Rachel Does Rome (3 page)

‘What’s the plan, ladies?’ she asks. ‘It’s six-thirty now. Do we want to chill out
here for a bit, and get changed – or head out for a little drink on our private terrace?’

‘I could handle a drink on our private terrace,’ I say. ‘And then we could go on
somewhere else?’ I open up my
Time Out
guide and start reading out descriptions of bars nearby. I can see Maggie and Lily
exchanging glances.

‘Let me guess. Not spontaneous enough? You’d prefer to wander?’

They both nod mutely and I laugh. It’s a good thing that I don’t take offence easily.

Hearing a buzz, I reach for my phone and see that I have three messages welcoming
me to Movistar, and one from Oliver:
How is Roma? Hope it’s great. Just arriving in Bristol and heading out for some beers
with Laura and the others x.

Smiling, I tap out a quick reply to say that we arrived safely and that the hotel
is gorgeous. I’m surprised by his mention of beers: I hadn’t realised the Friday evening
was just social. But I suppose that’s the nature of conferences. Though I don’t really
see why ‘Laura’, his glamorous orthopaedic colleague, merits a special mention.

‘So are we going out-out now?’ asks Maggie. ‘Or are we just going out for a quick
snifter? If it’s a quick snifter I won’t get changed, but if we’re going out-out then
I’d like to get dressed up.’

It hadn’t occurred to me to dress up. I’m wearing my favourite V-necked black top,
a denim skirt and flat black boots; those will take me from day to night, as the magazines
say. But judging from Lily’s expression I can tell that for Maggie, it’s more of a
process.

‘Let’s say it’s a quick snifter for now,’ says Lily. ‘We can come back and get changed
if we want to.’

Lily and I brush our hair, Maggie makes some minute adjustments to her make-up and
then we go outside to the hotel’s terrace. We have a bird’s-eye view of the whole
piazza, lit up by the setting sun. On the other side, I can see a large complex of
buildings, which I think might be the Vatican. Oh God, I completely forgot the Vatican!
There’s so much to see it’s almost stressful. Then I think of how silly that is, and
start to laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’ asks Lily.

I rub my face. ‘I was feeling stressed out . . . about how much there is to see in
Rome. I know, I know. I’ve been working so hard, and I’m used to tackling everything
as if it’s a work project. I need help.’

‘That sounds like Paris Syndrome,’ says Maggie. ‘It mainly afflicts Japanese people
who come to Paris with massive expectations, and then they get overwhelmed and develop
culture shock. It can lead to palpitations, paranoia, even hallucinations.’

Lily hoots with laughter. ‘You’re making that up.’

‘No, really. I read about it in a psychiatric journal that my flatmate subscribes
to. But don’t worry, Rachel,’ she adds reassuringly, ‘you probably just need a holiday.’

We order three glasses of white wine, which arrive promptly – ice-cold, with a thoughtful
little bowl of nuts and pretzels. I thank the waiter, who answers, ‘
Prego
.’ Lovely.

‘To Rome,’ says Lily. ‘And to our “Roman Holiday”!’

We clink glasses and I sigh with happiness. This is the life. I don’t even need my
jacket!

‘Gosh, it’s nice ordering a glass of wine and not being ID’d,’ says Lily. ‘I was so
flattered at first but then I realised it happens to everyone, even if you’re fifty.
It’s a pain in the neck.’

‘How did you end up living in LA?’ I ask.

‘It was very random. My cousin lives there – I went out for her wedding last October,
and I got a job and never came back.’

‘It must be nice to have family there. What does your cousin do?’

‘She works in publishing. Her husband’s American too, he’s a film agent.’

‘Wait a minute. Is your cousin Alice Roberts?’

‘Yes she is! Do you know her?’

‘Yes – I’m a good friend of your other cousin, her sister, Erica. Do you know her
friend Poppy, as well? She’s a friend of mine.’

‘Yes! That’s amazing!’ Lily says, beaming at me and peering over her sunglasses.
‘Such a small world.’

‘It goes to show you, there are only ten people in London,’ says Maggie.

‘And they do the rest with CGI,’ says Lily.

The sun is properly setting now; the whole terrace is bathed in warm evening light
and the steps are filling up even more. I love the way people are strolling around,
chatting and forming different groups. It’s as if the whole square is a big sitting
room for Rome.

