We slide in to a low-lit booth by the front window. There’s an Aladdin’s-cave-like quality to this traditional trattoria, cosy and intimate with jars of decorative oils, nests of dried pastas and long, red hot peppers preserved in glass bottles. The walls are covered in an eclectic mix of landscape paintings and mirrors with a distinctive Sicilian feel, wild and rustic with muted earthen colours in the stonework. It’s gorgeous. I wish the owner every success; this place is a gem. It smells of onion and garlic and freshly baked bread and melting cheese. I love the informality of it: waiters and waitresses rushing by in aprons with pads and pens sticking out of their pockets, customers straight from work, swivelling on stools, murmuring and talking and laughing and slurping their forkfuls of spaghetti.

‘Peroni?’ Ben asks, snapping me out of my own thoughts.

I nod. ‘You’ve got a good memory.’

He tries to catch my eye, but I’m afraid of what I’m going to find there. This is weird. It’s me and Ben, alone again, having a drink and eyeing up the food on everyone else’s plates. This is who we were, how we used to spend our time. But I don’t know who we are now, so I smile curtly and continue my inspection of the tables covered in paper cloths and the steaming trays of little plates weaving their way past us. It all looks and smells so good. Why have I never been here before?

Ben orders our drinks and once the waiter leaves we both simultaneously reach for the tall card menu in the middle of the table like two kids playing snap.

I ball my fists and hold them in the air in defeat. ‘Go for it, don’t mind me. Force of habit.’

A smile rises in the corner of his mouth. Then Ben gets up from his seat at the opposite side of the table and slides into the seat beside me, opening the menu up in full view for both of us to read together.

‘Just like old times, eh?’ he asks, again giving me a side glance that I refuse to meet.

I can’t trust myself. If I meet his eyes there is every chance that I will give everything away: how much I’ve missed him, how un-over him I am, how badly I’ve been doing since we split.

I take a deep breath and keep trailing my finger down the menu.

‘You very hungry?’ he asks me.

Oh he knows my bloody weak spots. At this, I can’t help but give him a look as if to ask if the Pope’s Catholic.

‘Maybe we should just order a few things. Research, just a few bites to wake up those taste buds,’ I tell him.

He nods excitedly. ‘It would be rude not to! This place is famous for their antipasto. And the way this cold beer is going down after the day we’ve had, I could destroy this entire menu without coming up for air.’

I love this about Ben. He’s always ready to eat! I start throwing out some suggestions. ‘We’ll get the platter, right? Artichoke hearts, black mission figs, cherry peppers. Some meat, cheese.’ I know that should be enough, but our fingers are still skidding across the menu card. I pause. ‘Oh, we’ve got to. Shrimp romesco, I want to see how they do that.’

Ben flashes a thumbs up and moves over to the top of the next page, tapping the first item. ‘Breaded courgette blossoms with goat’s cheese. Deep-fried.’

‘No-brainer,’ I say, rubbing my hands together; this is going to be amazing. ‘Right just one more thing each, I’ll count to three and we’ll both say our choices out loud and then we’ll stop, we’ll just shut the menu. Okay?’

Ben nods, and I count down on my fingers. Three, two, one…

‘Lemon and black pepper calamari,’ we both say at the same time. I try not to look freaked out. Like the Venn diagram of me and Ben isn’t like two circles placed one on top of each other.

‘Sounds perfect, you’re on,’ he smiles. ‘But make sure we order two, can’t have you pulling your little stunts, because I’m telling you now, I am not sharing the calamari…’

‘What little stunts?’ I gasp in mock offence.

‘Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about, Katie. Claiming you just want to try a mouthful and then eating the whole lot. You may look like the high-end gourmet, but remember I know all your secrets.’

I pick at the label on my beer bottle as a jolt hits me.

Ben’s wrong. He only thinks he knows all my secrets. He used to know all my secrets. But so much has happened since the time we shared a life, a bed, since we thought we shared a future. We are two different people now. No doubt with a whole host of new secrets.

---

The food comes and it is glorious. With every bite we are groaning and yelping and licking our fingers and shaking our stuffed squirrel cheeks with delight. This place is amazing: my new favourite. I’ve already had so many ideas just being here. And Ben was right. I’m really glad I got my own calamari; there isn’t a crumb left.

Ben stabs a bite of the melted goat’s cheese from the platter with his fork and raises it to my lips. ‘This! Just taste this. I mean, the balance of sweet and salty is pitch perfect…’ He puckers his lips to kiss the air.

Without a second thought, I lean in and bite it off his fork.

He turns to me and for a moment our eyes are locked, and it’s like we have never been apart. I nod my head and let myself hold his gaze.

‘What do you think?’ he asks.

‘I love it,’ I tell him.

