Letting Go
‘And it’s the same cruise.’
‘Shut up!’
In the garden of a small trattoria, tucked away down a cobbled side street, Flick paused from diving on the breadbasket and stared wide-eyed at Maggie across the white linen tablecloth.
It was one of those romantic restaurants, strung with fairy-lights, that catered for couples who liked to sit close together around a fountain, on tiny tables that forever wobbled, however many times you folded up a napkin and shoved it under various metal legs.
Still, the hotel had made the reservation and they were lucky to get a table as, being the height of summer, everywhere was fully booked.
They’d arranged to meet here, rather than back at the hotel, and while Flick might have reasonably assumed that a day spent hiking an active volcano at three thousand metres would be more interesting than a cooking class, it turned out Maggie was the one with the exciting news.
‘So has she seen him?’
‘You just told me to shut up.’
‘It’s an expression of disbelief,’ gasped Flick, exasperated. Honestly, sometimes Maggie felt like her mother and not in a good way.
‘Well, it’s a stupid expression.’
‘So, has she?’
‘She couldn’t recall meeting anyone of that name. But then, there’s thousands of people on board.’
As soon as Birdy had said she was on a cruise, Maggie had felt her stomach drop. Turns out it was the very same Galaxy Goddess he’d embarked in Monte Carlo. Yet when she told Birdy she didn’t seem surprised at all, saying, ‘See. I told you I don’t believe in coincidences.’
‘Didn’t you show her a photo of him?’
‘I don’t have any. I deleted them.’
‘All of them?’
That’s what the policeman had said too, when Maggie had finally reported him missing, along with her life savings.
He’d seemed incredulous and doubtful that anyone would do such a thing.
As if somehow this made her story less believable.
Why would she purposefully destroy the evidence?
Obviously it had never happened to him so how could he possibly understand the desire to erase it all?
He was young and newly married, judging by his shiny wedding ring.
No doubt his photos were in silver frames and displayed proudly on the mantelpiece.
‘Maybe I was a fool to delete them all.’ Maggie shrugged. ‘Not that it was easy.’
‘Oh, you mean letting go.’ Flick shot her a sympathetic look.
‘No, I mean from iCloud.’ She laughed then, unexpectedly. ‘Have you any idea how hard it is to delete things from your iCloud? I am so not computer savvy. It took me for ever.’
‘Harder still to delete them from your heart, though, huh?’
Flick’s words caught Maggie by surprise. Was it that obvious, still?
But before she could deny it, Flick was tearing open a bread roll and buttering it.
‘God, I’m starving. It’s been a long day.’
‘Sorry, I hijacked the conversation.’
‘Hijack? Don’t be daft. You had important news.’
‘Well, not really. They’re on the same cruise, but so what? So are thousands of other people.’
‘It’s another lead, though. Did you get her number?’
‘No, I didn’t. Sorry, I’m not an investigative reporter.’
But she had His number, thought Maggie, guilt stabbing. They’d texted each other. Arranged to meet.
‘No worries.’ Flick shrugged. ‘Somehow I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Birdy.’
‘I know.’
As soon as she’d got some answers, she’d tell Flick. They could confront him together and she could get her story. She didn’t know how, but she’d figure it out somehow. She just had to keep the secret a little bit longer.
‘So how was the volcano? I’m dying to hear,’ asked Maggie, changing the subject.
Flick paused from tearing up her bread roll, trying to find the right words.
Her whole life, she’d relied on words to articulate her feelings, but for once, language felt inadequate to describe how she’d felt today.
Standing on the edge of a volcano in Sicily, with its dramatic lunar landscape, looking down at the Ionian Sea.
Doing something so completely different to her normal everyday life, with a bunch of strangers whom she’d probably never see again, but for those few hours felt like the best of friends.
She’d heard all the clichés about travel broadening the mind and being transformative, but she’d never really got it before.
Never felt it, until today, when their guide had led them up to the crater and she’d felt a delicious moment of insignificance.
