Page 9

8

TWO WEEKS AGO

She finished the last of her orange juice with an unexpected slurping sound as the straw met glass, ice cubes and air. Tom, opposite, grinned at her. ‘Finished?’ he asked, amused.

Sophie nodded.

‘In that case, I think those women want to take our table.’

She looked over her empty glass to where he was indicating and saw two women in neat skirt suits pointedly watching her. She felt annoyed to be rushed, had wanted to finish up the ice from the bottom of the glass. It was a bad habit, but she loved the squeak of the freezing cubes between her teeth before they finally yielded and cracked; loved the way it cooled her. Loved, if she was honest, getting her money’s worth, even now.

‘Time to give it up?’

‘Fine,’ she said standing, nodding to the women and leaving a five-euro note on the little metal receipt tray the waiter had slipped in front of them a few minutes ago.

‘What’s the matter?’ he said as they resumed their walk.

‘Nothing. Just feel weird, that’s all.’

He slipped into a rhythm at her side and they walked like this for a bit. ‘It’s nice though, isn’t it? Seeing each other again. I’ve missed you.’

‘Me too,’ she managed.

‘Do you think…’ he began, then trailed off.

‘Here it is!’ she said in a voice that was almost too loud, too relieved to break the current direction of the conversation.

The first time she’d seen the Louvre, she’d been astonished at the size of the enormous glass pyramid, the way the unashamed modernity of the spotless structure contrasted with the traditional buildings that surrounded it. She’d loved walking on the glass floor panel and looking down into the space below.

She still had it, that sense of wonder, despite having been here time and time again; but now it was richer, tinged with emotion as she thought of all the different versions of herself; the different versions of them that had pushed open the doors and walked inside, queuing, buying tickets, seeing the same paintings with new eyes, a new perspective each time.

And the last time they’d been here. It was impossible not to think of it. How she’d had to hide how broken her heart had been seeing what Tom had become; the contrast with his former self.

‘Don’t go getting emotional on me,’ he said now, looking at her. ‘It’s just a massive greenhouse.’

She laughed, despite herself. ‘Only you would come up with that description.’

‘I’m serious. Alan Titchmarsh would probably kill to have this space for his tomatoes.’

‘Want to go in?’

He shrugged. ‘Might as well. For old times’ sake.’

‘Come on then,’ she said, feeling lighter, reminding herself that she was here with him, that he was OK, that the past was safely behind them now. ‘Race you to the Mona Lisa .’

‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ a woman said, noticing how Sophie seemed absorbed in the famous painting.

Sophie smiled. ‘Someone once told me they thought she looked a bit like George Harrison.’

The woman looked at her, slightly disapproving. ‘Well, you can tell that person he is an idiot.’

‘“He”?’

‘Ah, it is always a “he”,’ said the woman. ‘All they want these days is red lips, come-to-bed eyes. They cannot stomach a woman who looks intelligent, interesting.’

Sophie laughed. ‘I’ll pass it on,’ she said, glancing sideways at Tom.

They were silent for a minute. Around them the crowd of tourists ebbed and flowed, always at least twenty of them packed in to view the tiny painting.

‘I do think she’s beautiful, for the record,’ Sophie added, turning to the woman again. ‘But it’s something else about her that makes me keep coming back. I think… she looks kind of wise. Like she knows something.’

The woman nodded. ‘I’m sure it is true.’

Tom chuckled quietly in her ear. ‘She looks kind of wise,’ he joked.

‘Well, she does! Like she can look right through me.’

She felt the buzz of her mobile in her pocket and put her hand to it, knowing without looking that it would be a text message from Will, asking how it was going, whether she was OK. She’d ring him later when things were quieter. She couldn’t be the person who broke the rules and started talking loudly in an art gallery.

She saw Tom looking at her. ‘Will?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Sorry,’ she said, not really knowing why.

‘I want to ask you something,’ she said quietly later over a glass of rosé at an outdoor cafe.

He leant back, his eyes amused, looking at her steadily. ‘Fire away.’

‘Did I ruin it?’ she asked, amazed that she’d finally got the words out.

‘Ruin what?’

She took a deep breath, not sure whether he was being kind or whether he genuinely didn’t know what she meant. ‘Ruin us.’

He shook his head softly. ‘You couldn’t.’

‘But I wasted all that time being… well, fucking miserable, for want of a better word. The baby stuff.’

‘You weren’t that bad.’

‘I was! And I made you miserable too!’

Another shake of the head. ‘You didn’t, Soph. And even if you had, it wasn’t your fault.’

‘I didn’t know. If I’d known…’

‘Neither of us knew.’

She swilled the wine in her glass. ‘Kind of feels like it was my fault.’

‘All of it?’

‘Some of it at least. I was so focused on myself, I didn’t notice you . And maybe if I had…’ She took an enormous, shuddering breath. ‘Maybe if I had, things would have turned out differently.’

His hand moved towards hers over the table’s wine-ringed top. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘None of it was your fault.’

‘Not intentionally, no. But I’d do it differently if I could,’ she said. ‘If I could go back…’

He looked at her, eyes glistening. ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘If I could go back, I’d make sure I’d never have to leave you.’