Meet and Greet
‘Wow, it’s a bit busy.’
‘Busy? It’s absolute chaos!’
Early the next morning Maggie and Flick found themselves seventy kilometres northwest of Rome in the modern port town of Civitavecchia, standing on the edge of the docks, mouths slightly agape as they surveyed the scene before them.
It’s not what they expected. But then nothing could have prepared them for this kind of scale.
As one of the busiest cruise ports in Europe, and the biggest near Rome, it was a major international hub, servicing millions of passengers a year.
And frankly, looking at the sheer size and number of the colossal white cruise ships and crowds of passengers disembarking like an endless stream of ants – that is, of course, if ants wore shorts and T-shirts – into the waiting coaches, minibuses and private cars to be whisked away for daytrips to Rome, it would appear that all those millions were arriving today.
‘It’s impossible,’ sighed Maggie.
‘He’s got to be here somewhere,’ reasoned Flick.
‘We’re never going to find him. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.’ Maggie shook her head hopelessly. ‘We should have got here earlier.’
It was hard enough to locate the ship, let alone find one person, and having geared themselves up for The Big Confrontation, they were both feeling a massive disappointment.
‘Don’t be such a defeatist,’ snapped Flick.
‘I’m being a realist,’ argued Maggie, but of course, she was the only one who would admit to it.
They’d got up at the crack of dawn. According to the map on their phone, the port was one hour and twenty minutes’ drive away.
However, after yesterday’s stressful journey into the city, Maggie didn’t want to repeat the experience of driving in Rome.
She’d never played video games, but yesterday she’d felt like she was in the middle of one.
Dodging cars, navigating one-way lanes, being attacked by scooters and cyclists that came at her from all sides, honking and yelling, while always being on the lookout for humans who liked to appear from nowhere and throw themselves in front of you, with dogs and children and prams in tow.
What fun! Not.
Her cortisol levels had gone through the roof, her nerves had been shot and, despite getting them both to their destination, alive and without any incident, she hadn’t gone up any levels or scored any points. She’d just been bloody stressed and exhausted.
So instead they’d decided to take the train that morning. Apparently it took less than an hour and there were two trains an hour. They’d be there, waiting, as the cruise ship sailed into the docks and the passengers disembarked. See. Easy.
Except, when it comes to travelling in a foreign city, especially Italy, the words apparently and easy should always be used loosely.
Because by the time Maggie and Flick had managed to find the correct train station, navigated the confusing ticket machine that was only in Italian – Scusi, non capisco – realized they’d read the timetable wrong, resisted arguing about whose fault that was, located the correct platform and got on the right train, they were already running late.
Add to this their discovery on arrival at Civitavecchia that it was a further twenty-minute walk to the port, and the queue for the cabs was a mile long, running late turned into them being too late.
‘The cruise ship docked over an hour ago, most of the passengers will have disembarked and already gone off on their daytrips,’ continued Maggie, digging a wad of tissues from her bag and dabbing her face.
It was still early but temperatures were already in the high twenties and the sun was blazing. Plus, they’d had to run from the station and while Flick had set off with ease, all ponytail swinging, she’d trailed behind, clutching her chest and cursing silently.
Well, sorry, but no one told me we were going for a sprint, otherwise I’d have worn a bloody sports bra, she’d cursed silently, because of course, it was Flick who’d read the timetable wrongly.
‘He’s probably on a coach, halfway to Rome at this point.’
Flick ignored her and carried on defiantly scanning the crowds, while Maggie fell silent and sat down in the shade, mopping up trickles of perspiration.
These days she felt like her body was falling apart.
Why did no one ever warn you that being in your late forties was like living in an old house that required constant maintenance to just stay habitable?
With cracks appearing on a daily basis, a thermostat on the blink and a roof that was forever springing leaks.
Scooping into her sundress, she wiped up the drips between her boobs. Lovely.
And yet, despite her crushing disappointment, there was a relief that she wouldn’t have to see Him looking like this, all red-faced and sweating.
She’d got up early that morning, all anxious and apprehensive, to wash and style her hair, put on some make-up and shave her legs.
Well, if you’re going to see your ex, you want to look your best. Even if you don’t have feelings for him any more; it was a pride thing.
At least that’s what she told herself.
‘Fuck.’
She snapped back to hear Flick curse and watch as she slumped next to her. She looked gutted.
‘I think you’re right. We’ve missed him,’ she admitted.
It was one of those moments when there was no satisfaction to be gained from being proved right.
‘We’ve totally messed up again.’
‘No, we haven’t.’ Maggie realized that she’d been so consumed with how she would feel if she saw Him, that she’d lost sight of Flick’s feelings.
‘Yes, we have, we should have planned it better, got here earlier—’
‘It’s fine, don’t worry. We’ll find him,’ she lied, in an attempt to reassure Flick.
‘But how? He could be anywhere.’
‘Rome isn’t that big; it’s actually quite compact.
’ Seeing Flick’s disappointment, Maggie swung into encouragement mode.
‘If he’s gone on one of the sightseeing tours, it’s likely he’ll be visiting all the major touristy spots, like the Trevi Fountain or the Sistine Chapel or the Colosseum.
We’ll just have to do our own sightseeing. See if we can bump into him.’
Bump into him. Maggie couldn’t quite believe she was saying this so casually, as if bumping into The Man Who Broke Her Heart was as inconsequential as bumping into an acquaintance.
‘And if we don’t?’
‘We get to see some of the most incredible things in the world.’
Flick still looked defeated.
‘I didn’t think it would be this hard,’ she finally admitted.
‘Remember, we’ve got two weeks.’
Maggie seemed to have found herself in the strange position of the roles reversing, and she was now the one convincing Flick.
‘I know, but . . .’
‘But nothing.’ Jumping to her feet, Maggie attempted to cheer her up. ‘We can’t feel sad, we’re in Rome!’
‘We’re actually seventy kilometres north of Rome,’ corrected Flick, heaving a sigh at what a wasted journey it had been, trekking all the way out there for nothing.
She was annoyed with herself and the whole situation and for a moment her northern grit left her and all she wanted to do was sit and sulk.
But Maggie wouldn’t let her. ‘Come on,’ she said, grabbing her hand.
‘Where are we going?’
‘I’m going to show you something that changed my life.’