Page 52 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

Flick ignored her and carried on defiantly scanning the crowds, while Maggie fell silent and sat down in the shade, mopping up trickles of perspiration. These days she felt like her body was falling apart. Why did no one ever warn you that being in your late forties was like living in an old house that required constant maintenance to just stay habitable? With cracks appearing on a daily basis, a thermostat on the blink and a roof that was forever springing leaks.

Scooping into her sundress, she wiped up the drips between her boobs. Lovely.

And yet, despite her crushing disappointment, there was a relief that she wouldn’t have to see Him looking like this, all red-faced and sweating. She’d got up early that morning, all anxious and apprehensive, to wash and style her hair, put on some make-up and shave her legs. Well, if you’re going to see your ex, you want to look your best. Even if you don’t have feelings for him any more; it was a pride thing.

At least that’s what she told herself.

‘Fuck.’

She snapped back to hear Flick curse and watch as she slumped next to her. She looked gutted.

‘I think you’re right. We’ve missed him,’ she admitted.

It was one of those moments when there was no satisfaction to be gained from being proved right.

‘We’ve totally messed up again.’

‘No, we haven’t.’ Maggie realized that she’d been so consumed with how she would feel if she saw Him, that she’d lost sight of Flick’s feelings.

‘Yes, we have, we should have planned it better, got here earlier—’

‘It’s fine, don’t worry. We’ll find him,’ she lied, in an attempt to reassure Flick.

‘But how? He could be anywhere.’

‘Rome isn’t that big; it’s actually quite compact.’ Seeing Flick’s disappointment, Maggie swung into encouragement mode. ‘If he’s gone on one of the sightseeing tours, it’s likely he’ll be visiting all the major touristy spots, like the Trevi Fountain or the Sistine Chapel or the Colosseum. We’ll just have to do our own sightseeing. See if we can bump into him.’

Bump into him. Maggie couldn’t quite believe she was saying this so casually, as if bumping into The Man Who Broke Her Heart was as inconsequential as bumping into an acquaintance.

‘And if we don’t?’

‘We get to see some of the most incredible things in the world.’

Flick still looked defeated.

‘I didn’t think it would be this hard,’ she finally admitted.

‘Remember, we’ve got two weeks.’

Maggie seemed to have found herself in the strange position of the roles reversing, and she was now the one convincing Flick.

‘I know, but . . .’

‘But nothing.’ Jumping to her feet, Maggie attempted to cheer her up. ‘We can’t feel sad, we’re in Rome!’

‘We’re actually seventy kilometres north of Rome,’ corrected Flick, heaving a sigh at what a wasted journey it had been, trekking all the way out there for nothing. She was annoyed with herself and the whole situation and for a moment her northern grit left her and all she wanted to do was sit and sulk.

But Maggie wouldn’t let her. ‘Come on,’ she said, grabbing her hand.

‘Where are we going?’

‘I’m going to show you something that changed my life.’

The Space In Between

The two fingertips are almost, but not quite, touching. With their muscular arms outstretched towards each other, there is still a small gap between Adam, lying completely naked on a grassy hill, and God, floating above him in the heavens, his pink cape billowing out behind him, surrounded by cherubs, as he reaches out to touch him.

‘Why aren’t their fingers touching?’