Of getting out of her own head. Of abandoning the desire to always be in control, because up here even she knew she couldn’t control a volcano so what was the point? Just let it go.
She thought for some time, then took the easy way out.
‘Bloody amazing.’
‘That’s so great.’
‘What about the cooking class?’
‘Well, it was certainly an experience.’
‘But did you enjoy it?’
‘Yeah, it was good. Especially the food.’ Maggie smiled, remembering the huge lunch they’d had afterwards, out in the garden, where they’d all sat at a long trestle table and feasted on one delicious dish after another. How could she be hungry again? ‘Though The Godmother was pretty scary.’
‘Was she really called The Godmother?’
‘Yes, really. And trust me, she was terrifying.’
‘What, you mean like this?’
And shoving the bread roll into the side of her cheeks, Flick then proceeded to do a terrible impression of Marlon Brando, which made Maggie laugh and snort the water down her nose, just as the very sniffy-looking waiter in a white jacket and bow tie came to take their order and several whispering diners glanced over.
Including a couple who were fellow guests at the same hotel.
These two English women again. What are they like?
Where are their husbands? asked the husband whose wife had dutifully rubbed suntan cream into his back as they’d sat by the pool.
And the wife looked at her husband who she no longer had anything in common with and wondered the same thing.
She wished she could join them. They looked like they were having so much fun.
After a large carafe of wine, two huge plates of linguine con vongole, plus dessert and espresso, it was time to head back to their hotel.
‘I ate too much,’ groaned Flick, looping her arm through Maggie’s as they navigated the winding back streets. ‘I need to lie down.’
‘You shouldn’t have had the cannoli.’
‘Oh my God, those things were delicious.’
‘I can’t believe you’ve never had one before.’
‘I was a cannoli virgin.’
The two women laughed as they walked through the backstreets back to their hotel.
It was such a lovely evening. Taormina was so beautiful at night.
The way it was illuminated. The streets had emptied out with tourists and it felt almost like their own secret.
Soon they reached the entrance to their hotel: a discreet stone archway, covered in bougainvillea.
Flick stopped walking. ‘OK, I’m off to bed, I’m exhausted.’
‘I’ll be up in a minute.’
‘Where are you going? It’s almost midnight.’
‘I just want to stretch my legs a bit. Walk off some of that linguine.’
Unlinking arms, Flick went into the hotel and Maggie continued down the stone steps.
She could hear faint music and followed it, turning a corner into a square, where a bunch of people were gathered outside the church.
There appeared to be a woman, teaching the steps to a dance.
The music was lilting folk music and as they joined arms, dancing in a circle, Maggie stood in the shadows watching, as they looped and twirled.
An old man dancing looked over to her and said something in Italian. Maggie smiled and gestured that she didn’t understand, but he smiled and gestured back for her to join them.
‘No, grazie.’ She smiled, shaking her head. She didn’t know the steps.
But he ignored her protestations. Another woman held out her hand.
And before Maggie knew it, she was holding their hands and part of their circle, smiling and laughing and looking at her feet, as they taught her the steps.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d danced.
She must have been in her twenties, a teenager maybe; was it before her brother died?
She’d always felt too self-conscious, that she wasn’t a good dancer, but here in the moonlit square in Sicily, with a bunch of strangers, as the clock struck midnight, none of that mattered any more and she felt herself letting go.
Can you still meet?
It depends where.
Maggie thought about the itinerary Flick had meticulously planned and wondered where he was going to suggest. She felt suddenly doubtful about her plan.
I’ll be in Palma, Mallorca, in two days.
She felt a strange rush of relief. So would they. To meet his cruise ship.
Spain??
Well, she had to act surprised.
Yes. Will you come?
OK, I’ll try.
Great. I’ll text you the address later.
How can I trust you again, Theo?
After what’s happened?
I swear on my life. Just don’t tell anyone, right?
OK.
Thanks, Mags. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.
Liar, liar, liar. Maggie stared at the screen, then typed one letter:
X