Page 84 of Midnight in Paris

‘Ah, listen to me,’ he said, coughing slightly, clearing his throat. ‘Bringing down the mood.’

‘You are allowed to bring down the mood! Look, Tom, I’ve brought down the mood for – how long? – almost THREE YEARS with the infertility stuff. And it doesn’t even matter, does it? It’s not even important, not really. Not compared to this.’

‘You haven’t. And it is important.’

‘Well, so is this. And you helped me. So let me. Give me a chance to help you.’

He looked at her, then, to her relief, raised a slightly humorous eyebrow. ‘So you’re saying that you need me to do this for you? That my being weak is fulfilling some dormant need in you to look after someone?’

She grinned. ‘Well, yeah.’

‘In that case, I’m all for it.’

And they were back.

‘I know it’s daft,’ he said. ‘But do you reckon we can make it to the bridge later? It’s stupid, just…’

She nodded. She understood. ‘Sure. Why not?’ she said, trying to keep her tone light.

Because that’s what it had come to, wasn’t it? Dreams and wishes against the odds. He wanted that feeling of safety he’d felt as a child, when the universe had seemed benign and gracious, and his mother’s love could protect him from harm.

She grabbed his hand. ‘Midnight?’ she suggested.

He smiled. ‘Pathetic, eh.’

‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘It’ll be just what we need.’

She tried not to think over the course of the days that followed of the more sombre train ride back to the UK, back to reality – to tackling this enormous block in the road and seeing if they could actually be the lucky ones who made it through.

45

NOW

Sophie owed so many people a debt of gratitude for having got her through those first couple of years. Will, of course. Libby. And Sam – the baby sister who’d seemed suddenly so much older, more capable than Sophie herself.

When she’d met her in the pub that time, shortly after the kiss with Will, she’d looked entirely unlike herself. She’d changed her look; gone was the mousy shoulder-length do and instead, Sophie’s sister had opted for a red bob which both suited her and made her seem young and vibrant. Which of course, at her age, she was, thought Sophie.

She smiled across the bar and gave a little wave before buying a glass of wine and walking over to join Sam at the sticky mahogany table in the little pub they met at whenever Sam was in town. Sam’s career had taken off in recent years – she was a buyer for one of the major department stores – and she was always jetting off here and there. Or at least, it seemed that way.

Sophie put down her wine and then pulled out one of the chairs, sinking into it with a sigh.

‘Rough week?’ her sister said, taking a sip from a tall glass of orange juice.

‘You could say that,’ Sophie replied. The new term was now well underway but she was still adjusting to her new timetable and the children she’d been assigned this year. It was always difficult establishing yourself with new classes – they tested you constantly in the early weeks and you ended up completely drained by the weekend. ‘Ah, it’s OK,’ she said, seeing a look of concern flit over her sister’s face. ‘Just the usual.’

‘Brats?’

‘Brats,’ she said decisively, knowing that neither of them really meant it. She loved the children she taught – almost all of them. And she’d found over the years she’d been in the profession that even the most difficult child would have something loveable about them if you looked hard enough. