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Japanese tourists, listening to a guide with an umbrella;
     American tourists, dressed in full hiking gear as if they’re about to climb the Matterhorn;
     and those three guys who are obviously English. One of them is wearing shorts; that’s
     the giveaway. The other two are in jeans and quilted navy jackets. Such clones. Jay
     had a jacket like that. In fact that one looks a bit like Jay. Same height, same blond
     hair, same Ryan Gosling-type profile –
    Oh God. It
is
Jay.
    ‘Shit.’ Stunned, I shrink down in my seat. ‘Guys – can we go? Now?’
    ‘What is it? Don’t tell me we’re hiding from your admirers as well,’ says Maggie.
    I’m about to explain, but it’s too late. Jay is looking straight in our direction,
     and now he’s seen me. He does a double take, and then smiles and leads his friends
     in our direction.
    ‘Rachel,’ he says, approaching our table. He doesn’t look or sound sleazy or smug
     or like a cheating bastard, as he should. He sounds nice, and normal – even a little
     embarrassed. ‘Small world! What brings you here?’
    Without meaning to, I’m standing up and actually receiving his kiss and hug. I don’t
     think he deserves a hug, but I also don’t want to look as if I’m sore and sulking.
    ‘I’m here for the weekend,’ I say. ‘Maggie and Lily, this is – Jay.’
    Jay introduces his friends: Henry, his blond clone, who looks posh and empty-headed,
     and Rob, the dark-haired one in shorts. We swap small talk about where we’re staying
     and for how long – the boys are in a nearby hotel until tomorrow evening, like us.
     I wonder if they’re other lawyers from his new firm. Jay and I used to work together,
     but he left last October – thank God.
    ‘Do you . . . sorry, I could be totally wrong,’ Rob says to Maggie, ‘but do you live
     in Fulham?’
    ‘I do! Why, do you?’
    ‘Yeah. I feel like I’ve seen you around. Do you go to the Nuffield gym?’
    ‘Yes, I used to! But I’ve joined a new one . . .’ They start swapping notes on Fulham
     gym facilities.
    ‘We should let you get on with your holiday,’ says Jay once they’ve finished their
     discussion of which place has the fluffiest towels and the cleanest machines. He adds,
     glancing at me, ‘Unless – where are you girls planning on going out tonight?’
    Maggie says, ‘We haven’t decided, do you have any tips?’
    ‘We heard about this – I suppose you’d call it a pop-up club, that’s happening in
     the gardens of the Villa Borghese. You need a password to get in.’
    ‘That sounds amazing,’ says Lily immediately.
    ‘I’m sure I could get you in, if you wanted,’ Jay says, looking at me enquiringly.
    I can’t help it; I
am
mildly flattered by this. And if he’s in Rome with the boys, on Valentine’s weekend,
     then he must have ended it with Tabitha or Tatiana or whatever her name was.
    But that’s irrelevant;
I’m
not single, and I’m not wasting an evening on Jay.
    ‘I’m not sure,’ I say. ‘We’ve got dinner plans with some other friends, and it might
     end up being a late one.’
    Jay seems to get the hint. ‘Of course,’ he says. ‘It was great bumping into you.
     And nice to meet you, Maggie – Lily.’ He has a great memory for names. He went to
     charming bastard school.
    As soon as they’re gone, the girls turn to me.
    ‘Who was that?’ Maggie asks. ‘His friend was cute! I think I have seen him in my
     gym. Or maybe in Waitrose. Nice legs.’
    For a minute I consider telling them the whole story. About how Jay and I were ‘together’
     – never boyfriend and girlfriend – in a gut-wrenching, on-and-off way for six months,
     until I found out he had an actual secret girlfriend. Which explained all the mystery
     illnesses, the weekends he ‘had to work’, and the real reason I couldn’t find him
     on Facebook.
    I should have keyed his car or something when I found out. But I didn’t want him
     to know how badly he’d hurt me, so to save face