And then I pick up my spoon and dip it into the romesco sauce. I raise it to his lips and he opens his mouth. In that second everything feels right, and I imagine myself leaning in and passing my lips against his. I think about my hand following the gorgeous curve of his face and sliding my fingers across his skin, his cheek and into his soft dark hair.

Oh Ben… He squeezes his eyes closed as he swallows, and I watch the rise and fall of his Adams’s apple as the mouthful slides its way down his throat.

‘Sensational,’ he says finally, his eyes bright and wide and the same deep brown colour as melted chocolate.

‘Sensational,’ I echo. If only you knew.

He looks up to the ceiling shaking his head as if he’s posed himself a question that he can’t answer. ‘It’s been such a long time since I’ve done something like this. Francesca doesn’t really… How can I say this? She’s a picky eater. An extremely picky eater. She wouldn’t really like the scene in here, you know, bit too loud, too casual.’

I raise my eyebrow. ‘Francesca?’

He nods, biting down on his lip. ‘Francesca, she’s my girlfriend. She works on the ship too, in the casino. She’s great, very supportive, ambitious. We’ve been together quite a while. About six months now I’d say.’

‘Right.’ I try to smile and not dissolve all at once, distracting myself by taking the neck of my bottle to my lips.

‘So when this opportunity came up, it made sense, you know?’

I drink my beer and nod and squint my eyes like I can empathise with every single word and mumble ‘absolutely’ at least three times.

‘How about you? You seeing anyone?’ Ben asks me.

I shake my head. ‘No. Not at the moment. Not since— Not for a long, long time. You know me. Work, work, work.’

A silence swirls between us. I hate the feel of it, heavy and electric. I take deep breath, conscious that I’ve ripped the beermat in front of me. I need to break the tension; we’re just two old friends having a drink, no need for things to be so solemn and serious.

‘I’m really glad, Ben. Truly. I’m really glad that it all worked out for you. The ship, and all that travel, a serious girlfriend, that’s a great life and you deserve it.’ I raise my bottle to toast. ‘To the future, right?’

He clinks his bottle against mine. ‘To the future.’

Our chat drifts back to the food and then about our families, about Octavia and Pip and Jean-Michel, what he’s really like, what he’s really after.

‘Another drink?’ Ben asks as he finishes his own.

I shake my head and go to look to my wrist out of habit. My bare wrist. A sad look clouds Ben’s face as he registers that I’m not wearing my watch anymore. I twist my wrist and start making my excuses to leave, eyeing up the nearest waitress for the bill.

‘I can’t, I need to be on my way,’ I tell him. ‘My shift starts soon.’

He nods. ‘So where exactly do you work now?’

Hmm. Parklands Care Home isn’t something to brag about. It’s hardly Casino Royale where Francesca works. I bet she’s super glamorous. I bet she works out and never eats bread. Or fat. Or sugar. I bet he’s in love with her. I bet she’s in love with him.

Nope. I’m not coming clean with Ben. There isn’t any way I want him to know the full extent of my fall from grace.

‘Oh, just a local place, local to Alice and me… Nowhere you’d know.’

‘Is it a restaurant?’

‘It’s more of a hotel really, lots of residents. Booked out in fact.’

He nods. ‘And you like it?’

I want to tell him I hate it, but we’ve had such a lovely time. I don’t want to put a downer on things.

‘There are some great people. Some not so great, but that’s life right?’

He nods knowingly. ‘Speaking of not so nice, do you remember Ozzy from college?’

The dreaded name… Ozzy. I’ve not heard that name since the day we graduated.

I feel my skin prickle and my hand reaches up to the back of my neck.

‘You can’t have forgotten Ozzy?’ says Ben, probably confused by my muted response.

I shake my head. ‘No, sadly. I haven’t forgotten him. Despite my best efforts.’

Ben stretches his hands out wide. ‘He came to work on the ship! Complete moron. He was fired within the first few weeks. Never met anyone as up their own arse as him in my whole life. Actually, I take that back. The way Harry was acting today – screaming abuse, shouting, yelling, creating drama – brought it flooding back to me.’

‘I bet,’ I say. Ben isn’t the only one who has drawn parallels between Ozzy and Harry. It’s been flooding back to me too and, to be perfectly honest, not in a way that I’m finding easy to deal with. He completely rattled me way back then, kept trying to tell me that I wasn’t up to it, that I wasn’t good enough, that I didn’t belong.

I drain the end of my beer and push it into the middle of the table.

‘Do you ever think about what could have been?’ Ben asks.

I look at him, confused. He reddens.

‘I mean if you’d come to work on the ship too? Mediterranean skies at this time of year are really spectacular.’

‘Sounds like you still love it?’

He nods. ‘What’s not to love? Open seas, a new adventure every day.’

‘Then why are you here? Why did you apply in the first place?’

