Page 109 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

‘. . . I was going to meet someone for a drink,’ she blurted finally.

They both spoke at the same time.

‘Oh my God, you were going on a date!’

‘Well, I wouldn’t call it a date.’

‘Maggie, you dark horse! Was it the guy at the front desk in our hotel in Palma? I could tell he fancied you when we checked in by the way he tried to help you with your luggage. Oh, wow, he was gorgeous; he looked like George Clooney, only when he had dark hair.’

Maggie’s voice seemed to have got lost in her throat.

‘Um . . .’

This was not going how she planned at all. Somehow, things had veered completely off course in a completely different direction. She had to quickly corral the conversation.

‘Oh my God, it was him. I knew it!’

But it wasn’t so easy. Steamrollered by Flick, she had now somehow found herself going on a date with Juan, the young George Clooney lookalike from the front desk.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

She needed to circle back. To come clean and admit everything.

‘Well, the thing is . . .’

‘Oh my God, is it because Rory and I broke up?’ Flick clutched her chest, her face stricken. ‘Oh Maggie, you don’t have to be sensitive about that. I want you to be happy; I want you to find someone – you deserve it.’

Maggie pressed the ice against her eye, which had started to pulsate. Somehow, Flick thought it feasible that Juan, the handsome Spanish clerk, who must be at least fifteen years her junior, could be interested in her. Which was completely ridiculous. He was far too young and sexy to even notice her.

And yet the way Flick was looking at her, all excited and delighted for her, made the idea seem less impossible and absurd, and she suddenly saw herself in a different light – as Flick saw her, not as she saw herself. And while she didn’t want to go on a date with Juan – though, let’s be honest, the fantasy was fun – she rather liked this new feeling of fun and possibility. And the truth, which, now felt depressing and quite pitiful, got stuck in her throat.

‘Well, good for you, Maggie. I’m so pleased. You really need to get back out there after what that bastard did.’

She couldn’t tell her now. She couldn’t disappoint her.

‘So, are you going to keep in touch?’

‘Um, I don’t have his number. They stole my phone, remember.’

‘Oh God, yes, of course.’

First thing that morning, Flick had shown her how to change all her passwords and erase all her contacts and data. She’d been grateful but it also struck her that she had no way of contacting Him now. Maybe it was the universe trying to tell her something.

‘Along with my credit cards,’ she continued, ‘though the thieves aren’t going to have much of a spending spree with those. They’re all maxed out.’ She laughed at the irony. ‘Thankfully, I left my passport and what was left of our winnings in the hotel safe.’

‘Well, that was lucky, otherwise we’d have to give up our search and go back home –’ Flick looked at her phone – ‘though where we’re staying in Ibiza is a freebie.’

Earlier at the airport, Flick had been on her phone, forensically checking social media for any updates to Stratin’s whereabouts, while desperately trying to find them somewhere to stay. She’d lost a day – marriage proposals could be very inconvenient – and was frantically trying to catch up. It was peak season and everywhere was fully booked but just as she was losing hope and doom-scrolling, she’d seen an old friend from university was posting photos from her holiday in Ibiza.

‘It was so kind of Flea to invite us to stay when I messaged her. She lives in London so I hardly ever see her, but apparently her family have a farmhouse and they have tons of room.’

‘You have a friend called Flea?’

‘She’s from a really posh family, they have all these weird nicknames.’

‘You mean, like Flick?’

Flick laughed as she realized the hypocrisy.