Chapter 31 Missed Connections
Missed Connections
Was that him? The man in the Panama? Maggie squinted, the sun in her eyes. But she couldn’t see properly – his face was hidden and she was too far away – and now he’d disappeared. No, she must have been mistaken, she decided, taking a sip of her wine.
Back on dry land, the cafes were gearing up to their busiest period of the day: the Golden Hour.
That magical time when the sun began its slow descent into the sea, bathing everything in a warm, Mediterranean glow, including the tourists who were fast trying to locate an empty seat at one of the many pavement cafes.
To sit, drink in hand, and watch Positano’s pastel-coloured buildings silhouetted against what was going to be another incredible sunset.
One of whom was Maggie, who was feeling very pleased with herself.
By sheer fluke she’d bagged two of the best seats in the house.
After leaving the hotel and walking around town, on the lookout for You Know Who, she and Flick had found themselves down by the harbour where the boats were ferrying passengers back to Amalfi and the various cruise ships anchored offshore.
It was the perfect vantage point and, when she’d seen a couple asking for the bill at a nearby cafe, she’d pounced.
Are you leaving? Yes, they were on a cruise and had to get back to the ship.
A cruise? Was it the same one as their friend?
Friend, that made her choke, a bit, but what was Flick supposed to say?
No, theirs was a different cruise. They were heading to Greece, but sorry, they mustn’t be late.
They’d heard stories of passengers being left behind.
There were videos on YouTube. Have you seen them?
One couple spent thousands chasing a cruise ship around the Med.
Can you imagine? OK, well, bye, enjoy your drink.
‘We should’ve told them we don’t need to imagine,’ said Maggie, tilting her face to the evening sunshine. ‘But they’d think we were crazy.’
‘Depends how you define crazy.’ Flick shrugged, drinking a beer.
‘I think working five days a week for forty years in the same job is crazy, but some people think it’s perfectly normal.
Same goes for living for ever in the same town you were born, or getting excited over what sandwich filling you’re having for lunch. ’
‘Sandwich filling?’ Maggie raised an eyebrow behind her sunglasses.
‘A work colleague at the newspaper,’ explained Flick, but it was pretty obvious to Maggie this wasn’t about her work colleague; this was about Flick and how she saw her future.
‘You only get one short life. Look at my mum.’
Maggie turned to her then, but Flick was gazing off into the distance, her eyes fixed on the horizon. ‘Not taking a risk in life,’ she continued, speaking almost to herself. ‘That’s what seems crazy.’
The waiter came and they ordered more drinks.
And there they sat. Front row, with a great view of the harbour – it was the perfect lookout.
But there were so many people, so many different tours and cruise companies, it was hard to distinguish anyone in the crowds.
Once or twice, Maggie thought she might have spotted Him.
But to be honest, did she really want to?
Because, while she couldn’t admit this to Flick, a big part of her didn’t want to find Him.
She was beginning to like this new-found freedom of being on this road trip.
Waking up in a different place every day.
Moving forward. Never looking back. She didn’t want it to stop.
What would happen if, and when, they eventually found Him? When they reached their goal?
What then?
She tried to imagine it, but couldn’t really. It went all fuzzy and messy, like those old-fashioned Etch A Sketch drawings. And then it would be over and she’d have to go back to face the music.
And, no, it wouldn’t be the sound of some Italian crooner singing ‘That’s Amore’.
Basking in the warm evening sunlight, she gave a shudder. It was so lovely here, she didn’t want to spoil it.
‘Well, we’re definitely getting closer.’
Maggie zoned back to see Flick had picked up her phone and was scrolling through various social media apps. She called it ‘following his digital footprint’.
‘Definitely.’ Maggie nodded, encouragingly.
‘He was here. We must have just missed him by minutes.’
‘Next time.’
‘Totally.’
‘Absolutely.’
Maggie was wondering how many more synonyms they could come up with, when Flick let out a groan.
‘Oh shit, he wants to FaceTime!’
‘FaceTime?’ Maggie shrank back with horror, pushing her chair away from the phone like it was a live hand grenade. How did he get Flick’s number? ‘I knew you shouldn’t be digging around in his social media, this is what happens—’
‘Huh?’ Flick looked confused. ‘I’m talking about Rory.’
Abruptly, Maggie felt foolish. She was being paranoid. ‘Right, yes, of course. Well, that’s nice.’
