I look up in annoyance. The Bellingers are friends of my mother. Their daughter Sarah is a hugely successful lawyer and has a great big house in Chelsea or somewhere. She is also a lesbian. A well-adjusted lesbian with a long-term partner, two dogs, and lots of paintings by real artists, as opposed to framed prints. She?s far more sorted and successful than I could ever hope to be, but evidently my mother thinks otherwise.
?Mum, how could my situation possibly lead to me ending up like Sarah??
My mother looks at me as if I am mad.
?She could have had any number of young men, if she?d been more sensible.?
?Mum, she?s a lesbian. She doesn?t fancy men!?
?If you say so.? My mother turns back to her crossword.
So much for sensible advice. Draining my teacup, I decide to make my way home. I need to clear my head and decide what I want. David or Mike. Comfort and reliability or flirtation and uncertainty? I decide to write a list when I get home. A sort of pros and cons on both of them. Perhaps I could do a SWOT analysis. It?s something I learned from Nigel last year: you look at the strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats of a new product and assess whether it?s viable or not. I could do one on both of them and then I?ll have my answer!
My mobile rings. I look at the caller ID. Shit, it?s Mike, and I haven?t had time to do my analysis yet.
?Hello??
?Georgie Porgie Pudding and Pie, Kissed the Boys and made them??
?Mike! I thought I told you to call me next week??
?Ah yes, but that was before I found out that I have to go to Rome next weekend, and I thought you could come with me.?
Ohmygod. Breathe, Georgie, breathe.
?Rome, you say. Are you serious?? Immediately my mind starts racing. Rome, of all places. Already I?m seeing us kissing at the Coliseum, walking hand in hand down little cobbled streets. But then an image of David and me wandering round Rome hand in hand comes into my head. I couldn?t possibly go to Rome with Mike. I mean, I?ve promised David so many times we?d go together. And actually I want to go with David, I really do. It?s just that David never has the time. Two years of promises and we?ve never come close to actually going. Maybe, just maybe, fate is telling me that a trip to Rome with David isn?t in the cards. That I should go with Mike instead.
?Totally. Got to check out a new band and meet with some people. Look, we?ll be staying in a great hotel, we?ll have a cool time. Tell me you?ll come with me?it?ll be so much better if you?re there!?
Rome. I want to go there so much, but how could I go there with Mike when I?ve watchedRoman Holiday so many times with David? Actually I?ve always had a little suspicion that when David proposes to me it?s going to be in Rome. But to be honest I?ve sort of given up on the whole proposing thing, too. He hasn?t mentioned Rome for a while?even when we watchedRoman Holiday on Sunday he didn?t do his usual ?One day, my darling, I?m going to take you up those Spanish Steps, and show you how beautiful Rome is.? But obviously that doesn?t mean I should go with Mike. I mean, how dare he think that he can just ring up out of the blue and that I?ll just drop everything?
I?m going to say no. I?m going to tell him that I have plans.
?I?d love to.? Did I say that?
?You won?t regret it. Look, I?ll e-mail you the details, okay? We leave Friday evening. Bye!?
I?m grinning ear to ear. I know that I?m going to have a hard time explaining a weekend away to David. I know that I haven?t written up any pros and cons, and I know that I am a very bad person. But Rome with Mike! Italy! This is so exciting!
By the time I turn onto my street I?ve planned every minute of the weekend. I?ve allowed two hours for Mike?s meetings?very generous in my opinion?and decided where we?re going to go and exactly what I?m going to wear. It?s going to be the most amazing weekend ever.
As I approach my building I see someone standing outside the door. For a moment I think it?s Mike and my heart lurches with alarm. I know I?ve agreed to go to Rome with him, but somehow I don?t want to see him in the flesh just yet?it would make everything a bit too real. I have managed to justify the Rome trip to myself on the grounds that it is something completely unrelated to my normal life; I keep telling myself I can just go, have a lovely time, and then come back home as if it never happened. Just like Audrey Hepburn did. But I don?t want to see Mike, especially not here at my flat. I don?t want to really face the fact that I?m doing something very bad. I squint to see if it?s definitely Mike?if it is, I can always turn round. But my eyes pick out a more familiar figure . . . it?s not Mike. It?s David. He?s carrying groceries and reading theFT . Gorgeous, dependable David. My stomach is lurching again, but for very different reasons.
You?ve got to hand it to David. If we?re talking pros and cons, David?s got to be doing pretty well. He has brought food, and he is going to cook it himself, too.
I open the door and we go inside. David nearly knocks the curtain rail over.
?Must put that up,? he mutters as he walks into the kitchen. As he turns round to give me a kiss I notice a cut and a bruise on his cheek. He smiles sheepishly. ?Got hit by a squash ball this morning,? he explains.
He opens a bottle of wine and pours me a large glass.
?Ooh, that?s lovely.?
?It isn?t Bulgarian, I?m afraid,? David grins, ?but I believe that the French, too, produce a number of good wines.?
He turns round and starts unloading the shopping bags. Spaghetti, minced beef, tinned tomatoes, garlic, onions, basil, and oregano. I love the fact that David knows that I never have any food in my flat. He used to ask me things like ?Where do you keep the sun-dried tomatoes? or ?You don?t happen to have any capers, do you?? but now he always brings everything he needs when he?s cooking and I just watch in admiration as he turns ingredients into proper food without even using a ready-made sauce.
?The trick to a really good spag Bol is to leave it bubbling for a while,? David tells me as he starts to chop the onions. I sit down and slug wine as the kitchen warms up and David, wearing my floral Liberty apron, browns the beef. We are the picture of domestic bliss. I try to picture Mike doing the same thing, and can?t. Mike would never
