Page 118 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

‘OK, I won’t be long, I’ll be right back,’ said Maggie,

But Flick, always so serious, was already dancing, arms in the air, her face lit up, body swaying, lost in the music. For the first time she looked like a twenty-something should look, like someone having fun without a care in the world. For a few moments Maggie watched her, then, smiling, she turned away.

Only, Maggie had underestimated the size of the club and how easy it would be to find Flick again, and after navigating her way to the toilets, she found herself lost and disorientated. The loud music and flashing strobe lights made it hard for her to think, let alone see, especially without her glasses. Worse still, her headache had returned with a vengeance. And it was when she was trying to move through the crush of bodies, around the large swimming pool, that she looked up and glimpsed what she assumed must be the VIP section. A balcony with separate seating and tables and – oh look! There was Birdy!

Down below, Maggie waved, trying to attract her attention. Wearing her sequinned dress, hair piled up, Birdy was standing against the railing, looking out across the club, swaying to the beats. Maggie called her name. But it was in vain. The music was so loud, Birdy would never hear her, never notice her in the crowd below.

Then Maggie spotted Him.

As he appeared from behind Birdy, suntanned, in a white shirt, her stomach dropped. In his hands were two drinks and she watched as he passed Birdy one.

Was that really Theo? Maggie squinted myopically, trying to see and cursing that she didn’t have her glasses. And now they were laughing and he was leaning in and sliding his arm around her waist and nuzzling her neck.

Wait. Was he with Birdy? Were they together? Her breath caught in her chest and she felt the ground shift beneath her as two worlds collided. No, that was impossible.

Reeling with shock, Maggie suddenly felt very faint. She couldn’t take any more. It was too much. The music pumping. The strobe lights. The crowds. She felt like she was about to have a panic attack. And now everything was blurring. She was sweating. Her head was throbbing. Panic rose up in her chest and she felt as if she was going to collapse. She had no idea where Flick was. She didn’t have a phone. She didn’t know what to think.

All she knew was one thing.

She had to get out of there.

The Moment of Truth

Maggie couldn’t remember much about how she got home, other than she managed to flag down a taxi and get back to the finca, where she collapsed in her tent and slept for thirteen hours straight. And now she was awake and in the clear, sober light of morning, everything about the events of last night looked different.

She must have got it wrong. It had been chaos in the club and she struggled to see without her glasses. Never mind that she’d still been suffering the effects of a concussion and a black eye. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced she’d been mistaken about what she thought she saw on the balcony. Or even who she saw.

It was definitely Birdy, but now she couldn’t be sure it was Theo. There’d been lots of people. Was her mind playing tricks on her again? Like when he first disappeared and she used to think she saw him walking down the street, or in the supermarket, and she’d rush up, only to discover it was someone else and her cheeks would blaze with shame and embarrassment. Was she so stressed and obsessed she was conjuring him up in crowds, like a ghost? Was she never to be free of him?

And it was then she made her decision. She had to move on from this. For her own health and sanity, she had to let it go.

Maggie had always had a sense of reluctance about chasing across Europe, trying to find the man who blew up her life. It was only supposed to be one night, twenty-four hours in Monte Carlo – blink, and it would all be over. But while their plans had changed and the trip had given her life another new and surprising dimension, her doubts had always remained; and as the days had gone by, she’d felt her misgivings multiplying.

And a nagging question.

Don’t you run away from explosions, not towards them? They always do in the action films. Whenever there’s a massive blast, you don’t see anyone running back into the wreckage. They’re always desperately trying to get to safety. Away from danger. Relieved to still be alive.

Which begged the question, what the hell was she doing? She should be trying to get as far away as possible from him. The Love-bomber. This man who blew up her life. He’d planted the dynamite into the cracks of her heart, the depths of her trust, the foundations of her very being. Lit the fuse and watched it go BOOM.

Next time she had a run-in with him, she might not be so lucky.

Having made up her mind, Maggie got up and packed up all her things. She toyed with the idea of leaving a note for Flick, then decided against it. She couldn’t do that. She owed her an explanation at least.

‘Flick, are you awake?’ Pulling back the canvas flap, Maggie saw Flick was fast asleep, buried underneath a large mound of duvet. It had been almost dawn when she’d heard her come home. She stirred as she entered.

‘Maggie . . . what time is it?’

‘It’s early, but I’m leaving.’

‘Leaving? To go where?’

‘Home. Not that I’ll have it for very much longer,’ she added, as she thought of her promise to Ainsley to move the caravan. ‘Back to the UK.’

‘Why? What’s happened?’

Bleary-eyed, Flick struggled onto her elbows and pulled off her sleep mask.

‘Is this because of last night? I tried to find you. When you didn’t come back from the loos I went looking for you, but there were so many people . . . When I finally got to the VIP section I couldn’t see you or Birdy, so I just assumed you’d come back here and I stayed out partying—’ She broke off. Partying. That word again. Except, this time in Ibiza she really was. ‘I’m sorry. I was pretty out of it.’