Page 80 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

She turned to look at Flick. Only now was Flick really beginning to understand what had happened to Maggie.

‘I didn’t even know what those terms meant before He walked into my art gallery. I’d probably heard of them, read them in a magazine article, but I’d never experienced them, never thought that could happen to me. You don’t, do you? You think you’d be wiser, stronger. I wasn’t some naive young girl – I was in my forties; I owned my flat, ran my own business; I’d been married, had relationships . . . It was only afterwards, when I went to the police and they gave me some leaflets, links to support groups and websites . . .’

Looking down at her lap, Maggie began picking an invisible thread on her dress. Flick watched her, ignoring the impulse to tell her it wasn’t her fault. That fraudsters were heartless. Master manipulators. Experts at lulling their victims into a false sense of security and trust, at convincing everyone that they were something they’re not.

‘I started reading up on it and recognized the patterns of behaviour, the description of the silences and bad moods, the mind tricks and constant threat of him taking away his love and affection. I started living on eggshells, feeling isolated . . .’

‘But what about your friends? What about George, what did he say?’

Maggie looked embarrassed. ‘I stopped seeing most of them,’ she admitted, raising her eyes to Flick’s. ‘I’d make excuses, say I was busy. Pretend I’d forgotten to return their calls. I didn’t want to risk a repeat of what had happened that evening, it just felt easier this way. Looking back, now I realize it was his way of isolating me from my friends. After a while, people assume you’re busy and stop trying to meet up. They think you’re newly engaged and planning a wedding, that you’re in some kind of love bubble.’

‘Gosh, Maggie, I’m sorry. What a mind fuck.’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

She smiled then and Flick felt an urgent need to reassure Maggie that the experience was more common than she thought, that she was determined to write the exposé to broaden awareness and warn others so it wouldn’t happen to them.

‘You know, if it’s any consolation, you’re not alone. I’ve been doing my research and I’ve read about this happening to lots of people. Both men and women. The victim is desperate for affection from their abuser, it becomes a vicious cycle. That’s how they get away with the lies and deceit for so long. They’re unscrupulous.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Maggie nodded. ‘And all the time they tell you they love you. And you want it so much to be true, you believe them.’

There was a pause and Flick reached out her hand, squeezing Maggie’s in hers.

‘He’s not going to get away with this. We’re going to find him and make him face up to what he’s done. I promise.’

Maggie nodded, grateful for her kindness and confidence, and thought about her phone burning a hole in her pocket, about the text she received out of the blue from Him last night. She hadn’t told Flick that he’d made contact. Neither had she replied. It had been such a shock to hear from him, she was still processing it. Deciding what to do. Though, of course, there shouldn’t be any decision to make. She needed to tell the police. To tell Flick.

‘Actually, there’s something else—’

‘Buon pomeriggio, signore, e benvenute nel nostro hotel.’

They were interrupted by loud Italian voices and, turning, saw two uniformed porters striding towards the car, ready to welcome them to the hotel with huge smiles and a silver tray on which balanced two tall glasses.

‘Wow, hi.’

‘Thank you so much.’

As they both quickly clambered out of the car, they found themselves being presented with chilled lemonade cocktails, as their luggage was swiftly removed from the boot.

‘Sorry, what was it you were saying?’

Flick turned to Maggie, a drink in her hand, her head spinning. She felt like she’d just stepped into some five-star fairytale.

‘Oh, nothing.’ Maggie shrugged. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

And together they were whisked across the gravel courtyard to reception, in a whirl of scented blossoms, delicious cocktails and handsome Sicilian men in uniform.

Whatever it was, it could wait.

Trouble in Taormina

‘I think we should split up.’

‘Split up?’

Twenty minutes later and they were both horizontal on two sun loungers by the pool. Having flopped their weary – and rather tipsy, thanks to the welcome cocktails, of which they’d had two – bodies in the shade of a yellow-and-white-striped parasol, while they waited for their room to be ready, Maggie was just drifting off to sleep . . . when she was abruptly woken by Flick breaking up with her.

‘Uh . . . sorry . . . have I missed something?’