Page 13 of The Love of Our Lives

The evening sky is a hazy blue above us, streaked with whipped-cream clouds and dotted with soaring birds.

The air has that warm stillness about it, the scent of hot pavements and grass rising up around us.

Adam and I are walking side by side down the street, and I can practically hear my heart thudding in my chest.

‘Did you manage to get away from him?’ he says.

I turn. ‘Who?’

‘The psychopath who was running after you across the street this morning.’

I can’t help smiling as I think of him at the lights, that wave he gave me.

‘Sorry about that, I’ve been having a bit of a . . . weird time recently.’

I feel him glance at me, a curious look on his face.

‘Yeah, I was wondering if I should check on you after yesterday. You didn’t seem quite yourself.’

Yourself.

What even is that right now?

‘So, what do you make at your workshop?’ I say, more because I don’t know what else to say and it seems like something people would ask on a date.

I just really hope Emily hasn’t asked this before.

‘Furniture . . . well, I upholster it really, upcycle too. It’s not as technical as actually making the furniture itself, I realise, but I’m more into taking something old and making it new.’

‘Giving it a new lease of life,’ I offer.

‘Exactly.’

He smiles at me, and heat rises up my neck.

‘What about you?’ he says. ‘Have you looked into that course yet?’

Course? I can’t remember seeing anything about a course.

‘Not yet,’ I say carefully.

‘Well, no time like the present,’ he says, as we wander along a walkway.

I’m still trying to work out what he’s talking about, when glittering lights appear ahead of us, tents rising up into the sky, and the hum of people.

The Edinburgh Fringe. I haven’t been in years, not since that one time Cat dragged me along in our teens.

But I’ve always dreamed of going back; read about all the shows online and wished I could see every last one of them.

Now I find myself following Adam through one of the entrances to a beer garden.

Wooden benches are already filling up across fake grass, while multi-coloured Chinese lanterns bob lightly in the breeze above.

Leafy garlands are strung up around the sides, little lights already twinkling out at us, and the most incredible smell rushes towards me, rich and wood-smoked.

‘What is that?’ I say, gazing around in wonder.

Adam turns, his eyes lit up. ‘Didn’t I say I had a great place in mind for dinner?’

I look around at the empty picnic tables in confusion. ‘Where?’

‘There.’ He points across at a food van sitting to one side. ‘I give you the world’s best pizza and pint van. Hey Sven.’ Adam walks up to the guy working inside it.

A very tall man with dark-brown skin and a closely cropped afro immediately looks up and grins.

He stops chopping something and comes out the back of the van.

He’s wearing a white t-shirt and a red apron with ‘The Scandi Pizza Man’ on the front, and with his smiley eyes and slightly sticky out ears, he’s an endearingly good-looking guy.

He walks straight up to Adam and gives him a hug, before stepping back.

‘I didn’t know you were coming down tonight,’ Sven says, before glancing at me, one eyebrow arched. ‘Who’s your friend?’

‘Emily, this is Sven; Sven, meet Emily.’

‘Ah, the pretty girl across the hall,’ Sven says, his face lighting up. ‘So, he finally plucked up the courage to ask you out.’

Adam glances at me, a smile playing on his lips. Heat rushes up my neck again.

God, this is awkward .

‘Charlie not about tonight?’ Adam says now to Sven.

‘Oh, she is,’ Sven says, ‘but she’s actually performing this evening.’

‘I forgot she’s actually in the festival this year.’ Adam turns to me. ‘Charlie, Sven’s partner, is an amazing dancer. She’s got her own dance school and everything.’ He turns back to Sven. ‘She must be really chuffed.’

‘She is indeed.’ Sven beams proudly. A second later, he claps his hands.

‘Right, pizza. What can I get you guys tonight?’

I stare up at the menu on the blackboard: it all looks amazing, with every pizza topping coming from a different country: olives on the Italian, chorizo on the Spanish, and buffalo chicken on the American.

My stomach rumbles aggressively again, but that feeling of guilt is still there, sitting at the bottom of it.

Though, should I feel guilty? As far as I can tell, Emily is healthy – more than healthy from what I’ve found out about her. So surely, I can just keep eating the same things that she did.

It’s not like I’m dealing with heart transplant stats here: only 50 per cent of people make it past the ten-year mark , I can still hear the doctor saying as I recovered in the hospital.

