Page 105 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

FUCK.

Chucking the useless thing back in her bag with frustration, she dived on the phone on the bedside table and quickly dialled reception. She was meeting him at five o’clock so she needed at least a couple of hours to get ready and get to the bar in time. Finally, after what felt like for ever, a chirpy voice answered.

‘Buenos días.’

‘Hi, can you tell me what time it is, please?’ she gasped.

There was a pause. Every second taking for ever. Her mind racing ahead. She had all these best-laid plans about what she was going to wear. How she was going to do her hair. Her make-up. She wanted to make sure she looked her absolute best.

‘Four thirty-five, madam.’

She went hot and cold.

‘Can I help you with anything else?’

‘No. Gracias.’

Naked in a hotel room, with wet hair, a bare face, a dead phone and several miles to commute to a bar on the other side of town to meet the man who stole her life, Maggie hung up, threw her face into a pillow and screamed at the top of her lungs.

‘Fuuuucccckkkkkk!!!!!!’

5 p.m.

‘We can watch the sunset from here.’

‘Since when did you like watching sunsets?’

‘What are you talking about? I love sunsets. Can’t get enough of them.’

Having left Deia, Flick and Rory were now at the beach, lying side by side on a pair of sun loungers, underneath a tropical-style straw umbrella. Normally Rory would have refused to pay on principle, preferring to lie instead in the full sun without any shade whilst getting covered in sand, but this was the new Rory, and Flick was enjoying the novelty.

‘Whenever I want to take a photo of one, you always tell me they’re boring. In fact, I think your very words were, “Once you’ve seen one sunset, you’ve seen them all.”’

Rory coloured. ‘A man can change his opinion, can’t he?’

‘Sure.’ Flick tried to keep the doubt out of her voice. She hoped that was true; after all, her job as a journalist involved trying to present the facts and change people’s views and opinions. But could he change his entire personality?

‘Perfect here, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah, it’s lovely.’

‘Would you say perfect, though?’

‘Hmm . . . yeah, pretty much.’ Lying in a bikini, she gazed through the Polaroid lenses of her sunglasses at the waves lapping against the shoreline and the stretch of spotless blue sky. ‘But then is anything really ever perfect?’

‘What do you mean?’ Rory sounded aggrieved.

‘I’m just saying in general. Life’s not like Instagram. It all looks so perfect in the photos but it’s all a bit bollocks really, isn’t it? Life’s a lot a messier than that.’

Rory looked put out.

‘You don’t think this is perfect? Me and you. On this beach. This spot. Together.’

And now Flick felt guilty. She’d hurt his feelings. ‘Sorry, ignore me, I didn’t mean—’

‘Do you think that rooftop restaurant is better?’ He gestured to one over in the distance.

‘Better, how?’