Page 22 of The Love of Our Lives

‘Happy Birthday, E!’

I’m just taking a sip of my post-run coffee a week later when I hear the words blasting down the phone. I’d answered Fran’s call immediately before I saw it was still only seven in the morning.

‘Sorry?’ I say. ‘Happy what?’

‘Oh, for god’s sake,’ Fran says, ‘have you actually forgotten your own birthday now?’

My heart thuds lightly in my chest. It’s not like I feel I have to pretend to Fran really; there’s something oddly natural about the flow of us, regardless of the situation. But forgetting my birthday? Well, that is just plain weird.

‘No,’ I say slowly, ‘it’s just, I wasn’t really planning to make a big deal of it this year.’

‘No change from any other year then,’ Fran says. ‘How can you be so good at celebrating other people’s stuff but so absolutely crap at celebrating your own?’

I think back to my last birthday, how incredibly pressurised I found the whole thing, just the notion of everyone having to focus on me for the day, hoping I would make it to the next one. Mum fussed over me at every moment and I had to pretend to love the sugarless cake she’d made me.

‘Well, anyway,’ Fran continues, ‘I knew you’d try and avoid it, which is why something is arriving for you this morning to help it along.’

‘Oh?’

‘You can Oh all you like, but you’ll have to wait and see.’

I smile. ‘Well, thank you in advance, that’s ridiculously nice of you and I’ll look out for it. And on the note of celebrations,’ I continue, ‘are you and Toby happy to confirm the honeymoon itinerary I put together for you?’

‘Yes, I’ll confirm the luxury resort tour,’ she says in a mocking tone, and I frown. Doesn’t she want to go? A trilling noise comes down the phone. ‘Hang on, door,’ she says.

While she’s away, I think about how Fran’s wedding prep had not got past the actual day itself, and suddenly I found myself in a place I was always so comfortable with – brainstorming ideas for where other people could go together.

I’d been using Adam’s laptop for anything I needed before, but as I became more involved in helping Fran, I finally gave in and got a cheap one of my own.

At least I know I’m not just going to sit behind it anymore, and as I got to work on the sofa, I realised how long it’s been since I actually sat down to create adventures for other people.

I’ve just been so busy doing my own stuff recently, running, taking photos, hanging out with Adam, cooking, eating and exploring – having my own little adventures.

I paused for a moment on the Royal Mile the other day though, when I saw the sign for Dunbar’s Close.

And even though my heart started beating a little faster at the sight of it, none of those strange feelings I’d had in the speakeasy came back again.

I decided I’d maybe never need to know why Emily was looking for it, and carried on my way through the city.

Because I have to assume that these strange memories are fragments from Emily’s life.

Nothing to do with Stella, or that To Let sign below.

I don’t know why I’m thinking about my heart donor again – there are places to let all around the city after all – it’s just in all the chaos of what’s happened, I sort of forgot about the letter I’d received, and her.

But that sign has got her back into my mind again.

And I even wondered for an earth-shattering moment if I might be back in her life, which set my pulse racing – given that I know she dies.

But my name is Emily, not Stella, and she lived above a bakery, not a card shop.

Pushing the troubling thoughts away again, I hear Fran faintly in the background speaking to someone, and I think again about her upcoming trip – how envious I secretly am.

Her and Toby’s budget was pretty punchy, so I booked them into a couple of impressive resorts in the Maldives, which Toby had apparently always wanted to try.

I felt a little bad for Fran though, given I knew what she really wanted to do was go seafaring in the Galápagos Islands; search for some of the world’s rarest creatures.

Though if she jokes about finding the blue-footed booby one more time, I’ll kill her.

Her and Toby seem to have quite different tastes, I’ve sometimes noticed – what type of holidays they like, what they want to do with their weekends (he likes reading the newspaper in bed, she likes to get up and go on adventures) – which is fine if it works, I guess.

But I just hope she’s not putting her own dreams on hold for him too often.

Dear Fran – because that’s how I’ve started thinking about her – this warm, reassuring voice I can call at any moment, whenever I’m homesick for Jess or Mum or Dad.

And, not for the first time, I get this genuine sense that I’ve known her a lot longer, that we’ve had hundreds of drinks and dinners and drunken one-in-the-morning conversations.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ she says, coming back on the line, sounding slightly flustered. ‘It was the postie,’ she explains, ‘and on that note, I just got a text from the delivery company there. He’s asking if you can let him in.’

