Page 126 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

‘But I am going home tomorrow. I’ve decided. This is my last night.’

There were a few looks around the table, but Maggie’s mind was made up.

‘Well, in that case, it’s even more reason to go out and celebrate.’

‘I thought we were celebrating with the champagne?’ said Flick.

‘No, darling, that was just to get you lubricated,’ quipped George.

‘And I could have you arrested for sexual harassment,’ she fired back, and they both laughed, ‘and that’s not a double entendre.’

Flick and George had already decided they liked each other and were happily riffing off each other.

‘Look, I don’t need to do anything for my birthday . . .’

But George was on a roll. ‘You’re fifty! You’re fabulous! And we’re in Valencia! This demands much more than a boring birthday bikini selfie!’

That second bottle of champagne was beginning to take effect.

Turning to Maggie, he cupped her face in his hands, and spoke with the same intensity as if he was performing Hamlet with Yorick’s skull. ‘Do you know what this city is famous for?’

Seriously, George really should have been on the stage.

‘Two of my favourite things! Paella and street art.’

It turned out to be true and not just the drunken declarations of a man who’d had one too many glasses of champagne on an empty stomach. Valencia was indeed famous for a perfect double whammy of delicious food and free art. It was a kind of culinary artistry. And after the most mouth-watering and flavoursome dinner of paella de mariscos – a giant pan of yellow saffron rice, filled with monkfish, king prawns and mussels, which the three of them shared, heaping their plates high and scraping the burned bits off the bottom until their waistbands threatened to burst – they left the rowdy family-run restaurant to walk off their full stomachs and admire the amazing street art.

‘Oh wow, these murals are amazing,’ said Flick as they wandered through the El Carmen area of the city. ‘What do they all mean?’

‘Lots of different things. Street art is a living commentary on the world we live in.’ Having armed himself with a map and artists’ handbook, George was their unofficial tour guide for the evening. ‘It’s not just colourful graffiti, it’s about artists raising awareness of important issues. By capturing our attention with their artwork, they are literally keeping our eyes open to what’s happening around us. Which is pretty incredible, considering most of us spend most of our lives glued to our phones . . .’

‘Right, yes.’

Flick guiltily shoved her phone in her pocket.

‘And it’s not just walls or garage doors, there are some massive murals up ahead, on the side of those buildings,’ he gestured.

‘Oh, I’m going to go look.’

As Flick hurried on up ahead, George and Maggie continued slowly, arm in arm.

‘So what time’s your flight tomorrow?’

‘I haven’t booked it yet. I was going to ask if maybe you could get me a cheap ticket?’

‘I knew it. You only want me for my staff discount.’

Maggie punched him playfully in the ribs and he let out a theatrical yelp.

‘What about Flick?’

‘She wants to carry on until she finds him. She wants to stick to the plan.’

‘And you don’t?’

She shook her head. ‘When I saw him in the bar in Mallorca, I froze. All this time I thought I wanted to see him again, to ask him why he did what he did. I had all these questions. But then, when I had the opportunity, I just thought: why am I doing this? It wasn’t going to change things. It wasn’t going to make me feel better. To be honest, I’d probably end up feeling worse.’ She paused, her mind flicking back. ‘The only reason I crossed the road to go meet him is because I saw he was wearing Dad’s watch and I got angry.’

‘Too fucking right you should be angry. I’d want revenge.’