Page 47 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

Flick pulled out her phone and pinched at a document on her screen.

‘Elba, wherever that is.’

‘It’s an island. Where Napoleon was exiled to.’

‘Cool.’

Maggie noted Flick didn’t even pretend to be interested in what she thought was actually an interesting bit of information, but was now focused on taking a photo of the view.

‘Do you want me to take one of you in it?’ she offered.

‘Oh. No. Thanks. I hate myself in photos.’

‘Why? You look lovely.’

Flick pulled a face and went back to taking a photo and Maggie thought about how she used to be the same when she was her age, always thinking she looked awful, hating to be photographed because she thought her thighs were too big or her face too spotty and she wasn’t wearing a full face of make-up. And now, whenever she looked back at old photos of herself, all she saw was someone young and beautiful and she wished she could reach back in time and give herself confidence. To take herself by the shoulders and tell her that one day in the future she would kill to look like that again.

And now here she was, wishing she could explain all that to Flick and realizing that no, she couldn’t, you just had to learn it yourself.

‘Well, in that case, I guess we’ve got the evening off,’ she said instead.

‘It’s like being on holiday.’ Flick grinned.

‘A Roman holiday.’

‘Is that another film reference? ’Cos I know that one.’ Flick looked triumphant. ‘Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck.’

‘So you don’t just watch Love Island?’

Maggie was teasing, but Flick looked offended.

‘Not everyone in their twenties watches that mindless rubbish.’

‘Who says it’s mindless rubbish?’

‘I do. It’s just women parading around in bikinis.’

‘And men parading around in tiny shorts. My friend George loves it. He’s always sending me screen grabs to cheer me up.’

Flick threw her a withering look.

‘Maybe you should watch it,’ suggested Maggie. ‘Before you form an opinion.’

Flick bristled. Forming opinions about things was something she prided herself upon. First impressions. Gut instinct. It was how she made sense of the world. Protected herself from all the confusing, complicated stuff, of which there’d been plenty in the last few years.

‘Roman Holiday was one of my mum’s favourite films,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘She loved Audrey Hepburn—’ She broke off, her expression thoughtful as she looked back out across the city, taking it all in. ‘She said she always wanted to bring me to Rome. To show it to me. She said the first time you see Rome it has to be with someone who loves you.’ She felt her eyes well up. ‘But she never got the chance.’

‘Maybe she’s with you here now.’

‘Oh, I don’t believe that stuff.’ Flick gave a brisk sniff and shook her head firmly. ‘I’m not going to see a white feather or a rainbow and think it’s a sign from Mum.’ She glanced across at Maggie. ‘Do you? With your dad?’

‘No, not really,’ she confessed. ‘But I like the idea.’

‘And why does it always have to be a feather or a rainbow, anyway?’ she tutted derisively. ‘If Mum was going to give me a sign, it would be something that cheered me up.’

‘Like what?’

‘I dunno.’ Flick leaned against the balcony, peering down into the street. ‘Pizza?’