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?’
Groggy and discombobulated, she realized she’d been drooling on her fancy hotel towel. Oh God, how embarrassing. She forced herself to sit up.
To see Flick wide awake and staring at her.
‘Rather than sticking together, like we have been doing, I think we should split up, that way we can we cover more bases, double our chances of finding him.’
‘I thought we were having a day off today?’
‘We are. I’m talking about tomorrow, when the cruise ship arrives.’
‘Oh, right, yes. Good idea.’
After four days on the road, both Flick and Maggie had come to the realization that trying to chase a cruise ship around every port of call was not only exhausting, it was totally impractical.
The distances were just too huge and trying to arrive before the ship had docked and the passengers had disembarked was proving impossible.
It was like constantly being late to the party.
Not that it was much of a party. Staying in a different place every night might sound like fun, but it was beginning to take its toll, both physically and mentally.
This is what it must feel like being in the witness protection scheme, Flick had remarked only that morning as they’d packed their bags and left as the sun was rising. It was ironic, but they were beginning to feel like they were the ones on the run.
So they’d decided: they weren’t going to try to follow the whole cruise, but choose a few strategic places on its itinerary.
Starting with Taormina, where they were going to spend two nights.
This way they could relax and recuperate, ready for when the ship arrived in Messina, close by, the next morning.
‘I’ve managed to get hold of the list of tours and activities and there’s a bunch.’
As Flick began scrolling on her phone and reading off the screen, Maggie tried to engage her still-half-asleep brain.
‘You can climb up Mount Etna, which is still an active volcano; take a tour of the various Greek theatres, apparently there’s loads around here; walk in the footsteps of The Godfather and visit the various filming locations; take a cooking class where you learn how to make your own lasagne and tiramisu—’
‘Do you get to eat it?’
‘Um . . . yes, it says here you get to have it for lunch.’
‘Oh, I like the sound of that one.’ Maggie’s stomach rumbled.
Since breakfast she’d only had a packet of crisps bought from a motorway service station when they refuelled and the few olives the waiter just brought them, as an accompaniment to their drinks.
She felt weak with hunger. Unlike Flick, who was always full of energy.
People talked about the generation gap between Gen X and Gen Z, but was from where she was sitting, it seemed to be more a gap in energy levels.
‘I want to see Mount Etna.’
‘You want us to hike up an active volcano?’
The thought of putting on her trainers made Maggie’s heart sink. She was exhausted after today’s drive.
‘Don’t worry. Not us. Me.’ Flick laughed at her expression. ‘We can do things separately. Obviously, the tours are just for the cruise passengers, but a lot of these activities are open to the public. Like the cooking school or Mount Etna.’
‘Perfect.’ She felt a wave of relief, then a thought struck. ‘Hang on, but what if it erupts?’
‘Well, it would certainly put me on the front page.’ Flick looked unalarmed.
‘I’m not sure those are the headlines you want. Haven’t you heard of Pompeii?’
‘brITISH JOURNALIST BURIED ALIVE IN HOT LAVA.’ Putting on her best movie trailer voice, Flick used her hands to spell out the words in the cloudless stretch of blue sky. ‘Got quite a ring to it.’
‘Flick, it’s not funny.’
‘You’re right. Bad taste. I know.’ She looked sheepish. ‘But you know me, I’ll go to any lengths for a story.’
Maggie lay back on the sun lounger. It was a small, boutique hotel and there were a few people around the pool.
Mostly couples. Everyone looked relaxed.
Respectable. Reading books, listening to podcasts, their AirPods firmly in situ.
Absently, she watched a wife rubbing suntan cream into her husband’s hairy back.
This was the kind of place she’d envisioned for her honeymoon.
‘Either way, I have a feeling we’ll find him tomorrow.’
She snapped back. Now would be a good time to tell Flick about His text from last night. She didn’t like keeping secrets. She needed to be honest.
‘So, about last night—’
But before she could finish, Flick let out a loud groan. ‘Oh God, don’t. I don’t want to think about it.’
Maggie was momentarily confused.
‘Note to self: never FaceTime your boyfriend to put his mind at rest that you’re not having an affair, while in the honeymoon suite.’
‘Oh no.’ As it became clear what she was talking about, Maggie clamped her hand to her mouth. ‘I didn’t think.’
