our penne. I suspected his English was a lot better than he let on.
‘No, of course not.’ Then, when Luigi finally left, ‘Okay, maybe a little. But we talked for hours and it was lovely.’
‘They’re back, aren’t they?’
‘What are?’
‘Your feelings for him.’
If I was talking to anyone else I would have denied it, but this was Georgia. ‘Maybe.’
I gulped down some tea to avoid her gaze.
‘Did you have some kind of sexy food fight?’
‘No, I told you, we talked.’
‘It never descended into sexy times?’
‘Georgia, you’ve got a one-track mind, do you know that?’
‘Oh, fuck off. I haven’t had sex for months – everything’s shrivelled up down there. We’re both so exhausted all the time. I want to live vicariously through you. So, am I going to get to meet Simon this time?’
