Freefalling
‘Ouch. That looks pretty painful. You really should put ice on it.’
Twenty-five thousand feet up in the sky, Flick looked over with concern at Maggie, who was nursing a huge black eye.
‘It’s fine, don’t worry, it looks worse than it is.’ Raising her voice to make herself heard above the engines of the twin-engine turboprop plane, she attempted a joke. ‘You should see the other guy,’ she quipped, then winced sharply. ‘How are you?’
Flick shrugged, then made her own weak attempt at gallows humour.
‘Single.’
It was the morning after the day before and Flick and Maggie were on board a short forty-minute flight from Mallorca to Ibiza.
A lot had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
A proposal. A mugging. A break-up. A fuck-up.
A curveball. A concussion. A ride in an ambulance with the sirens on.
A stolen handbag. A diamond ring. An official statement to the Spanish police.
An awkward goodbye with a now ex-boyfriend in a hotel lobby.
And a romance fraudster who got away again.
It was more than happened in many a lifetime, and the two women were feeling both dazed and confused.
‘I’m sorry.’
Maggie threw her a look of sympathy.
‘It’s OK, I didn’t want to marry Rory. To be honest, I don’t think Rory wanted to marry me either. He said he could feel me pulling away, so he wanted to put a ring on it.’ She gave a small smile. ‘I blame Beyoncé.’
‘How was he this morning when he left for the airport?’
‘Angry and upset. Apparently the jewellers don’t give refunds.’
Flick was trying to make light of it, but she looked like she’d had the stuffing knocked out of her. That’s the problem with bruised hearts and battered emotions, thought Maggie. You couldn’t put ice on them. Unlike physical cuts and bruises.
Speaking of.
‘Actually you’re right, I think I might ice this,’ she winced.
‘Of course I’m right.’
Flick attracted the attention of the cabin crew and a few moments later they returned with some ice in a napkin. Maggie pressed it to her eye, which had started throbbing with the pressure in the cabin.
‘I can’t believe they knocked you to the floor and stole your handbag.’
‘The police said there’s been a wave of crime.’
‘And you didn’t get to see who it was?’
‘No, it all happened so fast.’
One minute she’d been about to cross the road, the next she was lying on the ground, surrounded by a crowd of concerned bystanders.
One of them had called an ambulance. The other the police.
She just remembered her head hurting, looking across the street and seeing the bar stool was empty, and realizing her bag was gone and so was he.
‘What I don’t understand is why you were even there?’
She snapped back to see Flick looking at her, questioningly.
‘Why were you even in that part of town?’
Maggie hadn’t told Flick. She’d been planning to, before she screwed it all up.
Then by the time she’d got back to the hotel from the hospital, it was late, and Flick was in bed.
And this morning, she’d found out about the marriage proposal and break-up, and finding the right time seemed to get harder and harder.
Plus, was there even any point now? She’d lost her phone and with it his number, as it had been in her handbag.
There was no way of contacting him. So what good would it do?
Flick would no doubt be furious with her for keeping it all a secret and think her an idiot. Frankly, she wouldn’t be wrong.
Still, despite all this, Maggie felt she had to tell the truth. ‘Well, actually, I’ve got a confession—’
‘Oh God, it’s not another surprise, is it? I couldn’t cope.’
‘Um . . . well, the thing is . . .’
‘Don’t tell me, you were on a date,’ joked Flick.
‘. . . I was going to meet someone for a drink,’ she blurted finally.
They both spoke at the same time.
‘Oh my God, you were going on a date!’
‘Well, I wouldn’t call it a date.’
‘Maggie, you dark horse! Was it the guy at the front desk in our hotel in Palma? I could tell he fancied you when we checked in by the way he tried to help you with your luggage. Oh, wow, he was gorgeous; he looked like George Clooney, only when he had dark hair.’
Maggie’s voice seemed to have got lost in her throat.
‘Um . . .’
This was not going how she planned at all. Somehow, things had veered completely off course in a completely different direction. She had to quickly corral the conversation.
‘Oh my God, it was him. I knew it!’
But it wasn’t so easy. Steamrollered by Flick, she had now somehow found herself going on a date with Juan, the young George Clooney lookalike from the front desk.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
She needed to circle back. To come clean and admit everything.
‘Well, the thing is . . .’
‘Oh my God, is it because Rory and I broke up?’ Flick clutched her chest, her face stricken. ‘Oh Maggie, you don’t have to be sensitive about that. I want you to be happy; I want you to find someone – you deserve it.’
Maggie pressed the ice against her eye, which had started to pulsate.
Somehow, Flick thought it feasible that Juan, the handsome Spanish clerk, who must be at least fifteen years her junior, could be interested in her.
Which was completely ridiculous. He was far too young and sexy to even notice her.
And yet the way Flick was looking at her, all excited and delighted for her, made the idea seem less impossible and absurd, and she suddenly saw herself in a different light – as Flick saw her, not as she saw herself.
And while she didn’t want to go on a date with Juan – though, let’s be honest, the fantasy was fun – she rather liked this new feeling of fun and possibility.
And the truth, which, now felt depressing and quite pitiful, got stuck in her throat.
‘Well, good for you, Maggie. I’m so pleased. You really need to get back out there after what that bastard did.’
She couldn’t tell her now. She couldn’t disappoint her.
‘So, are you going to keep in touch?’
‘Um, I don’t have his number. They stole my phone, remember.’
‘Oh God, yes, of course.’
First thing that morning, Flick had shown her how to change all her passwords and erase all her contacts and data. She’d been grateful but it also struck her that she had no way of contacting Him now. Maybe it was the universe trying to tell her something.
‘Along with my credit cards,’ she continued, ‘though the thieves aren’t going to have much of a spending spree with those. They’re all maxed out.’ She laughed at the irony. ‘Thankfully, I left my passport and what was left of our winnings in the hotel safe.’
‘Well, that was lucky, otherwise we’d have to give up our search and go back home –’ Flick looked at her phone – ‘though where we’re staying in Ibiza is a freebie.’
Earlier at the airport, Flick had been on her phone, forensically checking social media for any updates to Stratin’s whereabouts, while desperately trying to find them somewhere to stay.
She’d lost a day – marriage proposals could be very inconvenient – and was frantically trying to catch up.
It was peak season and everywhere was fully booked but just as she was losing hope and doom-scrolling, she’d seen an old friend from university was posting photos from her holiday in Ibiza.
‘It was so kind of Flea to invite us to stay when I messaged her. She lives in London so I hardly ever see her, but apparently her family have a farmhouse and they have tons of room.’
‘You have a friend called Flea?’
‘She’s from a really posh family, they have all these weird nicknames.’
‘You mean, like Flick?’
Flick laughed as she realized the hypocrisy.
‘That’s better. It’s good to see you smiling.’
‘I just feel bad.’ She shrugged. ‘Rory says I’ve changed, that I’m not the girl I used to be, and he’s right. I’m not. Being with you, on this trip, it’s opened my eyes. Even if we never find Theo Stratin, I feel like I’ve found something else. Do you know what I mean?’
Their eyes met and Maggie nodded.
‘You did the right thing. About Rory, I mean.’
‘Thanks.’ Flick smiled gratefully.
Maggie swallowed and when she spoke her voice was heavy with regret.
‘You listened to your gut. I just wish I’d listened to mine . . .’
And it was then she told Flick the rest of her story.