When In Rome... A Novel Of Passion And Piazzas

1 I have this little fantasy. I'm walking down the street, on my way somewhere really cool, when I see Mike out of the corner of my eye. I'm looking good; I've lost a few pounds and have just got back from somewhere exotic, so I've got a nice tan. I'm walking along hand in hand with Pierce Brosnan, or maybe Russell Croweyou know, so long as he keeps his temper under control. Or even Brad Pitt. I mean, I know he's married to Jennifer Aniston and everything, but I'd only be borrowing him. The point is that I'm with someone gorgeous, glamorous, and obviously besotted with me. Whereas Mike is on his own and looks really lonely. His horribly thin blond girlfriend has left him and he is looking terrible. I can tell just from looking that things are not going wellhe has lost his arrogant swagger and is sort of shuffling along the street. And when he claps eyes on me he suddenly sees how stupid he was to dump me. He immediately understands that things started going wrong from the moment we split up, and he realizes that he has never stopped loving me. He looks at me and smiles hopefully. Do I stop and talk to him? Do I, hell. I walk past, giving him a sympathetic smile as Pierce/Brad/Russell and I make our way to some glamorous party. That's the way it's meant to go. That's the way I've imagined it for the past two years. Unfortunately, life doesn't always go as planned. In reality, it's Sunday afternoon when I bump into Mike. A dreary, rainy Sunday afternoon, and David and I are on our way back from Homebase, the hardware store; my curtains have fallen down and David has offered to help me put up a new rail. We're walking along carrying this stupid iron rod thing and I'm not really looking at anything except my feet. So when a car slams to a halt next to us and drenches us with water, I go over to the driver's window and start shouting stuff about Sunday drivers and people not looking where they're going. I'm wet through and my new Jimmy Choos are ruined (I know I shouldn't have worn them, but I was watching old episodes of "Sex and the City" last night, and was inspired to turn a boring shopping trip into a glamorous expedition by wearing high, frivolous shoes). And then the car window comes down and a really sexy face looks up at me and says "Georgie?" I mean, I'm over Mike. I really am. And I'm also completely in love with my boyfriend, David. But that doesn't mean that I've forgotten that Mike dumped me by leaving a note on the kitchen table. That after two years of running around after him, he didn't even have the decency to say good-bye. Naturally, I think he's despicable. And I'm very pleased that he never got back in touch (not even to see how I was or anything), because I have absolutely nothing to say to him. It's just that I'd like to know, you know, that things have gone downhill since we broke up. That he can't believe how stupid he was to leave me. That he hugs his pillow at night, pretending that it's me. That he would do anything to get me back. Just so I can turn him down, you understand. The thing is, Mike's the sort of person people like me don't usually get to go out with. I mentioned Brad Pitt earlier, remember? Well, Mike's up there with him and Jude Law and Hugh Grant and Robbie Williams. He's drop-dead gorgeous. Everyone loves him. When you walk down the street with him people stare. And for two whole years he was going out with me. So there I am in the street, with hair stuck to my face, looking at Mike sitting in some amazing car, grinning. HTownley, Gemma is the author of 'When In Rome... A Novel Of Passion And Piazzas', published 2004 under ISBN 9780345467560 and ISBN 0345467566.