Page 124 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

‘I think we’re past the point of worrying about hurt feelings, don’t you?’ Flick smiled. ‘And anyway, you gotta laugh.’

‘What? Or we’ll both cry?’

They both looked at each other, their shared sense of humour bubbling up underneath the surface, the realization that it wasn’t the only thing they had in common. If they were close before, they felt even closer now.

‘And then what happens after we’ve celebrated your half-century?’ grinned Flick.

Maggie gave a mock grimace, then her face fell serious and she turned to gaze at the horizon. Her mind was made up.

‘And then I’m going to go home.’

Champagne Supernova

‘It’s the birthday girl!’

As they walked into the hotel bar, George was there to meet them with a bottle of champagne and an outrageous suntan. Arms flung wide, wearing a shirt with a print louder than his voice and, despite being inside, a classic pair of Ray-Bans, he sprang up from the velvet sofa like an excited Labrador.

‘Hello, George.’

‘Fuck me, you’re old.’

‘You’ll be next.’

‘If I’m lucky.’

He laughed loudly, giving her a big hug and engulfing her in his large frame, while Maggie quickly made the introductions.

‘George, this is Flick; Flick, this is George.’

Flick looked at George like she’d never seen anyone quite like him, which was to be expected, as that’s how people usually reacted to George the first time they met him. He had a presence. Like an actor you might see at the theatre playing the lead role, only George was only ever playing himself.

The champagne was chilling in an ice bucket awaiting their arrival, and popping it open with a flourish, George quickly filled three flutes and handed them around.

‘Happy Birthday!’ Raising a toast, he took a thirsty glug. ‘So come on, spill the beans, what’s been happening?’

Maggie and Flick exchanged looks. Still both reeling from the events of the past twenty-four hours, they sank onto the sofa and took dazed sips. The champagne was ice-cold and fizzed as it weaved down to their empty stomachs. Where on earth do you start?

‘Caught the bastard yet?’

‘Shh, George.’ Mindful of Flick’s recent revelation, Maggie tried to silence him. But she should’ve known: George was not a man to be silenced.

‘What? Are we not calling him a bastard now? OK, what did we decide on. Liar? Wanker? Total shithead, The Biggest Mistake of Your Life—’

‘I went to meet Him.’

‘He’s my dad.’

They both spoke at once.

George’s mouth was still moving but no sound was coming out, like one of those cartoon characters you see running off a cliff and not realizing the ground has disappeared beneath them.

‘I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you lost for words,’ noted Maggie. ‘Oh, yeah, and we won at roulette in Monte Carlo and used our winnings to chase him around Europe.’

‘We rented a car and drove to Italy –’

‘– and Flick threw up all over the Amalfi Coast.’

‘Thank God it wasn’t in the honeymoon suite.’