Page 114 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

‘Golly, I do love a scoop, though I’m terrible, I never read the news. TikTok is my tabloid of choice.’ She laughed gaily, then caught herself. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t be frivolous. I mean, it’s all so depressing, isn’t it? All this terrible cost of living crisis.’

As Flea gave them a tour of her family’s private Ibizan estate, Maggie wasn’t sure if she was being ironic.

‘How’s PR?’ asked Flick.

‘Dreadfully boring. All those tedious book launches and gallery openings. Journalism sounds so much more thrilling!’

Flick thought about her job at The Local Echo, sitting next to Tupperware Tony as he told her about his sandwich fillings, typing up endless copy about charity fundraisers and local council committees. There were many words she could use, but thrilling wasn’t one of them.

‘Here you are.’

By the time they reached a flat terrace, shaded by pine trees and cooled by a soft breeze, both Flick and Maggie had mentally prepared themselves for a couple of nylon tents and some camping mats if they were lucky; instead they were greeted by two huge white canvas bell tents, strung with fairy-lights, and complete with real beds, duvets and pillows, and rugs.

‘Oh wow, thank you – they’re gorgeous!’ gasped Flick.

‘They’ve even got their own loo!’ exclaimed Maggie, feeling relieved for her perimenopausal bladder. Well, sorry, but she wasn’t twenty-six any more; trips to the loo in the night were now the norm.

‘They’re fully compostable,’ smiled Flea, ‘and all the lights and charging points work on solar; there’s also a solar shower.’

Which of course made Flick beam from ear to ear. A compostable loo! A solar shower! Solar lights and chargers! She was in heaven.

‘OK, well, make yourself at home. If you need anything, I’ll be up at the finca.’ With a wave she turned and headed back through the orchard.

‘That’s Spanish for farmhouse,’ said Maggie as Flea disappeared.

‘I finca’ve died and gone to heaven,’ whooped Flick. Diving inside her tent and stretching her arms wide, she flopped backwards and sank into her pillowtop bed.

Twenty minutes later, they were back in a taxi heading into town.

‘Couldn’t we have just chilled out for a bit?’ grumbled Maggie as they left the stunning surroundings of the finca behind and headed towards Dalt Vila, Ibiza’s fortified old town. Tired and hot, she’d had to be dragged out of her bell tent. ‘I could really do with a siesta.’

‘A siesta?’ Flick snorted. ‘We don’t have time for siestas!’

They’d only been in their tents a few minutes when there’d been a shriek from inside Flick’s. He was back online! Posting on one of his accounts, his stories showed photos of himself in Ibiza, in the old town and down by the port. Which had caused Flick to leap off her organic cotton sheets and immediately book a cab. They needed to hurry, time was of the essence.

Which is why they were now racing into town.

‘The cruise leaves at 11 p.m. tonight – there’s no time to lose.’

Maggie gazed out of the window as the red earth of the Ibizan countryside whizzed by. To be honest, after yesterday’s events, she was having serious doubts about the whole thing. She didn’t know if it was the bang on the head or the memory of standing frozen on the pavement, but there was a big part of her that didn’t want to find him. She’d had her chance and she’d fucked it up. She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to go through seeing him again – or, more importantly, if she wanted to. She was tired, and right now, she just wanted to throw in the towel and go home.

‘We have to find him this time. We just have to . . . we’re running out of time . . .’

But, listening to Flick muttering under her breath, all Maggie could think was: how on earth could she admit her true feelings?

Soon after, they arrived in Dalt Vila, the beautiful fortified old town, accessed by a dramatic stone drawbridge. Inside there was a maze of cobbled backstreets and steps, winding steeply up and down, and a plethora of shops, restaurants, art galleries and bars.

‘Do you think they’ll have a pharmacy?’ asked Maggie, after a few minutes of climbing. Pausing to rest, she caught her reflection in a shop window. ‘I think I need something for this bruising.’

Flick looked suddenly guilty. In her haste she’d forgotten about Maggie’s accident.

‘I know, why don’t you find one, then go sit at that nice cafe we passed by the entrance and have a cold drink. I’ll go down to the harbour, see if I can see the cruise ship.’

‘OK, thanks, if you don’t mind.’

‘No, of course not. Find a spot in the shade and relax. I’ll meet you back here in an hour.’

It was only after Flick left that Maggie remembered she didn’t have a phone to find a pharmacy. She’d already cancelled it with her phone provider and ordered a replacement to collect when she got back to the UK. Luckily, she didn’t have to look too far, and the pharmacist spoke perfect English. Though to be honest, no words were really necessary, as her huge shiner did all the talking. She left with strong painkillers and something for the bruising and swelling, together with a new pair of sunglasses to hide behind, then found herself a nice spot in the shade at the little cafe, just outside the ramparts.