Page 11

10

TWO WEEKS AGO

Half a day had already passed and now Tom was next to her on the hard bed of her hotel room, leaning up on an elbow as they talked.

‘Can’t believe you booked the Cler!’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I thought we agreed it was a complete shithole.’

‘For old times’ sake, of course!’

‘Yes, but… why not one of the others we stayed in? That posh place off the Champs-élysées, or the one with the glass lift. This is… well…’ he shook his head, ‘…beneath you.’ He grinned, looking at her, his tone light.

She laughed. ‘Beneath me! Well, maybe I’m not used to living in the lap of luxury like you, but it suits me fine. Anyway, it’s the first place we went. It seems…’

‘A good place to say goodbye?’

She nodded, touching the place where he lay just lightly. ‘I guess so,’ she said, suddenly sombre.

‘You don’t want to recreate any of the memories of that hotel stay… you know, for old times’ sake?’ He raised a suggestive eyebrow.

‘Tom!’

‘Worth asking.’

‘You haven’t changed a bit, have you?’ she said, catching his smile. ‘You’re exactly how I remember you.’

‘Well, obviously. Evolving is so overrated.’

They’d always had this ease when they’d spoken, always this back and forth, a blend of jokes and hard truths, made palatable by their shared humour. It was different with Will. But that wasn’t a bad thing, she told herself. There were so many different ways to be close to another person.

Thinking of Will made her suddenly sober. She lifted her phone off the bed and looked at the screen. She hadn’t heard it buzz, but there was a message there.

Will

All OK?

Sophie

Yes.

Will

Not too lonely?

Sophie

No, it’s fine.

Will

Miss you.

Sophie

Miss you too.

Looking up, she saw Tom watching her and tried to smile. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

‘It’s OK. I love Will!’ he said. ‘Say hi to him from me.’

‘Very funny.’

‘I take it he doesn’t know?’

She stiffened. ‘Not everything. I just don’t want him to worry.’

‘About me?’

‘About me . I tried… I wanted to explain that I need to see you. Paris. Talk to you about things. Say goodbye properly – and this is what it is, Tom. But I couldn’t… saying it sounded so…’ She looked down, then back up at him. ‘I didn’t lie to him,’ she said. ‘I just didn’t tell him everything.’

‘Talk about what things?’ It was as if Tom had only paid attention to the bit that involved him. Which was, actually, typical.

Suddenly animated, she stood up. ‘Let’s get out,’ she said. ‘I can’t stand it in this tiny room. Let’s go for a walk, eh?’

She grabbed a jacket, her bag, and made her way down in the lift to the foyer. There were a few people milling about, and the woman on reception smiled as she passed. Then she was outside, in a street still flooded with bright sunshine. She hadn’t waited for Tom, but a moment later there he was, emerging from the hotel reception and jogging over to her.

‘Slow down!’ he said, bending over, hands on knees, as if exhausted from hurrying.

‘Yeah. Sorry about that. Claustrophobia.’

‘Not Tom-ophobia?’

She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. ‘Maybe a little.’

They smiled at each other, then fell into step together. Sophie felt the tension leave her body as she inhaled the fresh air and let the Paris scenery transport her. They didn’t have long and while she knew nothing could be perfect, she wanted this to be as close to it as possible.

Her phone rang again with a call from Sam but she sent it to voicemail. She’d talk to her later.

‘Where’re we off to, anyway?’ he said moments later, as they turned the corner and found themselves caught up in the flow of pedestrians, some smart, some dressed-down, some suited, some in summer holiday mode.

‘I thought I might just get a drink.’ She looked at him. ‘Oh, sorry. I keep forgetting.’

He gave a short nod. ‘Doesn’t matter. But let’s not go to a bar, eh. Get something from one of the shops. Maybe grab a bench?’

‘What, a whisky bottle in a brown paper bag?’ she teased.

‘It’s a look,’ he said. ‘But maybe something a little more sophisticated.’

‘Bottle of champers?’

‘Maybe a small one,’ he grinned.

‘And you don’t mind…?’

‘I can’t have you dying of dehydration just because I don’t touch the stuff any more,’ he said, smiling. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll just try to remember what it tastes like.’

Tom had tried to give up drinking a few times over the years, never successfully. Each time she’d tried to join him, finding it a little easier than he did – the drive to drink less compelling. Perhaps it was cruel to drink in front of him now. But she needed something to help her relax, to get through this time. And she was pretty sure he understood.

