Take A Chance On Me ☆ [Mamma Mia - Bill Anderson X Reader]

☆24☆

In Malta, an island off the coast of Italy you learn of after asking in Italy about it, in the midst of buying ice cream after taking a host of photographs of the rocks overlooking the brimming beach, the phone in the cheap little hut by the beachside rings and after it stops, a voice calls out, "Y/N Sheridan!"

You stop in the middle of paying, trying not to spill the cone down your camera and your new pastel green tunic. "That's me?"

"This is not hangout, girlie, make it fast," the guy holding the wall phone grumbles in broken English as the girl behind the counter takes your money, and as you walk to the phone he hands you the receiver and stomps away to his customers.

You hold the receiver up, every so often taking a subtle lick of your ice cream so it doesn't melt, and ask, "Hello?"

"Y/N Sheridan?"
"Yes?"
"Finally: we've been trying to track you down for a week now; the last time your passport was used was in Greece, yet nobody reports you there," a deep British voice on the other end says, and you remember that your passport is technically Turkish now and apologise to the stranger even though he's a stranger, because he sounds quite angry.

"So, uh, why are you calling me, sir?"
The caller clears his throat and begins, sounding like he's reading off of paper. "Well, two to three weeks ago we received an incoming call from Kalokairi off the mainland of Greece from your twin sister, Donna Sheridan-"

"Oh my God, is she okay?!" you cut him off hysterically, instantly regretting these nine months you've spent all alone travelling and having fun and becoming more confident and dating cute guys. What were you thinking?!"
"Yes, she's fine," the caller says in a tone riddled with contempt, and continues, "but she wants you to come to Kalokairi - she's had a baby, and wants you to see it."

You're so stunned by the response that you let your half-eaten ice cream fall to the floor, pooling around your beaded flip flops. You curl your fingers tighter around the phone, starting to breathe heavily.

"A... a baby? Are you sure?"

"Yes, Miss Sheridan," the caller says more firmly, and tells you about the boat times - apparently nobody knows you traded in your tiny boat for a slightly larger, more accommodating one - and how to change your passport from Turkish to English so nobody has to track your new 'nationality' again before he hangs up.
You slowly put the receiver back onto the wall, slightly numb, mind racing.

A baby? Donna? Well... whose is it? Cuz she had relations with Harry, then Sam, then... well, anyway, does she know? Do any of them know?
You have to get to her right away!

Ignoring the shouts of the grumpy phone man about your ice cream on the floor, you run out of the hut all the way to your B&B room a mile away and pack up everything. Calculating how far away the port you docked your boat is and how fast you want to get there and how much money you have, you realise you'll need to hitchhike in order to get there - yes, hitchhike. You've done it a few times, and you'll admit you've been a little afraid each time, but since you've been on your own you've seen the kindness in strangers and now feel slightly more comfortable around them.

So you hail a car, tip your souvenir floppy hat at the driver, then get in and request for a ride to the docks.

On the way you look in your purse, handcrafted in front of you in Mallorca in Spain, and sigh. You hadn't had a job since a country ago - you need to save as much money as you can get.

☆☆☆

After what seems like a small eternity hitching a lift, setting sail on your boat, and waiting impatiently for the island to appear from the sea, you arrive on Kalokairi and immediately rush to the bar you remember her, you and... You Know Who playing at.