Page 36 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

Silence. When Flick looked up, Maggie was still staring at her intently.

‘And you paid for my flight? And my lunch? And this dress?’

Maggie’s mind was whirring backwards, thinking of all the things they’d been spending money on, mentally adding up the whole trip. Arithmetic had never been her strong point, but it must be well over a thousand pounds, probably more.

‘But why?’

There was a pause.

‘Because it’s a good story.’ Flick raised her eyes to meet Maggie’s. ‘An important story and I wanted to be the one to tell it. Men like Theo Stratin ruin women’s lives and think they can just get away with it. I wanted to expose him. To confront him and try to get some answers.’

‘For me?’

‘For you and all the victims of romance fraud. So many feel stupid or ashamed. They don’t speak out. I’ve read about some victims wanting to take their own lives, and it’s happening more and more . . . If by exposing him and telling your story we can warn others, if we save one person from what he did to you and—’

Flick stopped herself, swallowing down whatever it was she going to say.

‘And I did it for me too,’ she admitted, after a moment. ‘I’m a journalist. I can’t write about jumble sales and missing cats any more. No offence, I know you’re still upset about your cat George, but I can’t . . .’

Maggie sat very still on her plush bar stool absorbing this information. The alcohol had made things spongy. She wasn’t as sharp as she should be. But still, one thing was very clear.

‘You lied to me.’

Flick blanched.

‘After everything that’s happened to me . . . that’s the one thing I can’t bear. Someone lying to me.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘And now you’re saying sorry and you’ve told me to stop saying sorry.’

‘For stupid stuff, yeah, but not this. I am sorry and I should apologize, but I just knew you wouldn’t come if I told you the truth.’

The two women looked at each other.

‘And you’re probably right. I wouldn’t have done,’ admitted Maggie. ‘But don’t you understand? I can’t have people lying to me. Not after what happened. I don’t trust anyone any more. I don’t even trust myself any more. You can do anything, but you can’t lie to me, Flick. You’ve got to be honest with me—’

She broke off, her emotions racing as Flick’s admission sank in.

‘Is there anything else you’ve got to tell me?’

Flick paused. Now was the time to come completely clean.

‘I don’t know how we’re going to pay this bar bill,’ she confessed.

And it was at that moment the awful mess of the situation, the whole disastrous evening with all its stress and anxiety and ridiculous sequins and satin, suddenly became hysterically funny. Who was it that said tragedy and comedy are two sides of the same coin? They didn’t know, but unexpectedly they both burst out laughing.

On the other side of the bar, Jean-Paul the bartender paused from polishing a champagne coupe.

See. He couldn’t work them out. Couldn’t work them out all.

Against All Odds

Flick wasn’t remotely religious. She was a journalist. She believed in facts. In truths that could be researched and fact-checked. In remaining objective. In a commitment to reporting only accurate stories, without skewing or embellishing the facts. Which is why she’d fidgeted her way through her Catholic primary school assemblies as a child, sitting cross-legged as she listened to the stories from the Bible about faith and miracles. But where was the proof? she would ask, shooting her hand up, much to the impatience of her headmistress. Where were the facts?

But now, some twenty years later, even she hoped for a miracle as she handed over her credit card.

Thankfully Mastercard performed one and her payment was accepted. She didn’t look at the bar bill. Just closed her eyes and said a little prayer. Her headmistress would be delighted.