The Grand Tour
The joy of being on a cruise is going to bed at night and waking up to find yourself in a different port every day.
Often a different country entirely. And with it the prospect of being able to get off the ship and explore a new locale with total freedom.
Which meant there were four thousand excited passengers who woke the next morning to discover the Galaxy Goddess had docked in Tangier, a city famous for being the gateway to Africa.
Correction: four thousand passengers minus two.
‘Shit,’ cursed Flick, as they sat at the all-you-can-eat buffet having breakfast. ‘I thought once we were on the ship there’d be no escape. That it was a done deal.’
‘He might not get off the ship,’ countered Maggie, stirring sugar into her flat white, but even she sounded unconvinced. After last night, she was feeling frustrated and doubtful. They’d been so close.
‘But what if he does?’
‘Well, he’ll have to get back on again.’
‘What if he doesn’t? What if he saw you last night at the captain’s table and thinks you’re going to blow his cover?’
‘He didn’t see me. Neither did Birdy. They both had their backs to us and must have arrived later, otherwise I would have spotted them when we walked in,’ she reassured.
Maggie took in Flick’s worried expression and the way she was shredding her croissant into pieces, none of which were going in her mouth. She’d never seen her look this anxious and her heart went out to her.
‘Trust me, he has no idea we’re on this cruise ship,’ she said firmly, silencing her own fears. Flick had been through such a lot. Losing her mother, discovering the true identity of her father, breaking up with her boyfriend. She needed to be strong for her.
Flick looked at her gratefully, then tutted.
‘Can you believe it? I had to agree to meet the press officer at ten. She wants to give me a tour of the ship,’ Flick was saying now. ‘So I’m tied up all day. It was either that or do that talk for the passengers. This seemed like the lesser of two evils.’
‘But that’s perfect,’ encouraged Maggie. ‘You can scope out the ship and I’ll check out Tangier.’
‘OK.’ Flick nodded, then paused. ‘Maggie?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m sorry, for dragging you into all this. For turning your life upside down.’
‘You didn’t turn my life upside down, you saved my life.’
As their eyes met, they shared a quiet feeling of gratitude and Flick seemed to finally relax. ‘Do you think I’m crazy?’ she asked, after a moment.
Maggie smiled. ‘Depends how you define crazy.’
Tangier. The gateway to Africa. It was like nowhere Maggie had ever been before. As soon as she stepped foot on the shore, into a bustling hive of activity, it felt a world away from Europe. Even the air, filled with fragrant spices and exotic perfumes, smelled faraway and exotic.
The old city was twenty minutes’ walk from the port.
She’d waited to disembark until after the large queues of passengers going on excursions had dispersed.
There was no sign of Him or Birdy, but there were so many people, it would have been easy to miss them in the crowds.
Plus, it was so incredibly hot, she wouldn’t be surprised if they’d decided to stay on board and enjoy the air conditioning.
Perhaps Flick would see them when she did her tour of the ship.
Still, if she did, there would be no way of her knowing until she returned.
She was still without a phone, which was a major inconvenience.
And yet, rather unexpectedly, one that Maggie was finding completely liberating.
She felt completely untethered from her life, but it was a life that no longer fit her.
No longer did she feel the dread of an email waiting for her in her inbox, someone’s text appearing, a bad news alert or a social media post to remind her that her life was nothing like it apparently should be.
The pressure to be constantly checking. The habit of constantly reaching for it, when she was nervous or bored or lonely. She was completely uncontactable.
And in a world where everyone wanted to be connected, Maggie had discovered that actually, what she wanted was to be disconnected.
After exiting the ship and having her key card scanned by a crew member, who gave her strict instructions on what time to be back on board, she headed into the old town.
It was like stepping into a different world.
Encircled by a medieval wall were twisting, hilly streets of cobbles that led eventually to the top of the Kasbah, with its incredible views across the water towards Europe.
With no phone to take a photo or look at a map, Maggie allowed herself and her mind to wander.
Meandering through the backstreets, she thought about her future, wondering what was next.
Soon she would be back in the UK, but where before she’d felt only dread and trepidation, now she felt a new sense of optimism.
She was fifty. Fifty! It was insane and ridiculous and unexpectedly liberating. How strange that she’d always viewed it as some big dead-end when in fact, it felt like a beginning. A much-needed reset. The past was gone and the future was now a blank page.
She’d decided she was going to take up George’s offer of his sofa bed until she found a job, saved up some money, and got back on her feet.
