Page 27 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

Immediately Maggie hated herself. She felt a wave of embarrassment for even asking such a thing. ‘Not that I care, of course.’

‘Of course.’

The two women looked at each other in mutual understanding.

‘It’s a selfie,’ replied Flick, looking again at the photo. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to see this? It might help prepare you for when you see him in real life.’

Maggie paused. Tempted, but afraid of what it might unleash. ‘OK,’ she agreed finally, reaching for the handset.

There was a pause as she peered at the screen. Angling it away from the bright sunshine, she stared at the once-familiar figure, at this suntanned person in a blue shirt and chinos, trying to recognize the person she would reach for in the middle of the night, who would tell her he loved her, who brought her tea and toast in the morning. It was like looking at a stranger. She pinched the screen to zoom in.

Sitting across from her, Flick observed Maggie.

‘How does that make you feel?’

‘Weird.’

‘That’s it?’ Flick was indignant. ‘It should make you feel angry. He’s here living it up in Monte Carlo with your money and you’re living in a caravan in a field in the middle of the bloody Pennines. I’d be furious.’

Maggie felt the youthful outrage waft across the table. She felt so weary in comparison. ‘True,’ she nodded. ‘But it takes so much effort to stay angry. It slips away when you’re not looking and you’re just left with all these unanswered questions.’

‘Exactly, and we’re here to ask them.’

Maggie knew Flick must think her pathetic, but she was too resigned to care.

‘So what shall we do? Go to where this photo was taken?’

‘Well, he won’t be there now. The selfie was posted yesterday.’

‘In that case, how do we even know he’s still here? In Monte Carlo?’

‘We don’t.’

Maggie looked at her, surprised.

‘Just call it a hunch.’

Flick couldn’t let her confidence slip. There was a lot riding on this weekend. She couldn’t let Maggie catch a whiff of doubt. Couldn’t allow herself to admit to any either.

‘Well, your editor obviously believed in your hunch, so I’ve every confidence in you.’

As Maggie gave a supportive smile, Flick felt a twist of guilt. She hated lying to Maggie – after everything Maggie had been through, she needed people to be honest with her. Flick resolved to tell her later. After it was all over.

‘Can I ask you a question now?’ she said instead.

‘Of course.’ Maggie steeled herself.

‘What do you think he’s done with all the money he stole from you?’

‘I’ve no idea. Spent it most likely. Isn’t that what thieves do?’

‘On what? Designer clothes? Fast cars? Drugs?’

Maggie snorted, suddenly amused. ‘He used to make a fuss about taking a paracetamol when he had the Man Flu, so I don’t think it’s drugs. And he didn’t drive a particularly fancy car or seem interested in them . . .’ She broke off and looked back at the photo of him posing next to a Ferrari. Did she ever know him at all? ‘But he did like to wear nice suits. I remember thinking how smart he looked when I first met him.’

‘So how can you be sure he’s spent it all? When I first came to your caravan, you said the money would be long gone. But what if he’s got it all squirrelled away in a savings account somewhere?’

Maggie raised her eyebrows in mock derision.