Page 78 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

‘Flirting?’ My mind is whirling, trying to make sense of it all. The whole evening feels as if it’s suddenly been tipped on its axis. ‘What are you talking about? They’re my friends—’

But he’s not listening. ‘Trying to emasculate me in front of everyone.’

‘Is this about me paying the bill?’

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I shouldn’t have brought it up.

‘See! I knew it! I knew that’s why you did it. Pretending in front of all your friends like it was no big deal! Trying to make me look like some cheapskate.’

‘What? No! I don’t think anything—’

‘All your friends must think I’m a total loser. That I can’t provide. That I’m not good enough for you.’

It’s like a car crash. It’s all happening so fast. I can’t control it.

‘Theo. Please. Stop. I don’t know why you’re saying all this.’ I can feel myself on the verge of tears. ‘You’d brought the wrong wallet, I was just trying to help, my friends don’t think anything, they love you—’

He stops then on the pavement and twirls around to face me. When I see his face, I almost don’t recognize him. Gone is the charming smile he just bestowed on George and my friends. The affection. The kindness. The consideration. Gone is the love. His eyes are dark and flashing and his jaw is set.

‘I love you,’ I plead.

I’m so desperate to return to the happy mood of the evening. For it to be how it was. How could it have all turned on itself like this? I wait, desperate for him to say it back to me.

But there’s nothing. Just silence where the words should have been.

Instead he turns away from me, almost in disgust, and continues walking. Him slightly ahead, me behind. I follow, my mind and body reeling. Frantically trying to work out why I’m being punished, to remember what I’ve said or done that has upset him so much, to think how to make it right. But my mind is foggy from the wine and champagne, and I can’t think straight.

‘I’m sorry, Theo, please . . .’

I’m begging now. I feel terrible. Guilty. Wracked with remorse. I just want the Theo I know back, the affection, the love, the intimacy. It’s our engagement party night. Our celebration. We’re supposed to be the happiest we’ve ever been.

But he ignores me and keeps walking, our footsteps the only sound I hear until we reach the art gallery and the side door that leads to my flat. Digging his set of keys out of his pocket, he opens the door and lets us both in. I follow him meekly inside and upstairs, my head bowed, my whole self subdued.

The flat is in darkness and as I turn on a lamp, George the cat comes out to say hello and wind around our ankles. I scoop him up, burying my nose into his soft, warm fur. I’ve never felt more wretched.

‘I’m going to bed.’

Without looking at me, Theo turns and goes into the bathroom, brushes his teeth, then disappears into the bedroom. When I go in a few minutes later the bedroom is in darkness and he’s turned away from me.

I climb in beside him, pulling the covers around me. I feel so alone. On my bedside table, a flash of light illuminates the blackness. It’s my phone. It’s on silent, but as I go to turn it off a text beeps up; it’s from George, saying thanks for the lovely evening and a love heart. A tear silently trickles down my cheek as I look at the diamond on my finger.

I send a love heart back.

It’s the Journey, Not the Destination

‘So what happened afterwards?’ asked Flick, as Maggie finished telling her the story about the night of their engagement dinner. ‘When you woke up the next day?’

As Maggie turned off the engine, the car fell silent.

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’ Sitting beside her, in the passenger seat, Flick was incredulous. ‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously.’ Maggie nodded. ‘When I woke up the next day, it was like nothing had happened.’

After over seven hours on the road, one ferry and five hundred and fifty kilometres later, a dusty red Fiat and its passengers had finally arrived at its destination: the beautiful hilltop town of Taormina. Spectacularly perched on a mountainside, high above the sea and with a view of Mount Etna, this was one of the famous stops on the Grand Tour, the journey made by nineteenth-century aristocracy, who came to learn about art and history and archaeology.

Fast-forward a couple of hundred years and following in their footsteps were Flick and Maggie. Minus the crinolines, parasols and footmen, they’d pulled into the large gravel forecourt outside their hotel, tired and weary from the long journey.