Page 83 of Midnight in Paris

Sophie breathed deeply, smelling the scent that felt unique to Paris. The fumes from the traffic, the waft of perfumes as expensive-looking women sashayed past, the fug of cigarettes from an outside table and under it all, something else. Something intangible – maybe the smell of cold stone, or worn pavements, or simply the mixture of all of it, familiar to her nose now as the smell of her parents’ house, or the apartment she shared with Tom. Paris had become, in some ways, home to her.She laughed inwardly at the decadence of the idea – that Paris belonged to them, to her.

Then: ‘Sophie,’ he said. Then slightly more urgently, ‘Sophie!’

She turned then, snapped out of her daydream and saw that his face was white, covered in a sheen of sweat.

‘Oh, what is it?’ she said, alarm in her voice.

‘Nothing. Not really. Just… it’s a bit hot. I wondered… should we sit? Maybe get a break. Um, you’re looking a bit tired,’ he said.

‘Oh. Yes. I am a bit,’ she lied. She pointed to atabacoutside which there were some fairly rudimentary metal chairs and tables, a couple of which were free. ‘Shall we stop there? It looks… nice.’

Soon they were installed, and they ordered tall glasses of iced water, plus an espresso each, which came with a little gingery biscuit on the saucer. She bit into hers and watched him as he drank deeply from his glass.

‘God, that’s better,’ he said smiling. But his smile was muted somehow.

‘Tom, if you’re feeling ill, we don’t have to stay. We can…’

‘I’m FINE.’ The words came out sharply, loud enough to make a woman at the next table turn and look at him interestedly, over the top of her round sunglasses.

‘You’re clearly not.’

‘Stop it!’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Soph. Look, I realise you think I’m on my last legs or whatever?—’

‘I never said that!’

‘But just let me… be. Can you? I don’t want you to treat me like…’

‘Like what? Someone who needs a little support right now? Someone who isn’t very well?’ she said, suddenly feeling reciprocal anger.

‘Like someone who’s weak,’ he said, his eyes fixed on her.

She reached across, but he drew his hand away. ‘Tom, what if… well, what if youareweak right now? Ill. Surely it’s OK to look after you?’

His eyes softened and he looked down. ‘Yeah, I guess. It’s just, that’s not who I wanted to be for you. I wanted to be… you know?—’

‘My strong man? My rock?’ she said, teasing slightly, trying to lighten the mood.

‘Well yeah, I guess.’ He shrugged.

‘Bit sexist?’ she suggested, feeling the mood lift a little between them.

‘Maybe a smidge.’ He grinned and suddenly he was Tom again. ‘Ah, jeez, sorry Soph. It’s just… I hate all this.’

‘Paris?’ she said jokingly.

‘No. Obviously. Just, well, that I can be just going through life, minding my own business. Maybe being a bit of a dick sometimes, a bit annoying. And yes, you’re right, I’ve had a few helping hands along the way with work. But I’ve never asked for any of it. And I’ve never hurt anyone, you know.’

He turned his head abruptly but not before she saw the shimmer of tears.

‘I know.’

‘So it’s hard to work out – why me? Why do I have this thing? Not even a, you know,normalcancer. Testicular. One that blokes my age have. Whip off one of my bollocks or whatever. I mean, I know it still sucks, but…’ He met her eye. ‘It said on the Internet that pancreatic, it’s one of the worst. If nottheworst. Because it gets caught late. When it’s too late to, well – stop it.’

She nodded, feeling a lump form in her throat.

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