Free Rachel Does Rome by Nicola Doherty Page A

and earlier-rising than us.
    ‘So where are we going on our next trip?’ asks Maggie.
    ‘I won’t be able to come – I’ll be in the States,’ says Lily sadly.
    ‘But not forever,’ says Maggie. ‘Or maybe we’ll come and visit you there?’
    ‘Yes! Please come!’ Lily says, practically jumping up and down with excitement. ‘Come
     to LA – or we could all meet up in New York?’
    Suddenly an angry head is poked out of one of the doors, into the corridor. ‘People
     are trying to sleep!’ it hisses.
    ‘Sorry!’ we all whisper. The door closes and we all start giggling, but quietly,
     and say goodnight in stage whispers.
    The next morning, we have a very late and leisurely breakfast in the same café as
     yesterday – I’m fairly sure Jay won’t reappear, and even if he does I genuinely don’t
     care. My head is sore, though: I must have been much drunker than I thought last night.
     Lily and I have our usual cappuccinos and croissants. Maggie asks for boiling water,
     a tea bag and two cups, and finally assembles a satisfactory cup of tea for herself.
    ‘Yay,’ she murmurs, as she adds milk. We all applaud.
    ‘Hey, I just realised something,’ I say. ‘Today is Valentine’s Day.’
    ‘Oh yeah,’ says Lily, yawning. ‘Happy V-Day.’
    ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, girls,’ says Maggie, clinking her teacup against my coffee
     cup.
    ‘Hey, Rachel,’ says Lily, looking at me over her sunglasses. ‘I have a question.’
    ‘What?’ I ask, hoping she’s not going to bring up Oliver.
    ‘Where’s the other Picasso?’ Lily says, and creases up with laughter.
    ‘Lily, I hope you study every drug you take . . . verrry carefully,’ says Maggie.
    We take a last walk around, do some window-shopping and Maggie buys a scarf. All
     too soon, it’s time to go back to the hotel and pack and then queue for the airport
     bus. On the bus, we swap reminiscences about the weekend: the cellar bar, meeting
     Joe and Carter DeWinter, our epic lunch at the Campo di Fiori, the photo-shoot, the
     crazy amphitheatre club, me pushing Jay into the hot tub . . . and our ride home with
     the Charlie’s Angels, and dancing to Destiny’s Child in that sweaty little bar. We
     packed in much more than I thought.
    ‘Though I never did see the Coliseum,’ I add.
    ‘And I never did go for a jog,’ says Maggie.
    ‘I rode on a Vespa,’ Lily says happily.
    We all fall asleep on the plane. Maggie’s copy of
One Hundred Years of Solitude
drops under the seat in front of us and has to be rescued by Lily.
    ‘You’d better have finished that by the next time I visit,’ Lily says, handing it
     to her. ‘Or start a new one. Life’s too short.’
    She’s totally right; life is too short. There and then, I make a decision. I’m not
     going to stay mute and hide my feelings with Oliver, the way I did with Jay. I’m going
     to tell him I’m annoyed that he hasn’t been in touch all weekend. Not in an angry,
     needy way; in an open, level and sensible way. We’re grown-ups. It’s time.
    Finally we land and deplane, and it’s time to say goodbye – Maggie is going west,
     Lily is heading south to her dad’s place, and I’m going north to Finchley Road.
    ‘Thanks, girls,’ I say, hugging them both. ‘It was a great weekend.’
    ‘I’ll find you on Facebook,’ says Lily. ‘And I’ll send you my email address, and
     my phone number in the States. Are you on Skype?’
    ‘Let’s get together soon,’ says Maggie. ‘And good luck with, you know, everything.’
    She means Oliver. I smile, but as I sit on the bus home from Stansted airport, I’m
     feeling more and more worried about everything. Oliver and I have never been out of
     touch for this long. By the time I arrive at Finchley Road, I’m thinking: What if
     he breaks up with me, the way Jay did? I don’t think I can handle another fracture
     of the heart. The weather is adding insult to injury: it’s dark and freezing all over
     again, as if we’ve