I shook his hand? I shook his fucking hand!

Marcello’s last memory of me could so easily have been of me pressing him up against the wall, my tongue in his mouth. But no, instead it would be a handshake. I pulled the pillow over my face to muffle the groans of despair, until I remembered I didn’t know where that pillow had been. I cringed and threw it away.

I sighed, fidgeting on my top bunk and linking my hands behind my head for support. Come on, Sammi, go to sleep. That’s why you left the tour, to rest and replenish. Make it count. If I wasn’t going to be getting my money’s worth exploring the Vatican’s treasures, I could at least prep myself for what was to come. Pompeii, the Amalfi Coast, Florence, Venice! There was so much to discover in this stunning country. Besides, technically today wasn’t the last I would see of this place, as the tour would bring us back here to fly home. As I opened my eyes to stare at the now-familiar brown water stain on the ceiling above me, it occurred to me that I really shouldn’t be in any hurry to come back here. What did I expect, that Marcello would be waiting at the bar downstairs, champagne and roses in hand, ready to ride off into the sunset with me on his Vespa? That kind of thing only happened to my sister. My eyes flashed open again, this time with purpose.

Claire!

If anyone made me feel less chaotic about my own existence it was my sister. She was often stressed and unpredictable but it was more to do with décor colours and reservations for dinner. It was the kind of chaotic life she now thrived in since being with her Parisian celebrity chef boyfriend Louis, by far the most exciting and exotic thing to happen to the Shorten family. Maybe a chat with my sister would help calm my addled brain, and I could finally get some shut-eye.

I got out of bed and walked down to the hotel kiosk to send Claire an email. The kiosk, or ‘business centre’, was littered with scrunched-up pieces of paper, an overflowing wastepaper basket and the remnants of coffee cup rings around the grimy keyboard. The large, box-shaped computer screen that sat on a flaky, rickety old desk looked like it was a thousand years old, perhaps one of Rome’s most ancient relics even. I took the liberty of dragging over a chair that was missing from the desk, making myself comfortable and waiting for the painfully slow dial-up to connect me to civilisation.

I had emailed Claire about my travel plans when I’d first booked my trip, giddy and terrified about what lay ahead, but I’d not yet had a response. Logging into my Gmail, I wished for a message from her about a surprise meet-up in Venice, or a girls’ weekend in Tuscany. But she and Louis were always busy—always doing something fabulous—so it came as little surprise that my inbox was empty, aside from the usual spammy twenty-percent-off sales from Dotti and Jeans West. There was, however, a response from my dad, who was far more computer-savvy than Mum. I had told them of my free day spent sitting on the Spanish Steps, seeing the Trevi Fountain and lunching outside the Pantheon—had even included a couple of snapshots—careful to paint the perfect picture of the globetrotting daughter. I left out the small detail of dry-humping my gorgeous Roman tour guide; there were some things better left unsaid.

Dad’s message read.

I could totally see Dad typing a reply with one finger at a time, squinting up at the screen, while in the background Mum yelled out instructions that Dad would choose to ignore. It may not have been a full-page spread like Claire would have written me, but it was typically Dad, giving all the important directives, as well as a Dad joke, which is always a bonus.

I read over my lies and hit send, then clicked on ‘compose new email’. I started hitting the keyboard furiously.

I stopped typing and glanced around; what if the hotel monitored emails? Could they have some kind of keyword alert? I took a moment’s pause, then shrugged and kept typing—maybe they would learn a thing or two.

I read over my email. I’ve got to say, I found myself kind of annoying. Although it was factually true, I was nevertheless, what was the word …

‘You total BITCH!’

Holy shit.

I spun around in my chair so fast that I knocked my knee on the desk. ‘Jodie!’

What the hell was this all about?

‘Yeah, old bitch-face was forced by Maria to come check on you.’

Oh, my God, had she read everything?

I was tempted to point out that it wasn’t polite to read over some one’s shoulder, but the way she was looking at me right now—as if she wanted to rip me in half—made me think better of it.

