Page 19 of Midnight in Paris

‘Been better.’

‘You didn’t finish your drink.’ Libby handed her a plastic beaker with a light brown liquid. ‘I got a plastic glass for you.’

They looked at the rather unappetising contents. ‘Thanks,’ Sophie said, taking a tiny sip.

‘Come on, let’s go to Ballare. It’s nineties night. We can dance it off.’ Libby linked an arm through hers and Sophie pushed any thoughts about Tom to the back of her mind. He’d get over it,and so would she. Life was only just starting, unfolding before them like a treasure map, and she wanted the chance to explore it fully.

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 ofthemthat 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 theMona 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.’

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