Her eyes settled upon a photo of her standing next to a tan-colored horse in Spain. Its front legs were crossed and she adopted a similar pose. As she recalled Myrtle’s words about an accident, she sucked in a sharp breath.

More memories filtered back, of how she’d missed her footing while dismounting. She’d thudded down onto the sand, where she’d yowled in pain and clutched her elbow. Vacationers had gathered around her in the afternoon heat, peering down and asking if she was okay, where was she staying and was she with anyone? Someone had taken her to the hospital, where the nurses exchanged exasperated looks over the top of Carla’s head at having to deal with yet another tourist injured from a horse ride. A kindly doctor had taken pity on her and drove her back to her hotel afterward.

A few days later, Carla revisited the horse and had her photo taken alongside it to prove there were no hard feelings. It had been all her fault, after all.

She flipped through the rest of the journal and discovered several blank pages at the back where she’d added her own title, Adventures—to be continued...

Carla yawned and closed the book, letting it slip from her fingers to the floor, and she settled down into a woozy sleep. All the relationships and experiences she’d just revisited belonged firmly in her past. Tom was her Mr. Right, whatever Myrtle might say.

So, why couldn’t she stop wondering about the mysterious, important man she’d supposedly met twenty-one years ago? And how could he possibly be part of her future?

Five

Games

Carla woke the next morning and heard her gran singing in the kitchen, a homey sound she could listen to for hours. Her pillow was marshmallow-soft, and golden daylight flooded the room. She’d love to stay around for breakfast, but it was already past ten and Tom made brunch for her each Saturday. He’d probably be wondering where she’d ended up last night, so Carla forced herself out of bed. On her way out of the room, she stepped on the journal that lay splayed face down on the carpet.

Lucinda stood in the kitchen surrounded by various dishes, measuring spoons and glass jugs. She had a smudge of flour on her nose and was immersed in reading a letter. As soon as she heard Carla, she lowered it, placed it down on her countertop and promptly covered it with a place mat.

Carla spotted the hospital logo on the top before it disappeared. “Everything okay?” she asked cautiously.

Lucinda’s eyes lingered on the place mat for a second too long. “Absolutely fine, just a routine appointment.” She snatched up a spoon. “I’m making pancakes. Want one? Or are you feeling a little delicate?”

Carla closed one eye and winced. “I think there’s a rugby match going on in my head.”

“Tsk. Why not get back into bed and I’ll bring you coffee and a headache tablet instead? You haven’t said much about your reading. I want to know what—”

Carla’s nose tickled and she wrinkled it, not managing to stave off a sneeze. A further two loud ones followed and she was glad they’d interrupted her gran’s questioning.

Sneezing three times in a row was supposedly bad luck and Lucinda eyed her warily. She passed Carla a tissue and said, “Bless you.”

The saying originated from some cultures’ belief that your soul could escape your body through a sneeze, and Carla dismissed this silly thought as she washed and got dressed. In a rush to leave the bungalow, she stuffed the travel journal into her bag rather than put it back in the wardrobe.

A little later on, she wilted at the smell of cooked sausages outside Tom’s place.

He lived on the outskirts of Manchester in a compact one-bedroom terraced house. Apart from his much-loved compendium of board games, he was a minimalistic kind of guy, happy for his apartment to be all gray, white and chrome until he’d met Carla. As a bit of fun, and trying to inject some color into his house by stealth, she’d started to leave behind items whenever she stayed over, like a yellow glass vase, a pink plastic photo frame, or a fringed velvet cushion or two. She was pleased when Tom left them in place, proving she was welcome in his world.

They were going to rent a tiny new two-bedroom house after they married, a stopgap while they saved up and looked around for their forever home. Carla wasn’t sure where Tom would fit all his games, and there wasn’t enough space to invite friends over for drinks on the strip of paving stones that was supposed to be a garden.

Although they often spent Sunday mornings exploring flea markets, buying vintage framed prints to display on the walls of their new place, Carla couldn’t help feeling apprehensive about living with someone else again. After splitting with Aaron, she’d found it liberating not having to wipe shaving-foam smears from the bathroom taps, or moving forks out of the knife section of the cutlery drawer. She loved wearing her favorite ugly slippers with a hole in the sole that weren’t fit to be seen by anyone else.

“Hi,” Carla called out as she let herself inside Tom’s house. She just wanted to sink into his arms and forget last night ever happened.

“Hey there,” Tom said, moving around the kitchen wearing a Clue apron she’d bought him for Christmas. It featured a large graphic of Colonel Mustard.