She was a different person with Tom, she realised, as they sat side by side on the bench, her sipping from a small can of red wine – the height of sophistication! they’d joked – and him simply watching her looking out over the Seine. It was as if she had tapped into a younger version of herself, for better or for worse. She was less confident in herself, more in awe of him. And this time, on the cusp of a final goodbye, sickeningly aware that time was always slipping past.

‘So, is everything set for the wedding?’ Tom asked her.

‘Do you really want to know?’

He shrugged. ‘Kind of,’ he admitted. ‘You know, Will and I always said we’d be best men for each other.’

‘I know. Will said that too. You could always come.’

She’d been joking, so was surprised to see his brow furrow, considering. ‘I don’t think I could make that work. Anyway, you need to concentrate on each other.’

She nodded. ‘Don’t want me to do a Ross from Friends and say the wrong name at my wedding!’ she quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

‘Will would literally kill me!’

‘You know that’s impossible, right? Anyway, as far as he’s concerned, you’re still his best friend.’

They were silent for a moment. Thinking.

‘It won’t be the same as our wedding,’ she told him. ‘I mean, it’s going to be nice, but not as… well, lavish as ours.’

‘Lavish?’

‘You know what I mean.’

Their wedding had been funded entirely by Tom’s father, who’d insisted they must have whatever they wanted. It had been an incredibly generous gesture, although looking back, she wondered whether she’d really have chosen the stately home with its cool, stone staircase and high-ceilinged dining hall if she hadn’t been thinking a little of her father-in-law’s preferences when she made her choices. Her dress had been a one-off, stitched especially for her. And in it she’d felt like – well, it was corny to say it, but she’d felt like a princess.

This time, she’d chosen off the rack – a dress made of satin that swung at her calves and nipped in at the waist. The venue was a converted barn in the Hertfordshire countryside, close to where Will’s parents lived. They were paying for it all themselves.

‘Is it enough?’ Will had asked her one night when they’d snuggled together in bed, talking into the darkness. ‘We could do more?’

‘It’s perfect,’ she’d told him. And she’d meant it, too. She hadn’t chosen the venue, the dress, the cheapest of the offered meals on the menu because it was the second time around for her. This would be just as much of a celebration as the first. It was more because she felt freer to choose what she wanted, without fearing judgement. And perhaps, although it was depressing to think it, because she was growing up. Fairy-tale weddings belonged in fairy-tale books. She wanted a marriage that was built for the real world – and this time, one with a happy ending.

Tom nodded. ‘I hope it’s good,’ he said.

‘You’re being very generous about it.’

He shrugged. ‘What else can I do? I can’t pretend I’m thrilled about how things turned out for us. Hardly the dream. But it is what it is. The more time passes since… you know… the more I’ve had to accept I can’t change anything.’

She gave him a small, sad smile.

‘And you deserve happiness, you know,’ he said softly.

She looked at him. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t always feel that way.’ She took a sip of her wine, felt it warm her throat.

‘Yes, well, you’ve always had a problem with that,’ he said. ‘Thinking you don’t deserve things. But after what I put you through, you must be due an enormous amount of good fortune.’

‘That’s ridiculous! It wasn’t your fault,’ she said, echoing his earlier words to her.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But you still went through it, didn’t you?’

She nodded. ‘Yeah. I suppose we were both just unlucky. Especially you, obviously.’

‘Sometimes I think maybe I had it too good, you know? You were always saying it. Laughing at my upbringing. My privilege. To me, it was just how things were. I didn’t know what it was like to want anything I couldn’t have, to not be able to fix things by asking my parents for some cash. I took it all for granted and bam!’

‘Seriously? You think what happened was… what, some sort of divine counterbalance?’ she said, half laughing, half horrified. ‘Come on, Tom, that’s not like you.’

‘I don’t know. Sometimes I think you have a certain amount of luck – each of us do – and if you use it all up too early… Well, maybe you run out.’

They watched silently as a riverboat passed them. Passengers leant on the front railing, watching the water lap against the front of the vessel as it cut through the water. Others, inside, sat and took in the view through the windows. There was something about the boats, she thought. A sense of peace that being on the water brought.

It was the one thing they’d never done in Paris – Tom suffered from seasickness and she didn’t fancy going on one by herself.

‘Well, luck or no luck, you were one of the best decisions I ever made,’ she said. ‘And you know I don’t believe for a minute that you brought it all on yourself, everything that happened.’ She shifted, turned to him slightly. ‘I’m happy with Will, you know I am. But if there were a chance, even a tiny one, to do things differently…’

He put his hand lightly on hers and she felt a thrum of energy pulse in her. ‘I know,’ he said.

They fell into silence again, each imagining the decade-younger versions of themselves on the same bench, with a very different sort of future ahead.