Page 80 of Midnight in Paris

He was silent for a moment then reached out a hand. ‘OK, enough,’ he said as the familiar sights of the Paris suburbs began to flicker past the window like slides in an old movie. ‘No cancer talk for two days.’

She nodded.

‘No being miserable.’

She nodded.

‘This is our holiday. Our time. And our place. And we’re going to make the most of it.’

She looked at him, her sick, beautiful, dependable boy and she gave a final nod. ‘Damn right we are,’ she said.

An hour later, the train pulled into the Gare du Nord and they alighted, following the familiar route through the building and out onto the streets of Paris. There she tried to centre herself, live in the moment. Taking a deep breath of Parisian air, with its edge of fumes and cigarettes, she reminded herself that whatever came next, they were here; they were safe, and for the next two days at least, the future could wait.

43

NOW

Another text from Will startled her and Sophie realised she’d fallen asleep for a moment. Hardly surprising after being up almost all night. She hoped that he, at work despite it all, was coping. She checked her phone.

Will

All OK?

Sophie

Yes.

She thought how often Will had shown up for her, just when she’d needed him to.

A few weeks after they’d started rowing together, she’d been alone in her flat when the doorbell rang, prompting her to think yet again about how she really ought to change the tune of it. ‘Greensleeves’ wasn’t really her, after all. Placing her mug on the coffee table, she stood up and made her way to the door, openingit without a thought. It would no doubt be something boring she’d ordered. Once in a while she’d put something through online, then completely forget about it. The result would be a mystery package which she’d open excitedly only to find dishcloths or something equally dull inside.

‘Oh,’ she said, when she opened the door to Will who was carrying a bag from the local bakery.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Look, I won’t stop, I just wanted to drop these off. You said you were sick?’ His voice took on an upward inflexion as he looked at her – patentlynotsick – standing in front of him.

She grimaced. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I’m feeling a bit better now. Just… couldn’t face rowing this morning.’

He nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said.

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine.’ He paused, seeming to wrestle with something. ‘You obviously don’t everhaveto come. I love you coming, but you know. If you’re going off it, or it’s getting too much…’

She shook her head vehemently. ‘No, it’s not that.’

He nodded. ‘Good. Well, OK. See you in a couple of days then?’

She felt herself flood with guilt. ‘Look, seeing as I’m not infectious or anything, do you have time to share these with me?’ She peeped in the bag and saw two Chelsea buns – her favourites.

‘You’re sure?’

She nodded and stepped back to let him in. He made his way straight to the kitchen and began to boil the kettle. ‘You sit. I know where everything is.’

They’d started having a drink together after weekend rows, sometimes at a coffee shop, sometimes at his place or hers, and he moved around her kitchen as if he lived there. ‘No, I can do it,’ she said.

‘You’re sick. Or tired or…’

‘I’m actually fine,’ she admitted.

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