‘I didn’t. I was put forward by Jean-Michel’s wife. She insisted I come for interview. And then Francesca told the Captain and he told me not to upset such a high-profile guest, to comply with what she wanted and go from there. And so, I came. And now I’m here. Sitting with you, through to the final round.’

‘And so you’re glad you came?’

‘Very glad. I’m realising that I kinda miss the crazy, you know?’

I nod. I know.

‘Once I set foot back in London, I couldn’t believe how much I missed it. I miss lots of things. Or maybe deep down, I did know how much I missed it but just blanked it out. Pretty deep right? So, win or lose on the big night, I’m going to have to figure out the next step. The thing is, it’s easy to forget the real world when you are on the ship, living in a gorgeous, glamourous luxurious bubble. Life is simple: you work, you sleep, sun comes up, sun goes down and we wake up in another beautiful port. And don’t get me wrong, it’s amazing for a while, but still, it’s transient, it’s not real. And I feel ready for real.’

‘So what happens if you win tomorrow?’

Ben blows out his cheeks and runs his fingers through his hair. ‘I almost can’t even think about it. It would be incredible. Absolutely incredible. To be back here, as a grand chef in one of the most anticipated openings in the world. Cooking for the good and the great, learning under Jean-Michel, close to family, loved ones.’ He blinks as if to shake himself out of a daydream. ‘I want it so much.’ He presses his hands against his chest, that side smile of his appearing. ‘It hurts how much I want this.’

It hurts to see him like this. But I know exactly what he means because I want it just as badly – but by the sounds of it, I need it more too. At least Ben has a luxurious, exciting, loved-up bubble to return to. And he’s got Francesca. I have Bernie and Alice’s sofa bed. I can’t afford to suffer another failure, another disappointment, another dissolution of a dream.

‘How about you?’ he asks me.

‘I feel the same. I need this. I don’t know if you know but the restaurant? I had to close it down.’

He reaches an arm around my shoulder and hugs me into him. ‘I’m sorry, Katie. I’d heard it on the grapevine. I know how hard you worked for that.’

I try to swallow back any tears in my throat and catch my breath. The heat of Ben’s body, the scent of him, shuttle me back through to a time that everything was right…

‘So I guess I’ve got to prove myself all over again. My dad thinks I’m mad.’

‘No change there.’

This brings a smile to my face. ‘Alice thinks I’m mad too.’

‘Well, maybe they’re on to something.’

I give him a gentle nudge in the belly, and he cuddles me even tighter.

We hear a jingling and look up to see a Romany lady with a bucket full of red roses. She stands by our table and offers them up to us.

I can imagine what we look like. A cosy couple enjoying food and drinks together without a care in the world.

‘Rose for lady? For sweetheart?’

I shuffle up in my seat, shaking my head whilst waving my hand politely. ‘No! No, thank you.’

She pushes out a bottom lip and I realise that I’ve patronised her.

‘Sorry, it’s because we’re just friends. Old friends.’

She smiles and nods her understanding and carries on to the next table.

‘It’s getting late; I’ve really got to go now,’ I tell Ben, glancing out the front window to the fading light. ‘I need to get to work while it’s still light.’

He nods. ‘You and the dark, eh?’

I shrug. ‘Some things never change.’ I raise my hand for the bill so they know I really do have to go this time. The waitress nods and touches her temple indicating that she forgot, and starts to tap into the cash register straight away.

I zip up my jacket as Ben’s phone vibrates on the table. ‘Francesca calling’ appears on the screen. He looks at me sheepishly.

‘Take it!’ I tell him.

He tilts his head, uncertain.

‘Please, take it, she’ll be dying to know if you got through.’

Ben and I are not the same as we were, and we will never be. Old times are just that. Old. Gone, past, belonging to a different era. Impossible to resurrect or recreate. Not after everything that’s happened. If Ben is in love with someone else now, what’s it to me? What business is it of mine? I had my chance.

Ben’s phone is still ringing out, he’s still not answered it, and I can see the awkward conflict darken his features. Francesca’s call just ringing out on the table between us.

Where is the waitress with the bill! I need to go. Outside the streetlights are flickering on and I’m on the wrong side of town for work.

Unable to stand it another second, I plunge my hand into my bag and pull out a twenty. My bloody last twenty, my last note, but I can’t start scrambling around with coppers and coins. I want to disappear right now, before he takes this call.

‘Right, I’m off. Seriously, just answer it, before you miss it. Tomorrow is a big day and we need to get on. And just a word of warning, keep your eye on Harry. I have reason to believe that he can be just as devious and underhanded as Ozzy was. And it’s no secret that he wants to win – whatever it takes.’

I toss down the note in the middle of the table and grab my helmet, waving my last goodbye and dashing out of the restaurant to start pedalling my way to the home against the fading evening light as fast as I possibly can.