Page 103 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

‘Well, I’m sitting actually,’ smiled Maggie, from underneath the shade of a large tree. ‘But yes, you’re right. And you were right about telling me to come here, about having nothing to lose. I’ve learned a lot about myself. Plus I’ve seen a lot of great art,’ she added, gazing across at a sculpture.

‘See. Always listen to your best friend George.’

‘It’s just . . . look, there’s a lot going on right now, I’m not sure your coming out is a good idea.’

‘I’m always a good idea.’

She laughed then, because if one person could always make her laugh, whatever the circumstances, it was George.

‘Send me details of where you’re staying and I’ll get a standby out on Monday and meet you in Valencia. And, no, I’m not taking no for an answer,’ he interrupted, before she could protest. ‘You can tell me about everything and we can celebrate. Just promise me one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘No swimwear selfies.’

‘George, I’m not on social media these days, and even if I was, I would never do a swimwear selfie,’ she protested.

‘That’s what everyone says and then they turn fifty and it’s get your bits out for the boys.’ He grinned, rolling his eyes. ‘I’ve witnessed it with all my friends. If I’m not careful, I’ll be next.’

As he pulled a look of mock horror, Maggie shook her head, grinning.

‘I’ve got to go. Bye, George.’

‘Bye, beautiful. See you Monday.’

2 p.m.

‘Thanks for lunch, Rory, it was delicious.’

‘Yeah, shame about the building work, though.’

In the hill village, Flick and Rory were leaving the little bar, after their perfect lunch spot had been somewhat spoiled. There they’d been, having a lovely meal, when a truck had arrived, playing eighties power ballads loudly on the radio, and the several workmen next to them had finished their beers and started erecting scaffolding on the church opposite, with much clanking and banging, shattering the peace and quiet.

‘I barely noticed,’ lied Flick, trying to cheer Rory up, but Rory couldn’t be cheered up. Disappointment clung to him, like a cloud.

‘They ruined it,’ he grumbled, scowling at the workmen as he put on his helmet.

‘They didn’t ruin it, it was lovely, especially the gazpacho,’ she added, then wished she hadn’t. Rory had left his after discovering she wasn’t joking; it really was cold soup. Worse still, the waitress had greeted his request to heat it up with a puzzled frown.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ he said, turning the ignition.

‘Is that to another stop on the magical mystery tour?’ she quipped, climbing on the back of the scooter, but Rory’s sense of humour seemed to have deserted him and he didn’t laugh. Flick wrapped her hands around his waist. It was going to be a long day.

2.45 p.m.

Back at the hotel, Maggie stood underneath an invigorating cold shower, relishing the feeling of the strong jets tingling her skin. There were lots of things she missed from her old flat but chief among them was her power shower. Turning, she tipped back her head, washing out the shampoo and conditioner, then began soaping up her arms and legs. She had tan lines. She hadn’t noticed until now but this past week she’d gone from pale and freckly to golden. She stretched out a leg, pointing her toe and turning her foot back and forth, and decided she rather liked this new suntanned Maggie.

Turning off the water, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in white fluffy towels. She’d got back from the gallery hot and sweaty and jumped straight in the shower. Gosh, it felt good. Clearing the steam from the mirror, she looked at herself in the mirror. She still had a couple of hours before she had to leave to meet him. Plenty of time to get ready. She wanted to look her best. Ridiculous really. Why did she care what he thought of her? But she did care. What woman doesn’t want to look their best when they see their ex? Especially one that stole her life.

Exiting the bathroom, she flopped down on the bed for a moment. It felt so nice to be clean and cool. The overhead fan circled above her and watching the blades going around and around, she let herself lose focus. She was tired. She’d been on the go all week and now it was almost over. She was going to close her eyes for a moment. Just a few minutes, then she’d start to get ready.

3.20 p.m.

‘Shall we get a coffee?’

‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’

‘How about an ice cream?’