Free When in Rome... by Gemma Townley Page B

Good question.
    “He’s just been in touch, that’s all.”
    “I see. And does David know?”
    “Not really. I mean, you know, it’s not really important.”
    “If this is the level of your conversational skill, darling, I’m not surprised you don’t have any friends. Really, you are barely stringing sentences together.”
    Don’t have any friends? I come and see my mother, taking time out of my busy day to spend time with her, and she starts jumping to conclusions about the number of friends I have. No wonder I don’t come here more often.
    “I do have a wide social circle, actually,” I say, trying to convince myself as much as anything. I can’t help wondering why I have resorted to spending Saturday afternoon with my mother.
    “It’s just that Candy’s pregnant and she’s all emotional so she went home early,” I continue. “Anyway, the point is I bumped into him. Mike, I mean. And he’s finally got himself together, you know, he’s actually successful and running a proper business and stuff. And he’s been e-mailing me, we had lunch, we . . .”
    “Yes . . . ?” My mother is doing a crossword. Will no one listen to me?
    “Mum, do you think David was a rebound? Do you think that I could still be in love with Mike? I never thought we could really be serious before, but he’s really changed and I think he wants me back. Mum, I don’t know what to do.”
    As I listen to myself I am surprised by my words. Am I really saying that I’m still in love with Mike after all this time? And that lovely, sweet David was just a rebound? Do I seriously think Mike is trying to get me back rather than just indulging in some innocent flirting? And more to the point, am I actually considering it as an option? These thoughts may have been vaguely circling around my mind for the past week, but I certainly haven’t admitted as much even to myself. I thought I just wanted to brag a bit about having a gorgeous man chasing me around. But I now realize that the situation is far more serious. And I have no idea what to do.
    I fold my arms on the table and rest my head on them.
    “Six months ago you were telling me that you wanted to marry David.”
    “I know, I know. I do, I mean I would. He hasn’t asked or anything. At least, I think I would. I just don’t know anymore.”
    “Darling, has anything actually happened yet?” My mother puts her newspaper down. At last, a proper audience.
    “No. Apart from, you know, a bit of flirting. But he’s really been pursuing me. And he’s actually got a proper business that’s doing really well. And these girls were talking in the loo about him being serious about me when I hadn’t seen him for ages. But obviously I’m with David so . . .”
    “So, what? Why are you with David?”
    Why am I with David? Why does my mother ask such silly questions?
    “Because I am. Because I love him. Because he’s, well, just because,” I reply hotly.
    “Eloquent as always, darling,” says my mother, folding up her newspaper. “Look, it’s really very simple. If you love David, then that’s all there is to it. You wave good-bye to Michael and wish him well. If, on the other hand, David is just a stopgap, a poor man who happened to be there at the right time—or, rather, the wrong time, as far as he is concerned—then you need to tell him before you take things with Michael any further.” My mother doesn’t like shortening names. If Candy ever asked to speak to “George” on the phone when I was younger, my mother would reply that no one of that name lived in her house. And I’m sure she warmed to David more when he confirmed that he hated being called Dave.
    “You can’t have both,” continues my mother. “And don’t always think that the grass is greener.”
    “That’s a bit rich,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
    Mum stares at me and her eyes narrow.
    “We all make mistakes,” she says quietly. “That doesn’t mean we advise others to. And anyway, whatever I may or may not have done, I have never cheated on anyone. I make my choices