Hell, only about 50 per cent make it past the one-year mark.

As it all starts to sink in, that I’m dealing with an entirely different body to my limited one, I find myself saying, ‘I’ll go with the plain cheese, if that’s all right.’

‘Always a classic,’ Adam grins back. ‘I’ll have the same – thanks, Sven – though how many times have I told you to put a Canadian on that list?’

Sven laughs. ‘And how many times did I tell you I’m not putting poutine on a pizza?’

I guessed right on the accent then.

Adam turns to me. ‘Drink?’

‘A water would be great,’ I say and he nods.

‘One water and a pint of lager with those slices please, Sven.’

I reach for my wallet. I should just about be able to stretch to this.

‘No, no, no,’ Adam says, shaking his head. ‘This is all working out better than I thought; you’ll only ruin the vibe if you pay now.’

‘Well, OK, but the next time’s on me.’

He grins and my heart skips. Shit, I don’t know why I said that, given I might not actually be here, and also given I have absolutely no desire to get involved with anyone generally. But it seems to have made Adam smile, and he has a great smile.

After Sven has passed our pizzas and drinks through the hatch, we head over to an empty bench. Under the garland-strung coverings, with the now blushing sky above, we could almost be abroad. Or what I’d always imagined it might be like.

I take a bite of the pizza. It’s all gooey cheese and juicy tomatoes and it explodes on my tongue. ‘Oh shit,’ I say through a mouthful of food. I look at the pizza, look at Adam. ‘That’s insane.’

He swallows his mouthful, the amber flecks in his green eyes sparking. ‘I told you, right?’

I take another bite, the combination of great food and easy company relaxing me slightly; making me momentarily forget how wild this whole situation is.

‘So,’ I say, ‘how long have you and Sven known each other?’

‘Well, I met him when I was twenty and travelling in Sweden, and I’m now thirty-two,’ Adam says, like he’s thinking it over. ‘So over ten years. He suggested I move here to set up the furniture thing. He’d recently moved over and didn’t have any friends here so . . .’

‘So you became that friend.’ I smile. I get the sense he’s friendly to everyone he meets.

‘Exactly. Plus, I was working through some stuff of my own,’ he says, as a shadow passes across his face, ‘so it was good to meet someone new.’

I’m about to ask what he means when an older couple walk over to us. ‘Mind if we sit here?’ The woman asks.

‘No problem at all,’ Adam replies, and shifts up the bench to give them room.

Doing the same on my side, I manage to briefly look at his tattoo a little better – a spiky tree weaved into a river, then a horse and a hand above that, and something else random above that.

It still makes no sense, and I want to ask him about it, but I don’t know this guy at all, really.

He turns back to me a moment later, the darkness all gone.

‘Why did you decide to move up here?’

What to say? I have no idea why Emily came up here, and for some reason I really don’t want to lie to this guy. I may have only known him for twenty minutes but he seems so very open and kind and, sometimes, you just get a feeling.

I take a sip of my water. ‘I don’t totally know, if I’m being honest.’ I pause. ‘I guess I’m still figuring things out.’

He smiles in a way that starts that fluttering in my chest again. ‘Well, I’m glad you chose to figure things out in the flat opposite mine.’

I take a quick sip of my water. ‘And how long have you lived there?’

‘Oh, I don’t really live there exactly; I don’t really stay anywhere for long. It’s more a base for when I’m back. And I always try and catch the Fringe, you see.’

For some reason my stomach sinks just slightly.

‘And on that note.’ He pulls two white tickets from his pocket, sliding them apart with his thumb and forefinger.

I stare down at them.

‘Show tickets,’ he says before I ask. ‘A comedy act in a couple of hours. I got them on the off-chance that you would come out tonight. A little presumptuous, I know, but failing that, there was always Sven.’ He laughs.

I feel myself hesitating. A show? I’ve just got my head around having a slice of pizza with this guy.

‘Not keen?’ Adam says quickly, and holds up his hands. ‘No pressure, honestly. If you’re bored by my chat before then, I will gladly walk you back home.’

The way he’s so open and friendly about the whole thing makes me like him even more, and I have the strongest sense that I should at least try.

‘Well,’ I say eventually, smiling across at him, ‘let’s see how the rest of the evening goes, OK?’

He nods. ‘Good plan.’