‘Neither did I.’ Pulling a face, Flick lifted her sunglasses and did her scary wide eyes.
Despite the thirty-something-degree heat, Maggie noticed she’d still applied her trademark flicky eyeliner and wondered how it didn’t smudge in the heat. She’d given up with the mascara, even waterproof had melted down her cheeks, making her resemble a giant panda.
‘I went back to our room to have it out with him and totally forgot.’
‘But how could he tell?’
‘Well, the swan-shaped towels might have been a bit of a giveaway but I think it was the plaque above the bed with the big love heart and “Amore” that might have swung it.’
Maggie let out a strangled groan. They both looked at each other. The situation was dire. Which, of course, made it all the more funny, and they both snorted with laughter.
A few guests around the pool looked over to see what the commotion was.
‘Don’t, we must be serious,’ hissed Flick, wafting her hands in front of her face in an attempt to suppress the giggles. But it was impossible. Why is it that when you’re not supposed to laugh, things are always a million times funnier?
‘So what happened?’ whispered Maggie, her face half buried in a towel.
‘We had another massive row and I tried to explain and he got all upset, and then we made up. At least I think so.’ She pauses. ‘I dunno. I’m not very good at relationships,’ she added, as an afterthought.
‘Who is?’ consoled Maggie, shooting her a look of solidarity as she wiped her eyes. ‘I met a man last night and acted all weird. I mean, God only knows what he thought of me.’
‘Wait a minute.’ Flick threw out her hand. ‘Back right up. You met a man?’
Realizing how it sounded, Maggie shook her head. ‘No, not like that. I didn’t meet him, meet him. I knew him before. We both do. Well, sort of.’
‘How sort of?’
‘It was the man at the restaurant in Rome. Where we had the pizza.’
‘The handsome stranger who was staring at you!’ Flick looked triumphant. ‘No way!’
‘Way.’ For once Maggie felt quite hip.
‘I knew he fancied you! What did he say?’
‘Don’t be silly, he didn’t fancy me. He was just being friendly as we recognized each other. We’d both climbed up to the famous viewpoint. His name’s Sander, he’s Dutch.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing. We chatted for a little bit, then we said bye.’
‘Did you get his number?’
Flick was suddenly seeing Maggie in a whole new light. While she’d been holed up in her hotel room, having another tedious argument with Rory, Maggie had been out on the Amalfi Coast, being chatted up by a handsome stranger. Unexpectedly she felt a twinge of envy.
‘No, of course not.’ Meanwhile Maggie was fast wishing she hadn’t mentioned it. She wondered why she had. ‘Though I gave him mine,’ she added, almost as an afterthought.
‘You did?!’
Except it wasn’t an afterthought. She wanted this younger woman’s respect and approval.
Flick had met her at her lowest. She’d seen her not as the woman she used to be, but as the woman she’d been reduced to.
And watching Flick’s eyes light up, Maggie felt a curious flicker of pleasure.
There was something satisfying about seeing yourself cast in a different role.
To prove something, to herself, to Flick, to both of them? She wasn’t sure.
‘Yes. He wanted to send me a photo.’
Flick raised her eyebrows, teasing.
‘Not that kind of photo.’ Maggie blushed. ‘The photo he took of me on his phone.’
‘You want to be careful; he’ll be sending you a dick pic next.’
With her broad accent, Flick was never one to whisper and several guests around the pool turned round and stared.
It was a discreet, adults-only hotel, the kind of place people talked in hushed voices and wore stylish outfits.
Apart from Maggie and Flick, who’d only packed for one night away and were wearing the clothes they’d been travelling in which, after several long car journeys, were crumpled, stained and in desperate need of washing.
‘Wow, you’re a dark horse.’
‘It was nothing. There was a nice view. That’s all.’
‘So, let’s see the photo, then.’
Flick gestured for Maggie’s phone and she felt herself freeze, reminded of the text from Theo. She didn’t want Flick looking at her phone and seeing it.
‘Well, actually, that’s the thing. He never sent it.’
She was telling the truth about the photo, but not about the text. Just thinking about it made her stomach clench with anxiety. Her phone lay beside her on the towel and she reached for it, squeezing her fingers tightly around it as if somehow she could keep the genie in the bottle.
‘Huh. Strange. Maybe this Sander guy got your number wrong.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’