Rachel Does Rome by Nicola Doherty Page B

this, or be able to find us a table or drinks so quickly. He probably wouldn’t
     get into a place like this. Whereas Jay . . . But I shelve that thought. Though I
     wish Oliver would
help
me shelve it, by texting me.
    The others are all chatting, about Rome and what a relief it is to finally see some
     sun.
    ‘This time next year, I’ve promised myself I’m going away somewhere in February,’
     Jay says. ‘To get some winter sun before I develop rickets.’
    ‘Oh my God,’ I say, unguardedly. ‘That’s exactly what I was thinking. Long-haul break
     to Bali or somewhere.’
    ‘Went there on my gap yah,’ says Henry. Lily, Maggie and I all exchange discreet
     glances and I can already predict this comment is going to join the quotable quotes
     of the weekend.
    ‘Hate to tell you, mate,’ says Jay, ‘but Bali is over now. You know that book, what’s
     it called . . .
Dance Pray Sing
?
Pasta Pizza Pilgrims
? Help me out . . .’ He clicks his fingers, pretending to be at a loss.
    ‘
Eat Pray Love
!’ we all chorus, laughing at him.
    ‘That’s the one. Ever since she wrote about the hippie town of Ubud, it’s been swamped
     with Americans finding themselves. There’s even a Starbucks now.’
    ‘How awful,’ I say, genuinely relieved that I’ve heard this before booking my own
     flight.
    ‘The place to go now is Lombok,’ says Jay.
    ‘Isn’t that a furniture shop on Tottenham Court Road?’ says Lily.
    ‘Yes! But it’s also an Indonesian island,’ says Jay.
    I’m pleased to see that though he smiled at Lily’s wisecrack, he’s not drooling or
     staring at her; he’s directing all his comments at me. I’ve demonised him so much
     over the past six months I’ve forgotten how nice he can be. He’s sharp and sophisticated,
     but he doesn’t take himself too seriously. We don’t talk about anything heavy, the
     way I do with Oliver. We discuss restaurants, holidays, even clothes – it turns out
     he went shopping today.
    ‘Did some serious damage at Diesel. Great dress, by the way,’ he adds, eyeing my
     outfit. When I tell him I got it here in Rome, he says, ‘I can tell.’
    Meanwhile, Maggie is chatting away to Rob, and poor Lily is stuck with Henry, who’s
     boring on about his boss, of all things.
    ‘He’s got a good brain on his shoulders,’ I hear him say. Lily has an ‘I’m fascinated,
     tell me more’ expression on her face, but I can tell she’s bored out of her mind.
     I should rescue her, but I am enjoying talking to Jay. I can’t help it.
    ‘You know where I haven’t been back to in ages, though?’ Jay asks me. ‘Floridita.’
    I smile. Floridita was where we had our first ever date. Although . . . it’s also
     where I went to have a meltdown, after I found out he was cheating on me. I thought
     he said he wanted to talk to me about all that? I’m trying to think of a casual way
     to bring the topic up, when the music changes to ‘Mambo Number 5’ by Lou Bega.
    ‘Come on!’ says Lily, jumping up and away from Henry. ‘Let’s dance!’
    We walk down the steps of the amphitheatre and squeeze ourselves on to the dance
     floor, which is now even more jumping; people are crowded above us on the steps, grooving
     and gyrating or just strutting, catwalk-style. The other boys are doing a very typical
     restrained boy-dance, where only their bottom halves are moving. But Jay can really
     dance, and he’s totally unselfconscious, whirling and twirling me around expertly.
     And I’m having the time of my life, jiving back and forth with him. There’s nothing
     inappropriate about it; we’re dancing together. That’s what people do! It’s social,
     like tennis.
    ‘Come on,’ he says, when the music changes. ‘Let’s get you another drink.’
    I’m not sure if I should be leaving the other girls, but I suppose he wants the opportunity
     to apologise properly, so I agree. We fight our way away from the dance floor, Jay
     quickly gets us drinks – I ask