‘No, it’s not nice.’ Feeling stressed, Flick took a slug of her beer and shoved her phone on the table. ‘He’s going to have a go at me.’
‘Why?’ Maggie frowned. ‘I thought you two were fine now. You’ve been texting each other all day.’
The whole time she was driving today, Flick had been constantly on her phone. So much for looking at the stunning views of the Amalfi Coast. Her face had been buried in her screen.
‘We were having a fight.’
‘Still?’
Flick nodded. ‘He still doesn’t get it. Why I’m here. He thinks I’m with someone.’
‘Well, you are.’
‘Not you!’ she tutted. ‘You don’t count.’
‘Cheers.’ Maggie raised her wine glass in mock salute, causing Flick to redden.
‘I mean, another bloke. I told him we were on the Amalfi Coast and he googled it and said it was a top honeymoon destination and there was no way I was here for work. He doesn’t believe me.’
‘Maybe it’s better if you talk to each other; have a proper conversation,’ suggested Maggie. ‘Texts are so easy to misinterpret.’
But Flick’s face remained troubled.
‘I don’t think you know Rory. He’s even got my stepdad Colin giving me grief now.’
‘Why, what’s he saying?’
‘Asking me what’s going on . . . telling me to come home .
. .’ Flick broke off to take another much-needed swig of her beer.
‘I told him not to worry. That I’m here to break a story.
To get an exclusive. I tried telling him all about romance fraud, how it’s a really important issue right now, that this could be my big break.
’ She rubbed the top of her nose. ‘He’s always been really supportive, he knows how ambitious I am.
I think he just worries about me, especially with Mum not being around to worry about me any more. ’
There was a gap in the conversation. Maggie looked at Flick and felt suddenly maternal. She was too young to lose her mum. Too young to know that kind of grief. It changes you as a person. She should know.
‘Are you close to your stepdad?’ she asked, after a moment.
‘Yeah . . . at least, we used to be.’ Flick looked troubled.
‘I always wanted a dad when I was little. I never knew my real dad. He disappeared when Mum got pregnant, so it was always just the two of us. I think I was about seven or eight when Mum met Colin. I remember him first coming to the house, being all goofy and playing in my Wendy house with me, pretending to have tea . . .’ She smiled at the memory.
‘I was so excited when they got married and I got to be a bridesmaid. I’d always wanted to be a bridesmaid. ’
She paused, her mind flashing back to being eight years old in a confection of pink tulle.
‘But then Mum got sick and things changed. We’d had our ups and downs before, when I was a teenager, but this was different. When we lost Mum, it was like something broke, like the glue that stuck us all together wasn’t there any more . . . do you know what I mean?’
Maggie’s mind slipped back to when they’d lost her brother, how everything had fallen apart in their family when he’d died, as if he was the glue and they’d come unstuck.
‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ she began, before being interrupted by a jangling noise. It was Flick’s phone.
‘Oh crap, he’s trying to FaceTime me.’
‘If he doesn’t believe you’re telling the truth, why don’t you FaceTime him here? Show him your sexy Italian Stallion is actually a very unsexy middle-aged woman,’ suggested Maggie, smiling, but Flick frowned.
‘You’re not unsexy. You look great for your age.’
‘For your age?’ Maggie pulled a face.
‘What? That’s a compliment!’
‘No, it’s not, it’s basically telling someone they don’t look too bad for being old.’
‘That’s not true,’ protested Flick, then frowned. ‘Is it?’
‘I think you’d better answer that.’ Maggie gestured to the phone which was still vibrating away on the table, Rory and Flick’s faces beaming up from the screen, a symbol of happier times.
‘That’s a nice photo.’
‘We were at the Isle of Wight music festival. That was taken before I saw the portaloos . . .’
As she grimaced, the call rang off and her phone fell silent. For like a second. Then started again.
‘He’s persistent, I’ll give him that,’ quipped Maggie, but Flick’s sense of humour had deserted her.
‘Maybe better if I take it in the room.’ Snatching up her phone, she stood up. ‘I don’t want to have another row and spoil this lovely evening for everyone.’ She gestured to the tourists sitting all around them, enjoying drinks. ‘You OK here by yourself?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be just fine. I’ll finish my wine and watch the sunset.’
‘Enjoy.’ Grimacing, Flick quickly dashed off.
‘Love to Rory.’ Maggie raised her glass as she called after her.
Relationships, huh? Who’d have one?