Gemma Townley - When in Rome...

I don’t know how much Mike knows—it depends how much Vanessa has pieced together really.

To be honest, I was hoping that he’d have been arrested or something by now, but it seems he’s still very much around. At least he won’t be able to go to Spain and David will be okay. I just never want to see him again.

I open a bottle of red, and notice that it’s Bulgarian. I can’t help checking the vintage to see if it’s a 1999. I realize that I have never asked David whether he made that whole thing up about the Bulgarian wine to save me, or whether it’s really true. I wonder if I’ll get the chance to ask him.

The phone rings, startling me. I’m tempted to answer—what if it’s David—but decide that it’s more likely to be Mike, and leave it to be answered by the machine. Sure enough, Mike’s voice soon comes ringing out of my answerphone. He’s trying to sound all friendly, but I can hear the bitterness in his voice. “Georgie, if you’re there, please answer the phone. I didn’t get that package you were sending me. You know I’m relying on you, don’t you? Look, give me a call, okay?”

I decide enough is enough and pull the telephone out of its socket. Then I turn off my mobile for good measure. Frankly, they can all go hang, I decide. What I want right now is a nice hot bath.

I wake up to a loud ringing noise. I open my eyes slowly and try to get my bearings. Okay, so I’m not in my bed, I’m in a lukewarm bath and my skin is all wrinkly. As for the noise, well, obviously that’s the doorbell. Dammit, can’t a girl get just a little peace and quiet?

I stagger to my feet and my head starts throbbing as I pull on a robe. That’ll teach me to drink gin and wine in the same evening. What was I thinking?

The door buzzes again and I hear Mike’s voice call my name. Anger wells up inside me—just who the hell does he think he is? Without thinking, I pick up the intercom. “Sod off and leave me alone,” I say loudly. “Just leave me bloody well alone. You are a pathetic bastard.”

I want to add “and me and Candy both hate you, so there,” but figure that I don’t really want to sound like a fifteen-year-old.

“Georgie. Where’s the fucking disk, Georgie?”

Mike’s voice is slurring—evidently he’s been drinking too. He’s also shouting, all his sentences peppered with expletives. I’m not usually too worried about what my neighbors think of me, but I’m going to have to lay low for a while after this.

Mike moves away from the intercom. “Open the fucking door,” he shouts.

I run to the window and open it wide. Looking down I can see Mike two floors below, sitting on the pavement, a bottle in his hand.

“They’re all wankers, Georgie, you know that don’t you. You think you can trust someone, and what do they do? Take your passport, that’s what. She took my fucking passport!” He starts to laugh maniacally.

“Mike, just go away, will you? I don’t want to see you again. Ever.”

I start to put the window down again but am jolted by the noise of glass smashing. Mike has thrown his bottle against the wall.

“Fine. You don’t want to give me the disk? I’m going to come up and get it.”

He starts making an attempt to climb the wall up to my flat. I grab a large ceramic vase my mother gave me for Christmas last year in case I need something to defend myself. Okay, so a ceramic vase may not be the most fearsome of weapons, but there’s nothing else at hand.

“You do know how much I hate you, don’t you?” I shout down at Mike as he feebly attempts to climb up the drainpipe leading up to my window. “You are the most pathetic creature that ever lived. I know all about you stealing money from people, and about Vanessa, too. You even got me to carry your money in through customs for you, you total bastard.”

Mike’s attempts to climb the wall are coming to nothing. He jumps up several times and clings on to the drainpipe only to slide straight down again.

“Oh come on, you’d have done anything to get in my trousers,” he shouts, giving up on the climb. “You’ve never stopped fancying me, have you? Never got over the fact that I just couldn’t give a fuck, did you? Well, I hope you’re happy with David. Boring bastard David who wouldn’t know how to seduce a fucking prostitute.”

I throw the ceramic vase down toward Mike. Not near enough to hit him, but near enough to make myself feel a bit better.

“David, boring?” I shout. “Mike, you obviously have no idea how utterly sleep inducing you are. And if you think that I fancy you, well, you can bloody well think again. Why do you think I faked feeling sick in Rome? It was so I didn’t have to kiss you, let alone sleep with you, you pathetic shit!”

I am getting into my stride with this insult hurling, and look around for another object to throw out of the window.

Mike looks very agitated. “Are you fucking throwing things at me? You don’t want to throw things at me, Georgie.” His voice is menacing now. “Bad things happen to people who really piss me off. The prick who nicked my Zip disk for instance—know what happened to him? No, well, you wouldn’t, would you. But he won’t be bothering me or anyone else again. Got friends, you see. Theydeal with things like that.” Mike has given up attempting to climb up the drainpipe and has sat back down on the pavement again.

“You mean your Italian friends?” I say sarcastically, picking up a bowl full of potpourri.

“Family,” Mike corrects me. “Italianfamily .” He laughs. “Now, let me into your flat or I am going to break your fucking door down . . .”

But before he can finish his sentence, we are both blinded by lights. I put my hands over my eyes, and as they adjust to the brightness I see ten, maybe twelve men in police uniform appear out of nowhere and surround Mike. He tries to kick out at one of them but fails miserably and is led away into one of three black cars that I hadn’t even noticed were there. A young man looks up at me.

“Sorry to trouble you like this. There won’t be any more bother this evening,” he says brightly, then nods and gets into one of the cars.

I stand at the window, dazed, and watch the cars drive off. Were the police there all the time?

How did they know Mike was here? God, what did they hear me say?

Within a few minutes the road is quiet again. I would think that I’d imagined the whole thing if it wasn’t for the smashed bottle and the broken ceramic vase, which I’m now going to have to replace so that my mother doesn’t give me a lecture about being clumsy. But just as I’m about to shut the window, I hear a noise below. I look down and my heart skips a beat when I see that it’s David approaching.

He stops a few yards away from my front door and surveys the scene. He looks at the broken vase and the smashed bottle, then slowly looks up to my window. Our eyes meet and we stare at each other for a moment or two. I can hear a cat yowl in the distance, but otherwise there is complete silence.

“Thank you,” he says. “For the disk. For getting it back.”

“You’re welcome,” I reply. It’s a cool, still night, but I can feel that my face is red and hot. I want to ask David up, but something stops me. I feel awkward, like someone at the end of a first date, not sure whether the other person really likes them or not.

“They got Mike then,” I say, not sure whether or not this will be news to David.

He nods.

“And Vanessa?”

“Oh yes,” says David. “We had serious doubts about Vanessa and were waiting for her to trip up. Quite tidy, the way it all finished.”

“Is that . . . is that why you didn’t want to introduce us in Rome?” I ask tentatively.

“Exactly,” says David, and then there is silence again.