Page 23 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

And that was another thing.

Flick hadn’t yet told Maggie that she’d gone rogue and was here under her own steam, which included paying for it all herself, including both their airline tickets. That when she’d pitched the story to her editor, he’d almost laughed her out of his office.

She’d get round to that later.

‘Well, it is only for one night.’

‘Exactly.’

They both sat down on the edge of the bed, then winced.

‘Bit soft and lumpy.’

‘The story of my thighs,’ quipped Maggie.

Flick smiled. She couldn’t help it. And she suddenly felt a blast of gratitude towards this woman she hardly knew. A woman who’d had the shittiest thing happen to her, and who was trying to make her feel better. Who’d trusted her enough to fly out here and face her fears.

She also felt a huge weight of responsibility. She was the one that got her out here.

Maggie’s voice cut into her thoughts.

‘So, what’s the plan of action?’

‘Well, first, I thought we’d get showered and changed.’

But even as she was saying it, it crossed Flick’s mind that there might not even be a shower and frankly she was almost too scared to look as otherwise it was going to have to be a flannel wash, as her nana used to call it, and God only knows how she would explain that to Maggie. ‘Then let’s go out and get something to eat for lunch and I can talk you through it.’

There. Hopefully that sounded professional. Plus, it gave her a bit more time to think.

Because, in truth, she’d been so preoccupied with making arrangements to fly out here, while making excuses to Rory, her stepdad and her editor, that she hadn’t thought much further ahead. But now she was here she had to think and she had to think fast.

Still, this was part of the job description. As a journalist she’d been taught to use her initiative. To think on her feet. To multitask, be flexible and formulate, and to be prepared to travel at short notice to get the story.

In other words, Flick’s plan of action was currently called Winging It.

Winging It

‘I remember coming here when I was nineteen with my friend George. It feels like a lifetime ago.’

Less than twenty minutes later, Maggie was feeling so much better. Having showered and changed into a sundress and sandals, she was sitting at a bustling cafe up near the royal palace, in the comfortable shade of a candy-cane-striped sun awning. She almost felt like a different person.

‘Though we could never have afforded to sit down at a cafe,’ she continued, looking across at Flick. ‘We were backpacking and had no money. I remember watching someone drink their coffee and leave half a croissant on their plate and George swiping it.’

As the waiter handed them their lunch menus and Flick glanced at the prices, she felt like stealing food from people’s plates too. How much for a salad? Picking up her phone, she began googling the currency exchange rate. Thank God they were only here for one night.

‘You know, until we sat down, I’d completely forgotten all about that.’

In the middle of reminiscing, Maggie’s face clouded. For a brief moment, she’d been nineteen and carefree, excited for the future, with no idea of what lay ahead – and now suddenly she was about to be fifty. Blink and thirty years had passed.

‘Sometimes I wish I could reach back through time and warn myself about the future.’

‘You can’t do that; it mucks everything up.’

‘Sorry?’

Maggie looked across at Flick. She’d presumed Flick wasn’t listening. Half the time she seemed to be in a world of her own, or on her phone. She felt like part of one of those couples you see, sitting across from each other at restaurants, glued to their phones, not speaking.

‘It’s always in those time-travel movies you see on TV. You change one thing in the past and it affects all the stuff into the future,’ said Flick.