Beside us on the terrace are two very eye-catching women. They could be any age from
forty to eighty, and both are sporting pencil skirts, silk blouses and lots of jewellery.
One of them has dark hair in a beehive, with very red lipstick; the other has blond
hair, blow-dried in waves, with her eyebrows carefully pencilled in. It’s a lot of
look, as they say, but they look great.

‘I hope I look that good when I’m their age,’ Maggie murmurs.

‘I don’t look that good now,’ I say. The other two rush to contradict me, but I honestly
wasn’t fishing for compliments. I simply don’t think I’d ever be bothered to go to
the effort that those two women clearly have. I explain this to the girls, adding,
‘Seriously, some mornings I barely have time to brush my teeth. And I always end up
doing my make-up on the Tube. Don’t look like that, Maggie, I have a happy life really.’

We briefly discuss work and our commutes before the conversation turns to boys and
whether or not you should ask them out.

‘I admire people who can do it,’ says Maggie. ‘But I couldn’t. I would be too embarrassed.
I really feel for guys, I don’t know how they do it.’

‘Oh, I can do it all right,’ I say. ‘But I’ve never had good results from it. Either
you go out once and you never hear from them again, or else they say yes at first
and then they cancel. I’m equal opportunities in every other area, but not for asking
men out. It’s a waste of time.’

‘I’m a firm believer in “everything but”,’ says Lily.

‘What’s that?’ I ask, tickled. ‘It sounds like what the girls did at my convent school.’

‘It means that you can offer every encouragement short of asking a guy out,’ Lily
says. ‘You can drop massive hints, like “Oh, I’d love to see that film” or “I’d love
to try Burmese food” or whatever. You just can’t overtly ask them out. Well, you can,
but I agree that it doesn’t work.’

‘You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t ask him out,’ suggests Maggie.

‘Exactly,’ says Lily, and we all laugh.

‘Is anyone getting hungry?’ asks Maggie. ‘It might be nice to go and have some dinner
at some point.’

‘I could do with a snacketino,’ I agree. ‘A snacketito.’

‘Me too, but does that mean you’ll want to get changed?’ Lily asks Maggie sadly.
Which was exactly what I was thinking, but I haven’t known Maggie as long as Lily
has so I wouldn’t have had the nerve to ask.

We agree a strict time limit of twenty minutes to get changed; enough time for me
to change into jeans and put on my jacket – it’s getting a tiny bit chilly – and Lily
to put on some more eyeliner. Maggie puts on a very cute off-white dress with a low
neck that she wears with a denim jacket, cognac boots, and bare legs.

‘Oh no,’ says Lily. ‘You’ve raised the game! Now I look like a slob. I’m going to
change.’ And she swaps her white T-shirt for a tighter blue one, and her hoody for
a black-and-white striped blazer. So I decide to swap my flat boots for my ankle boots,
which have a low heel, and add some eyeliner as well.

‘I didn’t raise the game,’ Maggie protests, as we go down the stairs. ‘I didn’t even
change my make-up, just added lipstick.’

‘You’re a great one for doing all different kinds of make-up. I’ve done exactly the
same make-up every day since I was about twenty,’ I say. We walk through the lobby
and out into the Roman evening, which is full of an indefinable excitement that . . .
well, I can’t keep comparing it to Finchley Road but it is so different.

I suddenly realise that Maggie is looking at me in horror. ‘Have you really, Rachel?
Every single day? But . . . it’s not that you don’t look lovely, but . . . you’re
missing out on so much fun!’

‘I never thought of it like that,’ I admit. ‘I suppose I’ve found something that
works, so I don’t want to experiment in case it looks hideous.’

‘You could never look hideous,’ says Maggie. ‘But could I do your make-up while we’re
here? Please? It would be so much fun.’

‘You should let her,’ says Lily. ‘She’s good.’

We’re wandering through the big square now, looking at all the people sitting outside,
drinking, smoking, chatting. The other two girls are walking slowly; I keep on having
to slow down from my usual London pace. I’m always rushing somewhere – to work, from
work, to the gym. Sometimes – and I know this is bad – if I’m stuck behind someone
who’s walking very slowly, I secretly want to punch them in the back of the head.
God. What kind of a monster am I?

‘What about that place?’ says Lily, indicating a little restaurant tucked down a
side street, with an awning and ivy-covered walls.

‘Lovely,’ agrees Maggie.

I’m worried that we’re going to a random restaurant without even consulting a single
guidebook. What if it’s awful? But it’s too late now. The waiter makes a big fuss
of us, showing us to a table outside where we can watch the world go by. I also can’t
believe that it’s warm enough to sit outside, but it is.

