But First, Pizza #2
‘Is this even real?’ she marvelled. ‘It’s like a film set or something.’
She twirled around slowly, allowing her gaze to fall upon restaurants and cafes packed with diners enjoying pasta and people-watching, while street performers entertained and traders threw brightly coloured balls in the air and people took selfies to send to family and friends around the globe.
Thousands of livingmybestlife hashtags winging their way out of an ancient Roman square and into the metaverse.
‘And look! The restaurant is still here!’
Maggie was jubilant. It was several years since she’d been to Piazza Navona.
She couldn’t remember when, exactly. It had been with George; he’d got her a cheap midweek flight, and they’d spent a whirlwind twenty-four hours soaking up the sights and as much art as they could consume.
It was all a bit of a blur, thanks mostly to George’s love of red wine – he kept ordering bottles of Montepulciano – but she did remember the pizza.
Did that make her a philistine? Forgetting the baroque masterpieces but still savouring the memory of the salty anchovies of her pizza di Napoli.
‘Can we get a table? It looks totally full,’ asked Flick dubiously, following her now as she set off across the cobbles to the row of red-and-white-checked tablecloths.
‘Let’s ask, you never know. Scusi?’
Maggie tried to catch the eye of the waiter, but he was flitting between tables in his salmon-pink waistcoat, and for a few moments she stood at the sidelines, ignored and invisible.
‘Excuse me?’
As luck would have it, she was with a twenty-six-year-old and as Flick spoke and stepped forward, the waiter’s eye was caught and he came over, fluttering and preening like a flamingo, two menus flapping like wings, instantly finding them the best seats in the house: a table overlooking the piazza.
Whilst also trying to flirt with Flick, who either chose to ignore him or didn’t notice.
Probably the latter, thought Maggie, as they ordered the ubiquitous Aperol spritz and olives. Who notices male attention when you’re that age? It’s just the norm. Meanwhile, sitting across from Flick, she felt like an elderly spinster on the grand tour of Europe with her young charge.
‘The waiter was cute,’ she prompted.
‘Was he?’ Flick peered at her phone.
Maggie gave up and turned to the menu. ‘What do you fancy?’
‘Not the waiter.’
She glanced up with a mischievous grin and Maggie laughed.
‘So you did notice?’
‘I couldn’t help it.’ Flick pulled a face and reached for her menu.
‘Trust me, you’ll miss that attention when you get to my age.’
‘You get attention.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘That man over there.’ Behind her menu, she made a gesture with her eyes. ‘He’s been staring at you ever since you sat down.’
‘Who?’
‘Don’t look.’
So of course Maggie did exactly that and turned to look.
To see a man a few tables away sitting by himself with a glass of wine and a book, which he appeared to now be reading.
Until he suddenly glanced up, in that way people do when they can feel someone looking at them, and caught them both staring at him.
‘Oh shit, he wasn’t staring; we were staring.’
Maggie turned away quickly, embarrassed.
‘He looked at you,’ said Flick.
‘He was probably looking at you.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s old enough to be my dad.’
‘And?’
They were interrupted as the flirtatious waiter returned with their drinks and took their pizza orders. ‘I can’t believe he’s reading a book.’
‘Some people do actually read books, you know,’ said Maggie. ‘Not everyone wants to be glued to a phone,’ she added, as Flick’s lit up and started vibrating on the table.
A few seconds passed.
‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ asked Maggie.
‘It’s Rory. He wants to speak to me.’
‘And you don’t want to?’
‘He’s furious I lied about the work conference. He wants me to get on the first flight home.’
‘Well, that’s to be expected.’
‘I tried to explain. I told him about you and Theo Stratin and the whole romance fraud, but he says I’m being ridiculous. That I’ve made him a laughing stock amongst all our friends. Which frankly is him being ridiculous as I said it’s got nothing to do with him,’ she added with annoyance.
‘That’s probably the problem.’
Flick looked blank.
‘Look, I don’t know Rory, but in my experience men like it to be about them.’
‘But it’s not.’
‘Exactly.’
Flick sighed and rubbed her forehead. ‘So, what am I supposed to do?’
‘You’re asking advice from me?’ Maggie gave a wry smile. ‘I’m hardly the person to be giving out advice about romantic relationships.’
‘I’ve said I’m sorry. I’ve apologized.’
‘Well, then, that’s all you can do.’ Maggie shrugged. ‘Try not to worry. These things have a habit of working themselves out.’
Flick nodded and stabbed her ice cubes. Several texts popped up on her phone. She read them and chewed her lip, looking troubled.
‘What if they don’t?’
‘You’ll be fine.’
‘I love Rory, you know.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
They both sipped their drinks, but Maggie could feel the tension.
‘How did you meet?’ she asked, trying to dissipate it.
Flick shrugged. ‘I’ve known him for ever.
We were friends a long time before we ever got together.
He was in the year above me at school. He’s always been there, you know?
Solid. Like part of the landscape . . .’ Flick chewed her straw thoughtfully.
At least it was paper not plastic, so there were some things to be happy about.
‘I went away to uni and we lost touch for a few years, but when I came home and moved back above the pub, we started up where we left off. He’d come into the pub with his friends, but I think half the time he hung around ’cos he wanted to talk to me—’ She broke off.
‘God, does that make me sound like I’ve got a big head or something? ’
‘No, of course not.’
‘And when Mum got sick, he was so good, really kind. My stepdad Colin loves him. Everyone loves him.’
‘Including you,’ added Maggie.
‘Yeah, including me.’ She nodded, and finished up her drink, sucking it up loudly through the straw as the pizzas arrived, hot and steaming with melted cheese and cracked pepper from the biggest pepper grinder Flick had ever seen.
And between delicious mouthfuls, they talked about their plans for tomorrow, before tiredness caught up with them both and, stifling yawns, they headed back to the hotel to get an early night. Where the conversation about Rory was forgotten, along with the waiter and the stranger with his book.
Well. Not quite.
At 2 a.m. Maggie woke, unable to sleep, and gazed up at the shaft of moonlight on the ceiling.
Worried and anxious about the day ahead, about what was going to unfold, she let her mind return to the restaurant.
As they left, she’d glanced back at the exact moment the stranger had looked up from his book and they’d both caught each other’s eye and smiled.
It was nothing, just a casual, friendly smile.
But for the briefest of moments, after the longest time, a tiny bit of her felt seen again.