Page 19 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

Draining his pint glass, he stood up. ‘Same again?’

He didn’t wait for her answer.

She wasn’t really lying. She was technically in Manchester. OK, so she wasn’t at a conference, she was at the airport, but still. The interpretation of the truth was very fluid these days. Everyone talked about speaking their truth, but wasn’t that just their opinion? Flick found it all rather confusing. Shouldn’t the real truth be the same for everyone? And wasn’t her job as a journalist to find it?

She glanced up at the electronic screen. Her flight was boarding. Last call. She couldn’t wait any longer. Standing up, she began walking to her gate.

Maggie was late. The bus had taken for ever. She always used to take a taxi, but those days were long gone now. Which meant she’d had to change twice, standing around waiting ages for the next one to turn up.

Maggie noticed that a lot. All the waiting around. The loss of control. Everyone always thinks having money means being able to afford nice things, but it was less about buying stuff and more about having time and convenience and ease and agency. You jumped in taxis, bought takeout coffees, ordered Deliveroo and dropped clothes at the dry cleaner’s. Convenient. Quick. Easy.

No having to try and run in flip-flops with your heart bursting out of your chest as you dashed through sliding doors into the airport and through security as you tried to make your flight before it leaves without you.

And then she saw her.

‘Flick Lomax!’

As Maggie rushed down the long concourse towards the gate, she waved with her free arm at the reporter ahead of her.

‘Wait!’

At least she thought it was the reporter. She looked different out of her suit and she had her hair in a ponytail. But as Flick turned, Maggie noticed she was still wearing the same trainers, only now they were free of mud. They’d cleaned up well.

‘Maggie?’

‘Sorry, the bus took for ever,’ Maggie gasped, catching up with her. God, she was out of shape.

‘I’ve been waiting for you in departures. I didn’t think you were coming.’

Flick was staring at her with disbelief as she bent double, hands on her waist, trying to catch her breath.

‘Of course I’m coming. You bought me a ticket.’

Yesterday, after speaking to George, Maggie had phoned Flick, who’d seemed surprised but pleased to hear from her. When Flick had told her she was still determined to get her exclusive and was flying to France in the morning, where she had reason to believe her ex was, Maggie had made the impulsive decision to go with her.

‘I thought you might have had second thoughts.’

‘Second, third, fourth and fifth.’

Straightening up, Maggie looked at Flick. A reluctant traveller, she was seriously out of her comfort zone, but she felt like she didn’t have a choice. Without her there was no story; she had to warn other women. And when Flick had said the newspaper would buy her a ticket and the trip was all expenses paid, she couldn’t refuse.

Especially since she’d woken up a couple of weeks ago to find an enforcement notice from the council slapped on the door of the caravan. Due to lack of planning permission, she was deemed to be living illegally and had twenty-eight days from the date of the notice to move the caravan otherwise they were taking her to court. So basically, in two weeks she was going to be homeless.

Like George said, at this point, what had she got to lose?

‘I’ve got lots of questions.’

‘Me too,’ replied Flick. ‘But they’re going to have to wait.’

‘This is the final boarding call for flight 2103 to Nice. Will any remaining passengers please report to the gate immediately, as it’s about to close.’

For a split second the two women exchanged glances as they listened to the announcement, before grabbing their cases and dashing to their gate . . . to find it completely empty but for one member of the cabin crew who urgently greeted them, scanning their boarding cards and rushing them onto the plane.

It was only when they were finally in their seats, their seatbelts on, and the plane was taxiing down the runway that Maggie turned to Flick. ‘So, He’s in Nice?’

She still couldn’t say his name.

‘Actually, no.’ Flick shook her head. ‘In fact, he’s not in France at all. My geography’s terrible. I didn’t realize it was a different country.’