Page 41 of The Love of Our Lives

The next morning I’m sitting in the lobby of the hotel Toby put me in.

It’s all turquoise velvet and polished marble, and as I sit sipping the most delicious Turkish coffee, I think about how incredibly well I slept on the fluffiest of beds, in the most sumptuous of suites – thank you, Toby.

The lunch went on for the whole afternoon, a lavish feast put on by Fran’s parents – antipasti, pasta course, sorbetto, meat course, and what felt like a never-ending stream of desserts at the end.

And then as the older generations drifted away, the four of us eventually tumbled into a little bar we used to frequent along the road.

Fran even simmered a bit about the whole thing with Simon; actually got up and did some terrible karaoke – Elton John’s Tiny Dancer , of course – and we ate greasy burgers and drank cheap pints (two max for me after the skiing incident).

I’ve realised it’s not all glitz and glamour down here; it’s solid and real and delightfully grubby too.

It was a whole host of experiences and events and life; a life that worked really well once, and maybe could again for Emily, at the end.

A movement at the doorway. I watch as the top-hatted doorman opens it with a flourish, and Simon walks confidently in.

He’s more casual today in jeans, trainers and a lightweight navy jacket.

But somehow he still looks like a million dollars, and I know that every inch of his outfit probably cost more than my rent each month.

But then he looks at me in this way that puts me absolutely at ease, and I wonder for the hundredth time what he has to show me today.

Coming to a stop in front of me, he holds his hand out.

‘Ready?’

I smile. ‘Totally.’

A few minutes later and we’re standing on the sunny street outside. The buildings are grand around here, with Hyde Park right ahead of us and the luxury hotel behind, and I can’t help but feel stupidly excited by it all.

‘You have to tell me now,’ I say, ‘what’s this thing you want to show me?’

Simon smiles mischievously, glances at something over to the left. ‘You’ll see,’ he says, ‘in exactly one second.’

And then, as if by magic, this huge shiny truck-like vehicle comes to a stop right in front of us.

‘What the . . .?’ I say, trying to peer in the darkened windows.

The driver’s door opens and a man in a black suit and cap gets out, goes to open the passenger door. Then he looks at me expectantly, his bushy grey eyebrows raised.

‘Miss,’ he says, ushering me in.

I look at the man, look at Simon, who takes my hand in his.

‘Here’s the thing,’ he says, and I immediately feel the tingle of his touch, this real familiarity about it.

‘Before you left, things were crazy, with your work, with our lives – I think we forgot why we were even in London in the first place, what we wanted from this place. And as I said before, I’ll follow you anywhere, Emily, but more than anything, I’d just really love for us to pick up where we left off. ’

‘So,’ he continues, turning to the plush seats inside, ‘I thought we could go around the city and be tourists for the day, see some of our favourite haunts too.’

And even as he speaks the words, I think of all the sights I never went to see, and all the big cities I experienced only through a screen.

‘What do you say?’

‘I say yes.’ I grin, and climb into the car.

‘You’ve got that camera of yours at the ready, I see,’ Simon says, getting in beside me.

‘Yup,’ I reply, feeling for it around my neck.

‘Best present I ever got you,’ he says, clipping himself in.

My heart skips slightly, and as I look at it with surprised realisation – the camera from Simon, attached to the lens from Adam – we speed off down the road.

Moments later, we’re cruising through London in our very own tour car while the driver, Alex, merrily fills us in on titbits of history – how London was the capital of Roman Britain for most of Roman rule and over 8.

7 million people live here. It is a city full of life and activity and opportunity, and just seeing fragments of it sends a thrill through me.

We stop at Big Ben (‘did you know it’s actually the clock that’s called Big Ben and not the tower?

’), the houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace and London Bridge.

I get my camera out and start snapping away at it all, and not for the first time, I wonder about coming down here when I get back to my old life. Seeing everything I can.