We all order pizzas and Maggie and I order a carafe of red wine to share. Lily orders
a Coke with fresh lime juice, which she communicates to the waiter with the aid of
a dictionary app on her phone.

‘The hard stuff,’ says Maggie, sounding impressed. ‘I never drink Coke, only Diet.’

‘Cokes are so much nicer,’ says Lily. ‘Honestly, try it.’

We all take a sip and exclaim. The lime juice gives it the most incredible kick and
the Coke itself is delicious.

‘You’re right; it’s so much nicer than Diet,’ I say. ‘And with the lime! It’s fantastic.’
I decide I’m going to drink this from now on; to hell with the calories.

‘Jesse introduced me to it. He said he’d rather have a Coke once in a while than
Diet Cokes every day.’

‘Is Jesse your boyfriend?’ I ask.

She nods. ‘He lives in Colorado, and I’m in LA. We see each other every few weeks.’

‘He’s the whole reason she moved there!’ Maggie says, snapping a breadstick. ‘It
was a whirlwind romance; she went over for the wedding, met him and that was that.’

‘Jesse wasn’t the whole reason,’ Lily says with a frown. ‘I got a job, and I loved
it over there – I would have stayed even if it wasn’t for him.’

‘OK, Lil, I didn’t mean to grind your gears,’ says Maggie.

‘No, no, you didn’t,’ Lily says immediately. ‘Sorry.’ She sighs, and Maggie and I
exchange glances before changing the subject.

Maggie starts telling us about her forays into internet dating, which seem to be
going well; she’s got a date lined up already for next week.

‘He teaches disadvantaged kids and he’s got one blue and one green eye. Isn’t that
cool?’

‘Very cool,’ says Lily. ‘What’s the standard like generally? Are there lots of hotties
or is it slim pickings?’

‘A bit of everything really,’ says Maggie. ‘Loads of snowboarders, for some reason.
Half the guys have a picture of themselves holding a snowboard.’

‘What are the other half holding?’ Lily asks, and then goes into a fit of giggles,
which sets us all off. ‘Sorry. Very immature of me,’ she sighs.

Maggie continues, ‘And then about ninety per cent of them say they’re “passionate
about travelling”, which . . . meh.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ I ask.

‘Nothing. Except travelling is something you do for a few weeks a year at most. And
it seems sad if that’s what you’re passionate about, rather than anything in your
normal life.’ She starts laughing. ‘One guy I was emailing was the opposite, though.
He said he would only date someone who lived within walking distance. It turned out
that I was just outside his catchment area, so we never met up.’

‘So even if he met a kind, friendly, intelligent Brazilian supermodel who was an
amazing cook – she’d still have to be within walking distance? Men are so weird,’
I say.

Our pizzas have arrived; the thinnest, crispiest ones I’ve ever seen, blackened around
the edges. I’m having a pepperoni and mushroom one, which is what I always order.
And this is the best one I’ve ever had in my life. Maggie’s ordered a mushroom one,
and looks carefully – at Lily’s suggestion – to double-check that there’s no meat,
before tucking in.

‘Remember that school trip to Paris when you told them you were a vegetarian and
they gave you a salad with bacon?’ Lily says. ‘They couldn’t believe that was a problem.’

‘Were you two in school together? Is that how you know each other?’ I ask.

Lily shakes her head, her mouth full. Maggie says, ‘Next-door neighbours. This one
is three years younger than me anyway.’

‘But we’ve made the relationship work in spite of the age gap,’ Lily says.

‘We went to different schools as well,’ says Maggie. ‘Yours was definitely more fun,
or it sounded more fun. How about you, Rachel? Did you like school?’

‘I went to two secondary schools. Local school until I was sixteen, and then I went
to a posh hot-house school in Dublin. It was fine.’

I won a scholarship, but that’s not worth mentioning. In fact, those two years in
Dublin are not worth mentioning. I lived with my aunt; I had no friends, no social
life except my trips home to Celbridge every few months. I put my head down and studied
like a thing possessed. A girl who was in school with me came up to me, in my first
term in Trinity, and was complimenting me on how much weight I’d lost. In fact I was
still the same size ten I’d always been; I just spent the previous two years swathed
in tracksuits.

‘How about a quick nightcap before we go back to the hotel?’ Lily suggests, once
we’ve finished dinner and paid the bill.