Page 101 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

‘I dunno, I thought you might like some bubbles.’

‘Bubbles?’

‘You know, fizzy.’

‘Prosecco is Italian, but here in Spain we have cava,’ said the waitress helpfully. ‘Personally, I think it’s much nicer. Would you like a glass?’

Feeling ambushed, Flick shook her head. ‘No. Thank you. Just water.’ She smiled, apologetically. ‘Sparkling,’ she added, then turned to Rory. ‘Well, that’s fizzy.’

He looked temporarily put out, but quickly rallied.

‘And could we have a couple of your famous gazpacho to start.’

‘Of course.’ The waitress smiled. ‘I’ll be back to take the rest of your order.’

‘Famous gazpacho?’ Flick looked incredulous.

‘I’ve done my research.’ Leaning back in his chair, he pulled out his phone.

‘You know it’s cold soup, right?’

‘It is?’ He looked momentarily stricken, then shrugged. ‘I’m sure it’ll be grand. Like you, babe,’ he added, reaching for her hand across the table.

‘Are you feeling all right?’ Flick wondered if he’d had too much sun the day before.

‘Can’t a man pay a compliment to his girlfriend these days?’

‘Yes, of course, it’s just . . .’ She trailed off. He was right. It was so lovely here and he’d made such an effort, bringing her up here, booking a table, doing all this research; it was so thoughtful. Why not just sit back and enjoy it?

‘Shall we take a selfie?’

She snapped back to see Rory leaning towards her, angling his phone above their heads, a huge grin on his face. A selfie? This, from a man who always said he hated having his photo taken. In ten years, the only one of them both smiling was taken at his brother’s wedding. And that was only after his brother threatened he’d kill him if he ruined the official photos.

‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right?’

‘Never better!’ Putting his arm around her, he pulled her close. ‘I just want to remember this moment.’

‘Smile!’

Stop being so suspicious. Rory is just being nice, she told herself.

Click. And there it was. A selfie. For ever capturing a moment in time when a smiling young couple had a romantic lunch in a gorgeous little village in the Mallorcan countryside.

Too nice.

The Countdown Begins

12 p.m.

A bus ride away from the centre of Palma, at the Fundació Miró Mallorca art gallery and museum, Maggie shifted onto the other foot as she gazed at the paintings by Joan Miró, one of the most famous Spanish artists of the twentieth century. She’d been standing here for who knows how long, so transfixed she’d lost track of time, and the small of her back ached. Still, she couldn’t tear herself away.

She’d arrived a couple of hours ago and immediately immersed herself. Art galleries were her happy place. Not just because of how they made her feel, but because they were always where she felt closest to her brother, Charlie. She’d been thinking about him a lot recently. She wondered what he’d say if he could see her now. His little sister, her life fallen apart. As her big brother, he’d always looked out for her. Would he have protected her, tried to warn her? Or would she have been too stubborn and pig-headed to listen?

Remembering their teenage arguments, Maggie smiled. She knew the answer to that already. One thing was for certain, he would have approved of her coming here. She could see him now. Go get him, sis. Always encouraging her to stick up for herself. Always giving her the confidence she lacked. He was her biggest cheerleader.

Leaving the gallery, she walked outside into the gardens. It was midday and the sun was high in the sky, beating down. Even with a sunhat she could feel the intensity and, finding a spot in the shade, she sat down. It was lovely here, away from the buzz of the city and overlooking the bay. There was something so magical about art. It centred her. Lifted her. She drew a strength from it. Just coming here today she felt more energized and finally ready to face up to things.

Digging her phone out of her bag, she replayed the voicemail messages from the council and Ainsley, her friend the farmer. She’d been putting it off, but she couldn’t ignore them any longer. The countdown was on. She was nearing the end of her journey. Once she’d met with Theo this evening, and Flick had got her interview, she could go home.