Page 104 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

‘No, honestly, I’m fine.’

They were in Deia, a picturesque coastal village on the northwest coast. With views out to the Mediterranean below, it was one of the prettiest on the island and had long been a magnet for famous artists, creatives and writers. Now a popular tourist destination, it was filled with crowds of holidaymakers, who meandered through the cobblestone streets, taking pictures and browsing the many galleries and shops.

Two being Flick and Rory.

‘Ah, but didn’t you tell me that women always say they’re fine when they’re actually not fine?’ Rory tapped his nose, as if he had some kind of insider info, and looked very pleased with himself.

‘No, but really I am this time,’ protested Flick as they paused to look at a display of painted Spanish pottery. His earlier bad mood had disappeared and he was being so nice, but now it was actually becoming rather irritating. She caught herself. How could someone being nice be irritating? It didn’t make sense. And yet, nothing right now was making sense.

‘You seem annoyed,’ he observed.

‘I’m not annoyed.’

‘Hmm. Distracted then.’

Flick chewed the inside of her lip and tried to count to ten. He was driving her potty with all this attention. Where was the Rory who could barely drag his eyes away from his phone when she was trying to talk to him? Apparently this was called phubbing. She’d read an article about it once and researchers said half of relationships were affected by phubbing.

Holding her hand tightly as they continued to walk down the street, he turned to her all doe-eyed and brushed an invisible hair from her face. God, what she’d do for a bit of phubbing right now.

‘No, I’m not distracted,’ she said, smiling.

What I am, thought Flick, is Frustrated with a capital ‘F’. She’d had enough of all this lovey-dovey stuff; she wanted to be down by the port, standing guard by the cruise ships, watching the passengers come and go, on full alert for You Know Who. But instead she was romantically meandering the cobbled streets with Rory, who had inexplicably transformed into The Perfect Man.

She glanced sideways at him now.

Gone were the goofy jokes and comedy T-shirt, instead he was being thoughtful, super-attentive and wearing a freshly ironed linen shirt. Freshly ironed! By his own hand no less this morning in the hotel room. She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. For a moment she’d lain in bed and thought she was hallucinating with the hangover, but no, it really was Rory in charge of an iron.

‘You’ve been stressed this past year, what with your mum and work and everything; I just want you to relax,’ he was saying now, stopping in the middle of the street to stare into her eyes.

He really was being lovely.

‘I just want you to be happy. That’s all I care about.’

A bit too lovely. Plus, she was really sweating now and she wanted to stop holding hands. It was romantic at first but it must be about a hundred degrees and her palm was all wet and sticky. She tried to casually disengage her fingers – but, feeling her pulling away, he clung on tighter. Out of nowhere, she felt a sudden wave of claustrophobia.

‘I love you, babe.’

‘Love you, too.’

And panic. There was no letting go.

4.35 p.m.

Maggie woke herself up by snorting.

‘Huh? What? Where am I?’

She lay there a moment, discombobulated, wrapped in a cocoon of fluffy white towels; all warm and comfy and drowsy and floaty. It took a few seconds for her brain to click into gear and then –

Oh. My. God.

She bolted upright, causing the towel wrapped around her head to collapse over her face, smothering her with damp hair and towelling. She must have fallen asleep. Drifted off after the shower. Shit.

What time is it?

Blindly stumbling around the room, she grabbed her bag, rummaging around inside for her phone to check, whilst cursing handbag manufacturers everywhere for always using black lining so you were forever fumbling around in the dark. Not to mention all the rubbish she kept in there. Seriously, chopsticks?

Finally she found it and snatched it up – only to discover it was dead. Fuck. She’d forgotten to charge it. Where was her charger? Panic-stricken, she turned her hotel room upside down. She couldn’t find her charger! And then she remembered. She’d lent it to Flick.