Page 20

19

TWO WEEKS AGO

It was as if time were bearing down on them. And she wasn’t ready to say goodbye. It was dark now, the shops had closed and the streets had changed – people passed them dressed-up, moving in groups, clouds of perfume and cigarettes. Restaurants and bars were packed, their windows clouding with condensation.

Libby’s name flashed up on her phone screen.

Sophie’s initial reaction was to bin the call, but she found herself answering, miming a ‘sorry’ to Tom.

‘Hi Soph,’ came the familiar voice.

‘Hi yourself.’

‘So, how’s Paris? Spent all your honeymoon savings on high fashion? Fallen in love with a penniless French artist?’

‘Lib, it’s not a good time.’

There was a pause. ‘Sorry, chick.’

‘It’s OK.’

‘But… well, have you done it? Drawn a line in the sand or the… I don’t know, the sediment of the Seine?’

A flash of anger. ‘Libby!’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound flippant. I’m just… it’s hard knowing you’re there on your own. I’ll feel a lot better when it’s done.’

‘I’m just waiting for midnight.’

‘I know. And I get all the symbolism and everything of waiting until midnight, but this isn’t a Richard Curtis movie, hon, it’s real life.’

‘I know that!’

‘It’s dangerous. Out there on your own.’

‘I’ll be careful.’

There was a long pause. ‘Just make sure you are,’ Libby said firmly.

‘Always.’

‘And no leaving glass slippers behind.’

‘What?’

‘You know. Cinderella? Midnight? Prince Charming chasing her down with her size sixes?’

Sophie laughed. ‘No chance of that,’ she said, looking at her scuffed trainers.

‘Well good. And listen, call me when you’ve done it.’

‘At midnight?’

‘Eleven o’clock here. But promise you will? I won’t be asleep, believe me.’

‘OK.’

She ended the call and fell into step next to Tom, their aimless meandering past brightly lit shops offering too much choice at too high a price, their doors closed fast to customers until tomorrow. The Champs-élysées had never been her favourite part of Paris. She preferred the back streets, the Latin quarter, the bits that felt hidden and special. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked him.

‘Yeah.’ But something about him had changed. His feet dragged a little and she was reminded a bit of a teenager being forced to the shops. Somehow so much younger than her.

‘Did you hear Libby?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘Got the gist though.’

She nodded, not making eye contact. ‘Sorry.’

‘Are you?’

She stopped, looked up at him. He stepped closer, looking down at her. ‘Fuck it, Sophie,’ he said. ‘I’m scared.’

The feeling of helplessness she’d lived with for the last of their years rose then. A kind of sick terror, an impotent rage that this was happening. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I mean, we could…’

‘Could what?’

‘Delay it?’ she said, her hand on the silver locket, as if reassuring herself she still had it. ‘Do something different? Wait?’

He shook his head sadly. ‘I don’t think it would help. Once you walk away from me… Well, my life as I know it will be over.’

‘I’m sure there’ll be something,’ she lied. ‘A better thing, maybe.’

He laughed quietly to himself. ‘I hope so.’

It was five to twelve when they reached the bridge. It was almost eerily empty compared with the day. A few people walked on the shadowed pavement, meandering or pacing, walking in groups, pairs or alone. They broke away and stood at the water’s edge, looking over the wall to its churning mass reflecting the clear sky, the stars, the glow of nearby windows and the street lights. It looked alive.

‘You’re sure?’ she asked him, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.

He nodded.

‘But where will you go?’ she asked him.

He looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Where will I be able to find you?’

‘Sophie, you won’t,’ he said sadly, reaching as if to brush some hair from her eyes.

‘But…’ Could she really bear for this to be the last time? A real goodbye? It was the right thing to do. It made sense for both of them. But when she imagined flinging the last of their connection away, she couldn’t bear it.

He shook his head, his face fond, amused, sad. ‘Soph,’ he said. ‘You won’t find me. I’ll be gone.’

‘But you’re…’

‘I’m already gone, Soph.’

‘You’re right here!’ she said.

‘But you know I’m not really here, don’t you?’ he said, his eyes crinkling with sympathy. ‘I’m not here any more, Soph.’

‘You’re…’

But suddenly she was staring at nothing. At a memory projected into the present. And it hit her hard in the centre of her stomach that he was truly gone. That he wasn’t coming back. That Tom had never really been here at all.

Stifling a sob, she pulled the locket from her neck and, kissing it, threw it into the Seine. It glittered on the surface of the water for a moment, then was pulled under, taken by the current, and even though she strained her eyes, she couldn’t see it any more.