When in Rome... Read Online Free PDF

Mike pours me a second glass. By the time the main course arrives with another bottle of bubbly I’m pretty drunk, and am happy to sit and listen to Mike tell me about his grand plans for world domination. Or London domination at any rate.
    “I’m going to have my bands playing at every venue. Record shops are going to be full of their albums. I’m going to be on the cover ofMixmag ,Mojo ,NME . . .”
    It’s impressive, it really is. I mean, he is so enthusiastic about what he’s doing. I’m just about to tell him how pleased I am that he’s doing so well when his hand swoops down and grabs mine.
    “Georgie, I’ve missed talking to you, y’know?”
    I look at his hand. I wish someone was here to witness this. Like his bitch girlfriend or someone who will tell her. I’m not a horrible person, but having Mike put his hand on mine like that in public is quite satisfying. I notice the girl a few tables away looking at us and I shoot her a triumphant look.
    “Really? Don’t you talk to your girlfriend?”
    Mike pauses. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he says, looking at me intensely. “No one else has ever been like you.”
    Not like me how, I want to ask. Not like me because they are all stupid and ugly and crap in bed, or not like me because they aren’t total suckers who need two glasses of champagne to forget just how callous you can be?
    “I’d like to see you more.” He’s stroking my hand now. I shouldn’t have got drunk. I’m enjoying this and I came here to remind Mike just what he’s missing out on, not to let him think he can get it back whenever he wants. Think of David, I tell myself. Think of the note Mike left on the table. Think how he never even called.
    “Well, I’m sure that can be arranged.” I didn’t mean to say that.
    I look down at his hand. His tanned, soft hand. I’m just about to start stroking it when I notice his watch. Oh my God, it’s already two-thirty! I meant to be back at work half an hour ago!
    “Look, I’ve got to go.” I stand up hurriedly.
    “Really? You don’t have to go right away, do you?”
    “Yes, yes,” I say irritably, pulling on my coat. Nigel is going to completely freak.
    I leave. But not before giving Mike my mobile number. Just in case.
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    I get back to the office, aware that I’m just a teeny-weeny bit drunk. I gear myself up for a huge confrontation with Nigel—“You know what hospitals are like . . . I was waiting for two whole hours . . .”—but to my huge relief he isn’t at his desk. According to Denise he’s in a meeting with Guy.
    I flick on my computer and go straight to e-mail. I have five new messages.
    DAVID BRADLEY: Hi darling. Fancy an Italian tonight? Failing that, what about an Englishman?! See you later? David x
    ANDREW KNIGHT: TO ALL AT LEARY: Can the person who keeps using my mugs and not washing them up please refrain from doing so? I believe I am the only Southampton supporter in the company and have two mugs in club colors. One is in the sink, dirty, and the other has disappeared. Please, GET YOUR OWN MUG!
    I gaze across my desk and alight upon a red mug hidden under a pile of papers. I guiltily realize that it is indeed a Southampton mug. Next to it is a white mug with what appears to be a picture of a fluffy giraffe on it, under which is a message. I can only pick out the wordsfluffles andlove , but I’m realizing it is probably the prize possession of someone else in the office. Not that I want to know that someone I work with is known as “fluffles” at home, but still. I resolve to be a better person in the future.
    CANDIDA CRANLEY-JONES: Georgie, Mike said he bumped into you and you were looking great—I realized we haven’t seen each other for months and months, let’s catch up soon? I’m having the flat redecorated next week and am going to be at a loose end, so do you fancy doing something nice? I hate all my clothes at the moment, so maybe we could go