Page 134 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

A few hours later, Maggie and Flick were all dressed up and in the elevator on the way down to have dinner with the captain. The invitation had said formal attire but they hadn’t exactly packed for a cruise. Besides, after nearly two weeks dashing across Europe their suitcases were full of dirty laundry, not cocktail dresses and evening gowns. Luckily, however, they still had the two now-squashed and crumpled dresses they’d bought in Monte Carlo to attend the casino. Luckier still, they also had an iron.

Yet they were both feeling pretty nervous. Being invited to sit at the captain’s table was a big deal and neither was quite sure what to expect.

‘Is this another one of those old films you’re going to tell me I have to watch?’ asked Flick, fiddling distractedly with her fringe. She’d trimmed it with her nail scissors and done a terrible job.

‘It’s not old, it’s iconic!’ protested Maggie, tugging selfconsciously at her neckline. She hadn’t remembered it being this plunging.

‘In that case so are you,’ teased Flick.

‘Oi!’

Maggie pretended to be offended, but was secretly flattered. She glanced at her reflection and for a moment she barely recognized herself as the same woman in the caravan Flick had met less than two weeks ago. She’d put on a bit of make-up and done one of those hair colour kits to cover her greys and was really pleased with the results. She admired all those women who embraced going grey, but she wasn’t ready to be a silver vixen just yet. If ever.

Plus, if she was going to come face to face on the cruise ship with the man who broke her heart and left her for dead, she was going to do it with really good hair.

But this was about more than a bit of a make-up, a good hair day and a sequinned dress. Gone was the grey pallor and dark shadows under her eyes, the worry etched on her face and the weight of the world on her slumped shoulders. Instead, her eyes were bright and sparkling, her skin glowed with a light golden tan, and her head was held high. The broken woman overwhelmed by weariness and defeat was now filled with vibrancy, confidence and determination.

Maggie didn’t look like the same woman, because she wasn’t the same woman.

The elevator stopped to let more people in and for a moment Maggie and Flick held their breath. They’d done this on every floor, hearts in their mouths, wondering if it was going to be Him on the other side of the sliding doors . . . But no, it was just more well-dressed diners on their way to dinner. Maggie and Flick shuffled to the side to make room. A couple entered wearing a ballgown and tuxedo. Later the husband would get a bollocking from his wife for smiling at the knockout in the sequinned dress.

‘So what happens in the film when they walk into the dining room?’ asked Flick a few moments later as they exited the elevator on the correct deck and made their way towards the dining room.

‘Everyone stops and stares. Trust me, they really know how to make an entrance.’

They both paused by the doorway and looked at each other for a moment. Both a little daunted.

Flick in her satin floor-length dress. Maggie in her sequinned plunging one. But while in Monte Carlo it might have been wearing her, now she was definitely wearing it.

‘Well, in that case, seeing as you’re a blonde you can be Marilyn Monroe,’ said Flick.

‘And you can be Jane Russell,’ finished Maggie.

Then they both grinned.

‘OK, let’s go.’

They were greeted by a hostess and led down a two-tier winding staircase to the captain’s table, along with the other invited guests. Think Titanic, only without Rose and Jack or the iceberg. Everyone was wearing their finest, with the women in cocktail dresses and evening gowns and the men in tuxedos with satin cummerbunds. Immediately Maggie stopped worrying about her outfit – she’d never seen so many sequins and feathers outside of Vegas.

As they walked through the busy restaurant, all eyes were upon them as they made their way towards the designated table in the centre of the vast dining room. Being invited as a guest to dine with the captain at his table was quite the honour and there were more than a few envious stares. Flick thought this is what it must be like to be famous. Everyone staring and gawping. She decided she wouldn’t like it. Why did everyone want to be famous when anonymity was so much better?

The hostess quickly seated them. It was an interesting mix of guests, including the ship’s officers; and, as was the usual practice, couples were split up. Flick found herself sitting next to a sweet old man called Valentine who proudly informed her this was his first cruise and he’d come away to celebrate his eightieth birthday with his family, while Maggie was next to his daughter-in-law, Liv, who showed her pictures of her recent honeymoon in Mexico and her cute stepson, Stanley, who was asleep in their cabin with her husband Ben.

‘The only one missing is Harry,’ she laughed, before explaining their beloved family pet was at home with dogsitters.

Finally, and only once everyone was seated, the captain came down in his formal navy uniform and they all had to rise.

‘Good evening, lovely to meet you all, welcome to the Galaxy Goddess.’

As the Captain greeted everyone, with smiles and handshakes, there began a flurry of introductions around the table, and waiters, who appeared like magic, began pouring champagne and handing out the special menu created for the captain’s preference.

‘So, I hear we have an esteemed journalist in our midst.’

The captain beamed at Flick across the table as she was handed a flute of amber bubbles. In the last twenty-four hours, she’d had more champagne than in an entire lifetime.

‘Um, well, I wouldn’t exactly—’ She caught Maggie’s eye and did a swift U-turn. She needed to play the part. ‘Yes, thank you for inviting me tonight; it’s wonderful to be here.’

‘We’re honoured to have you on board.’