We head to old haunts of ours next, jumping out at Holborn and finding the little frozen yoghurt shop with the amazing mango flavour.

We head to Borough Market and wander around the stalls and restaurants.

We end up at the Singapore street food place we love and I start laughing suddenly, remembering that the last time we were here we were dressed up as pirates for a party after.

We get iced coffees at our place nearby where the dog always wears a bow tie.

We have a couple of drinks at the wine bar at Embankment where we had our particularly drunken and hilarious (due to the unfortunate name of the wine) third date, before heading across the water to a little fair.

We wander through the people and the happy music, talking about absolute nonsense, and I get a flash of something in my chest – this feeling like I genuinely enjoy hanging out with this guy and we’ve experienced some great times together.

It wasn’t all about the money and the lifestyle. We actually loved each other too.

We end the day at a gorgeous little Bistro in Bermondsey and, as I take a last perfect mouthful of the crème br?lée Simon knows I love, I feel him looking across at me.

‘What is it?’ I say, feeling suddenly nervous.

‘Nothing.’ He pauses. ‘Just . . . you seem happy; more relaxed than before. Maybe the time away was a good idea, after all.’

‘Maybe it was,’ I say softly.

But as I take a sip of my champagne, I can’t help thinking about that night up on Adam’s terrace. How, even though we had no roof above our heads, and there were no fancy waiters and no two-hundred-pound bottle of champagne, I was still happier than I’ve ever been.

‘Everything OK?’ Simon says.

I look up at him. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Well then,’ he says, ‘how about I take you back to the hotel?’

‘All right,’ I say.

Ten minutes later and we’re back where we started. Simon jumps out with me to say goodnight in front of the grand entrance, and as soft music floats out the hotel into the late March air, I feel so nicely full and tired.

‘So,’ he says, standing in front of me, ‘have you had a good time today?’

‘Of course, what wasn’t to like?’

And I mean it. I’ve had the most incredible experience – seen all the best sights of London in style, and with great company too.

Because Simon is a brilliant man and maybe he and Emily just needed some time apart.

Maybe she did still love him, and it would be very easy now to slot back into this life.

To see out Emily’s last few months, right here in London.

Her friends are all here, her old job, Simon – the life, all right at my fingertips.

A pause.

‘Shit, Emily, I promised myself I wouldn’t do this, but I have to know,’ he says.

‘Know what?’

‘If you see this happening again; me and you, I mean.’

He looks so very vulnerable suddenly under the hotel’s light, and my heart goes out to him.

A second later, I’m kissing him, and it feels strange and familiar all at once. I hear him gasp at the surprise of it, and then he’s kissing me firmly back, and his arms go around me and I don’t know what’s happening exactly, but it’s as though I’m not even in control of my own body anymore.

After a few moments, I pull back. My heart is racing and I have no idea what’s going on, but what I do know is this is another moment that’s happened before.

And I must be on the right track.

‘I’ll see you at the wedding tomorrow,’ he murmurs finally, dropping my hand.

‘I suppose you will,’ I say, and with that I turn and head back into the hotel.

The day of the wedding is gorgeously sunny, as though somehow Fran’s family has managed to make it so.

I woke up alone in my suite feeling a little confused and dazed from last night, but I’ve barely had time to process anything when Fran runs in ranting and raving about a spot.

‘Jesus F-ing Christ,’ she says, examining her face in the mirror, and I instinctively go to order ice from reception.

Then come the mothers and the nonnas all flapping about and telling tales about their own wedding days, and I can’t help thinking back to Jess’s more intimate wedding – how subdued it all felt in contrast. We were missing someone big, after all.

Once Fran’s sorted her spot and the make-up artist appears, I start to take the pictures and I’m so thankful to her for this experience, for supporting my dreams like this, for just being a great friend.

In no time at all, Fran has stepped into the most gorgeous antique dress of lace and silks.

There are ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ from everyone and snaps on my camera and then we’re off to the ceremony in the church.

