Page 31 of Midnight in Paris

‘Why does everyone say that as if it’s an insult?’ Shewassensible. Sensible and proud of it. It meant that she showed up to lectures and lessons on time, that she got her work done without a last-minute rush. Being sensible meant that she’d spent the last year at home, living with her parents, rather than try to find the money for a rental. It meant that she had a little money saved as a backup. And that she’d already secured a new post for September. That was sensible. And it looked OK from where she was standing.

‘Ah, it’s not,’ Libby said. ‘But maybe…’

‘Maybe what?’ she said, putting down the pair of jeans she’d been folding and holding the phone with her hand.

‘A little bit… boring?’

She was genuinely hurt. ‘I’m boring?’

‘No!’ Libby laughed. ‘You could never be boring. But you might just create a boring life for yourself if you’re not careful. And you deserve more.’

She was silent for a moment. ‘Thanks – I think,’ she said at last.

‘Anyway, this is exciting. The Paris meetup.’

‘The St Pancras meetup.’

‘What are you going to do? Run into his arms? Tell him how you feel straight away?’

Sophie felt a frisson of anxiety. ‘I’m not actually sure. I might just see how it goes. Maybe on the bridge…’

‘What bridge?’

But of course, she wasn’t meant to tell anyone about that.

‘Oh, I don’t know. Just somewhere romantic, I suppose.’

‘OK, well like I said. Be careful.’

‘Hang on, I thought you said I should throw caution to the wind – take a risk?’

‘I meant be careful when you’re crossing the street. These romantic liaisons don’t always have a happy ending, you know!’

‘Idiot.’

As they said goodbye and ended the call, Sophie felt her good mood fade. It was terrifying, the thought of meeting up, not knowing what Tom was thinking, what he wanted. She was rubbish at expressing herself, she knew that. Always left it up to the guy to make the first move – not because she was traditional, but because she was usually frozen with fear at the thought of being shot down.

Hopefully Tom would take the lead.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair looked OK; it had grown quite a bit over the past few months – largely because her teaching course had kept her so busy that she hadn’t had time to arrange an appointment, but it quite suited her. She’d tried to scatter a few loose waves through it with a curlingtong, and was pleased with the result. It had darkened to a mid-brown, due to the lack of time spent outside, so was quite different from when he’d last seen her. She wondered what he’d think.

But there was no time to worry about that now, she realised, checking her watch. She took one last look in her bag – purse, travel money, her new mobile phone. Not that she could afford to use it in Paris. Would it even work? She kept it on her anyway.

Almost on cue, the taxi pulled up outside.

‘Taxi’s here,’ her mum called from the kitchen which overlooked the road.

‘Thanks, Mum!’ She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and began to lug it down the stairs.

Mum came out into the hallway, rubbing her hands on a tea towel. ‘Well, have fun!’ she said.

‘Thanks, I will!’

‘Say hi to Libby for me.’

‘I will,’ she said again, feeling a little guilty but reassuring herself that she wasn’t lying exactly. When she’d mentioned the trip, Mum had simply assumed she was going with her best friend, and she’d decided not to mention it was anyone else.

Her parents weren’t prudes, she knew that. But she still felt sort of awkward admitting she was holidaying with a boy. There’d be too many questions before and afterwards that she might not know the answer to. It was easier this way.

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