‘You didn’t have to do that.’

She scoffed. ‘So I see—looks like there is nothing wrong with you.’

I swallowed; if only she knew how ill I felt right now. ‘Where are …’

‘Oh, the binge-drinking lunatics? They’ll be back later,’ she said, moving to exit the small alcove of the kiosk.

‘Jodie, wait!’ I leapt after her, pulling at her arm, but she violently pulled herself away from my grasp.

‘I’m sorry, I was just sending a frustrated email to my sister. I was just blowing off some steam.’

‘How about you do everyone a favour and just go home? We’re obviously not good enough for you, so why would you want to lower your standards?’

‘I never said I was too good.’

‘You don’t have to; when you don’t hang out with anyone aside from the Italian Stallion, it’s bleedingly obvious that you would rather be anywhere else.’

My mind shifted back to my email. Italian Stallion—had I typed that in my email too? No, no, I would never have said that, though that probably wasn’t the most important issue at hand.

‘Jodie, please don’t say anything to the others. I’ve just had a bad few days. I’ve never been overseas before and I’m trying to fit in; it’s not something that comes easily to me.’

I hoped my earnest words would make her feel at least a little empathetic, but any time I thought back to ‘bitch-face’ I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. Jodie stared me down, her fisted hands at her side. I almost would have preferred she hit me, get it over and done with, rather than the threats and mind games she no doubt had in store for the rest of the tour.

I then said what I thought might help my case—so she would know that I had no intentions of getting involved, that it really wasn’t any of my business. ‘Jodie, I never said anything to Johnny about you and Gary.’

I knew it was a catastrophic mistake the moment the words left my mouth. Fire flashed in her eyes and she stepped forward, into my face. ‘Don’t you dare threaten me!’

‘What? I wasn’t …’

‘You think you can blackmail me?’

The back of my legs hit the desk; I was caged in like an animal.

‘I am not blackmailing, I’m just saying it’s none of my business.’

‘Yeah, well, by writing shit about me, you’re now my business, and if you think I am going to turn a blind eye while you try and be everyone’s BFF, then you have another thing coming.’

As far as threats went, that was right up there. And, much like with a drunk person or a two-year-old, I knew better than to try to reason with her.

I straightened, stepping up into her face and looking into her eyes. ‘Do what you need to do,’ I said, pushing past her, pretending to be badass when all I wanted to do was run and hide. I felt exposed, like someone had read my high-school diary and was about to announce my secrets at assembly. I just knew it wouldn’t be the last I would hear of it. I walked to reception, waiting patiently for Gabriello to come serve me. Guilt clawing at my insides, my head spinning over the things that I had written.

Just breathe, Sammi, in-out-in. Don’t cry. Do. Not. Cry.

‘Ciao, Sammi. Come stai?’

‘Ciao, Gabriello, um, listen, I’m not feeling so good, is there a chance I might be able to book a room just for tonight? I just need a quiet space to get some rest.’

And prevent my head from getting mounted on a stick.

‘Si, I am sure we can help you out.’ He typed on the keyboard, while I gripped the edge of the reception desk, wondering where Jodie was now. Was she waiting to get me alone? Had she slipped out the back to run to the group to tell them what I really thought of them? Or had she slid upstairs to pee in my shampoo bottle or, God, on my toothbrush?

‘Ah, you are in luck. It’s not the most spacious suite, but if you want some peace and quiet for the night it will do.’

Did he actually refer to rooms here as suites? Jeez, he was optimistic.

‘I’ll take it, grazie.’

Gabriello printed out the new booking and slid it across for me to sign.

Level two, room ten. I felt a surge of relief knowing that I was floors away from them.

‘Ciao-ciao, Gabriello, bitch-face is off to catch up with her friends.’

Jodie walked through reception, putting on her sunnies and flashing me a bright smile as she headed for the door.

Gabriello’s face twisted in distaste. ‘She is a strange one,’ he said, shaking his head.

I watched her disappear out into the street.

‘Yeah, you have no idea.’