It’s a traditional yet light affair in an exquisite cavern of stone, and as the priest starts taking us all through the vows, I catch Simon’s eye from the front pew.

He’s not one of Toby’s groomsmen, given Toby has his three brothers standing beside him already and he said a fourth might be a bit ‘JLo’ of him, but I can sense his proximity just as much.

And finally, I allow myself to think about last night again.

Because where did that kiss come from? Was that me who kissed him, or Emily? And why does it keep happening, the increasing memories and actions of hers?

I’m starting to worry I’ll eventually disappear completely.

But perhaps this also means I’m on the right track with figuring out what she wanted, and I have to think, if Emily experienced anything like what I’ve experienced in London so far, there’s a high chance she would have wanted to come back here.

Because isn’t this a great life? Isn’t this all pretty special, like something from a dream?

Like a version of the life that I wanted too?

I don’t have long to dwell before we’re all throwing rice over the happy couple and crying ‘ auguri! ’ outside the doors and then heading back along to the reception down the road. And as I ride along in the wedding car next to Simon, I feel him take my hand – and I don’t immediately let go.

It kicks off in style with aperitivo back at the hotel, then yet another never-ending Italian feast followed by speeches, then digestifs and dancing, and looking around, it’s clear that most people here are ‘something’.

From the incredible dresses, to the smart suits and eye-watering expensive jewels, I’m surrounded by a sea of success, fame and style.

Simon always makes sure I’ve got a champagne in hand or some delicious canapé as I take the photos. But just occasionally, he gives me this strange look, which confuses me a little.

‘Will you excuse me for a minute?’ he says eventually.

‘Of course, everything OK?’

He looks at me softly, but I’m sure there’s a trace of concern there. ‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘everything is great.’

A number of people run up to me while he’s gone: Sofia from the company, Tess and Mira from school, Hugo and Chloe from the office, all charging over to ask about my ‘life sabbatical’, and asking when I’m returning to London, inviting Simon and me over for dinner or to some weekend away.

And I know there could be something great here at the end for Emily, coming home and slotting back into everything.

But still, something is pulling at my chest, poking and prodding at me, and as the sun dips outside and the party really gets started, I find myself wandering into the cooler entrance foyer for a quick breather. It’s quiet here, except for a few guests moving through.

Hushed voices from somewhere, urgent and sharp. I look over to where they’re coming from – behind a large table of flowers.

And I don’t quite know why, but I find myself moving in their direction. I know I should be taking photos right now but I really have been snapping away all night, and Fran would want me to take at least one actual break, I’m sure.

Then I see them, Fran and Simon speaking to each other. I’m about to say hello when I stop. Because there’s something about their body language that’s off – the strained look on their faces, the way Fran is gesturing at him. ‘Don’t do this, please,’ she’s saying. ‘Not now.’

Then he’s saying, ‘she’s going to find out eventually, you know. And I can’t keep doing what I’m doing without telling her the truth about what happened with us.’

My heart stops.

Fran and Simon.

Simon and Fran.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

I must let out a noise because Fran and Simon both turn to look at me sharply.

‘Oh my god,’ Fran says, her face washing out completely.

Simon’s face just falls sadly, like he knows it’s all over.

But then Fran starts coming towards me. ‘E,’ she says, and another memory rushes up, finally pushes to the surface. Standing in this exact same spot, seeing Fran and Simon together. A dawning realisation that all the chat about an ex-girlfriend was a lie.

It was Fran he was at dinner with that night . He really was cheating.

With my best friend . My cousin .

And without another thought in my head, I sprint away from Fran towards the exit. I hear her calling sharply behind me, but I ignore it.

They betrayed me .

‘Emily, stop!’ she cries out to me again.

But I can’t stop, won’t stop, and running down the pavement, I see it, a lit taxi on the other side of the road. Without another thought, I immediately go towards it.

A honking sound then screams.

The bright lights of a car rush towards me.