The frying pan in Tom’s hand prevented her from giving him a hug. He slid sausages, bacon, hash browns and mushrooms onto two plates and added a spoonful of baked beans. “I thought you might be hungry after last night, so I’ve cooked you a full English breakfast. How was your prewedding surprise? Jess told me she had a secret plan for you.”

Carla sat on a stool, and the smell of the cooked food made her feel rocky. “Gran, Jess and two of my aunts basically kidnapped me. They dragged me to see a fortune teller.”

Tom set the plates down and smiled sympathetically. “Poor thing, though you don’t need to be a psychic to predict they’d do that.” He wriggled his fingers in the air as if casting a spell. “So, what did Mystic Meg say?”

“Her name was Myrtle and it’s no laughing matter...” Carla cut into her bacon.

“Did she predict a lottery win? Are we going to be millionaires soon?”

“Damn it, she left out that part.” Carla bit her lip, wondering how much she should actually tell him, about Myrtle’s claim he wasn’t the man for her and that someone else was waiting for her overseas. Tom already thought her family was weird without making things worse. “She claimed she could see Jess with a baby,” she finally said.

“Yeah? I bet she’ll make a cool mum.”

Carla nodded, trying to ignore a fleeting rush of sadness. Occasionally, when she saw kids skipping home from school carrying Mother’s Day cards they’d made in class, or chattering excitedly at the ice cream truck, she wished she had a small, sticky hand to hold, too.

Acting as a part-time surrogate mother to Jess had stolen away her urge to do it all again with a child of her own, so it was strange how her heart twanged with a mix of longing, relief and regret. She struggled to swallow a piece of hash brown.

Tom detected she’d gone quiet and sought out her eyes with a smile. “Lucky for us we’re both over forty and love being a family of two.”

She nodded and forced down a piece of egg.

After they’d eaten, Tom’s state-of-the-art dishwasher wasn’t working, so he rinsed the pots in the sink and Carla dried them. They spent Saturday afternoons playing board games and she hoped the gentle rattle of counters in a box would help soothe her headache. His living room had the sparse serenity of an exclusive spa where music tinkled, his candles smelled of amber and Carla felt relaxed and cocooned, an experience she didn’t get anywhere else. Instead of being Carla Carter CEO, she could kick off her shoes, sink into Tom’s arms and just be herself.

She glanced at her fiancé intermittently, thinking how his studious expression added to his handsomeness. Carla sometimes caught him looking at her, too, as if he couldn’t believe his luck.

He had the jawline of a cartoon superhero and his broken nose, from a childhood fall, gave his face intrigue and character. She liked how sprigs of dark chest hair escaped from the neck of his shirt, tickling her nose whenever she leaned against him. Tom never displayed any awareness of his good looks, and this modesty made him even more appealing.

What did she love about him the most? She supposed it was the way he could see the good in everyone and that there wasn’t a problem in the world they couldn’t fix together. So, the thought of perusing other men in her travel journal made the hairs on Carla’s arms stand guiltily on end.

Tom and Carla sat on the sofa and played a game of Trivial Pursuit, answering the questions and complimenting each other. “Oh, well done” and “Great answer,” they said. She loved how her diamond solitaire engagement ring sparkled as she moved pieces around the board.

Afterward, Tom took a sketchbook out from under a cushion and cradled it to his chest. “I’ve got something to show you,” he said. “It’s my idea for a new board game, Destination Next.”

Carla sat forward on the sofa. “Oh, great, let me see it.”

He flipped over the pages so she could look at his drawings. “Each element will be made out of recycled cardboard, and the board pops up so you can transport it around easily. Each player gets a counter—a suitcase, sunhat, sunglasses, etcetera, plus a paper passport. You have to solve clues and move around the board, collecting passport stamps as you go. I’m thinking the game could include a rubber stamp with ink. It’ll be lots of fun.”

“I love it,” Carla said. “But what happens when your passport is full?”

“It means you’ve won the game.”

“Does that mean you can only play it once? An inkpad and stamp aren’t recyclable, so what about using peel-off stickers instead? That way you can reuse the passport, too.”

Tom stared at her with admiration in his eyes. “Fantastic idea. Thank goodness you’re so practical.”

Carla felt inexplicably wounded by his compliment, preferring the words resourceful or imaginative. “You’re practical, too.”

“And that’s why we’re so great together.” Tom planted a kiss on her nose. “I’ll add your idea to my presentation. I’ve been up all night working on it.”

“Presentation?” she questioned.

He beamed and nodded. “I’ve been waiting to tell you some incredible news. I found out yesterday that I’ve been invited to Game Player Con.”