In her more hopeful moments she even vowed she was going to start painting again.
She’d loved having the gallery and exhibiting other artists’ work, but in many respects it had been a way for her to hide.
When her brother had died, so had that creative part of her.
How could she ever feel inspired, when Charlie’s life had been so cruelly snuffed out?
And for years she thought it was gone for ever. That desire to create, to breathe life into something. But being on this trip, seeing art again and not just through her own eyes, but through Flick’s, had reignited something inside of her. Was it creativity? A passion?
Or was it courage?
The courage to look deep inside herself and realize that part of her had never gone.
That little girl who refused the colouring-in books and was forever sketching outside of the lines; the teenager who saved all their money to buy canvases and oils and holed themselves up in their bedroom, her parents’ old Roxy Music records on an ancient record player, volume turned up high, trying to make sense of her confused, hormonal world with streaks of vermillion and burnt sienna and cerulean blue.
She was still here.
Her mind flicked back to that night on the Amalfi Coast, when she’d told a complete stranger that she had come to Europe to study art history.
Sander, the handsome Dutchman. Maggie remembered how he’d assumed she was on a sabbatical and taken a photo of her that he’d never sent.
Not that it mattered. She smiled fondly at the memory.
It seemed so long ago now, even though it was only a week or so ago, but so much had happened since.
Because he was right. She had been on a sabbatical, but it wasn’t from work, it was from herself.
And it had just taken something extraordinary to find that part of herself again and bring her back to the world.
Maybe you have to lose everything to find the stuff that’s important.
It’s like being in the dark, you always look for that chink of light.
And that something extraordinary and that chink of light was meeting Flick, and this trip, and their friendship.
And realizing she was braver and stronger than she ever thought.
After stopping for a refreshment at one of the local cafes, she ventured further into the ancient medina.
Steeped in history, its narrow alleyways were filled with shops and stalls stuffed with an array of goods: kaftans, pottery, traditional leather slippers in an array of vivid colours, bejewelled lamps and perfumed oils.
Plunged into the bustling souks, it was easy to get lost without a guide.
Tradesmen inviting you to drink mint tea, shopkeepers and street-hawkers wanting you to look at their wares.
Everywhere she looked was a feast for her senses.
She passed jewellers and watchmakers, leather craftsmen and basket-weavers.
Stalls selling pyramids of brightly coloured spices, reminding her of pigment from paints.
It was dizzying. At every corner, she weaved herself further and further into the labyrinthian maze.
Until quite unexpectedly, there he was ahead of her.
He was standing at a stall, haggling over something. He looked hot. Annoyed. The tradesman was holding up a leather bag. They were both shaking their heads. Then, feeling eyes upon him, he turned and saw her.
And suddenly there they both were. In the middle of a souk, in Morocco. Thousands of miles away from her flat where she’d last been together with him.
‘Theo.’
Afterwards she was sure she had said his name out loud, but in reality it got caught in her throat and barely came out as a whisper.
A few seconds. The time it takes for the second hand on a watch to move a few clicks around the dial. Then, before she knew what was happening, he ducked around the corner and vanished out of sight.
WTF?
And now her surprise had turned into anger and disbelief.
That was it? After all that had happened, he was running away?
And for a second time. What a pathetic excuse for a man.
And now she was trying to follow him, but it was a maze, a labyrinth.
Hagglers and tradesmen waved their wares in front of her, a shopkeeper beckoned her inside – no, please, I need to find someone.
She couldn’t have lost him. Not again. Not again.
And then she saw a familiar figure.
‘Birdy!’
She was in jewellery shop, being shown something in a glass case, and when she heard her name being called, she looked up and twirled around.
‘Maggie! Am I pleased to see you!’
‘Thank God I’ve found you—’ She broke off, trying to catch her breath. Inside the medina it was airless. She tried to suck the humid air into her lungs. ‘I need to warn you—’
‘Warn me about what, honey? Why didn’t you come to the club in Ibiza?’
‘I did. I saw you with him. With Theo. He’s the romance fraudster I was telling you about. The man who broke my heart and stole my life savings.’
It all came tumbling out.
‘I know.’
Maggie blinked and took a step backwards.
‘You know?’
‘Of course I do,’ said Birdy, as if it was perfectly obvious, and then just when Maggie thought nothing more could surprise her, she laughed mischievously. ‘Why do you think I’m dating him?’