‘Oh,’ I say, looking towards the door with a frown, ‘my buzzer must be broken.’

‘Well, go and let him in, and then go and actually enjoy yourself for once.’

I smile. ‘All right, I will.’

Once I’ve hung up, I head across to the door, and I’m about to press the release catch on the intercom, when there’s a knock. I open it up to find the most enormous bunch of Happy Birthday balloons on the other side, and behind them, Adam in his wool sweater, smiling at me.

‘I took the liberty of taking these up for the poor guy who was trying to access the building,’ he says. ‘Oh, and there were these too,’ he says, passing me a fancy bouquet of flowers. There’s no card on it, oddly, though maybe they’re from Fran too. All the same, my heart is fluttering.

‘But my main question is,’ Adam continues, ‘how did I not know it was your birthday?’

He’s smiling, but there’s confusion too.

‘Oh,’ I say, batting it off, ‘I’m just not huge on celebrating it.’

He tips his head up like I’ve said something mental, then looks back down at me. ‘We need to do something for it. Dinner at my place tonight? And I promise I won’t do that raw chicken thing again.’

I laugh, recalling how a failed dinner had ended up with us in the little pub along the road for a live music night with Sven and Charlie instead, staying with them until close.

And I remember feeling in that moment that somehow, despite the setbacks, I was kind of getting in the sway of this life thing.

I smile across at him, still clutching the mystery flowers in my hand. ‘I’d love that.’

Later that evening, I stand in front of the mirror and survey the outfit I chose for this evening from Mum’s charity shop – a fitted blue dress with little sparkles across the front.

I keep dropping in every now and then; keep running past Jess and the boys in the park on Wednesdays too, but there’s just something particularly special about actually chatting to Mum, about letting her know everything that I’m up to, without her telling me it might be unsafe or running to call the doctor.

I get to see what a normal relationship between us might look like, and I pick out clothes while I’m there too.

She set this particular dress aside for me when it came in, and it hugs my body in all the right places, stopping just above my knees.

My mane of dark hair is held back gently with a glittery head band, and I’ve lightly applied make-up below.

A burst of nerves shoots through me, because there’s just something about tonight, about Adam’s suggestion of dinner, and the soft look in his eyes, that gives me a thrill in my chest. And even though I know we’re only supposed to be friends, and I don’t want to hurt anyone here, I can feel something insistent pulling at me, begging me to let go.

Just for a little while.

Could I?

Before I can answer my own question, there’s a knock on the door and my heart skips as I open it. Adam is on the other side, wearing his plaid shirt, a tweed jacket on top, which I suspect hasn’t been out in a while from how stiffly he’s holding himself.

But that awed expression on his face when he sees me.

My stomach somersaults.

‘You look incredible,’ he says, in this nervous way I’ve never seen on him before.

‘Thank you, I’ll just put on the shoes,’ I say, stepping nervously into a pair of silver heels. I feel giddy suddenly, like pure serotonin is running through me and it might make me topple over at any second.

‘Take your camera, and a warm coat too,’ he adds. ‘It might be a little nippy where we’re going.’

‘Why are you always trying to take me up high?’ I joke, but I’m intrigued. Darting back to the bedroom, I pick up my camera with excitement, and head back to the door. Pulling a cream wool coat on, I catch him watching me again, and take a breath in.

A clicking noise across the hall makes us both jump. Someone coming out of Adam’s apartment. ‘Who is . . .’ I start, just as Sven comes into sight. He gives Adam a double thumbs up, then both of us a mischievous smile. ‘Bye, guys; enjoy.’

Before I can say anything, he disappears away down the steps, and I look to Adam, who gives nothing away.

‘Come with me,’ he says, and takes my hand as we walk back across the hall to his.

It feels odd, because I’ve never actually held his hand before, warm and rough against my own.

A twinge of something starts low in my belly; seeps up through me like hot cocoa.

At the door, he drops my hand again to open it (much to my disappointment), but inside, I’m surprised to see that his usually plain hallway is lined with candles all the way to the cupboard at the back.

‘This isn’t it, by the way,’ he says, a hint of a smile in his voice. ‘I didn’t just take you for dinner in my hallway, I promise.’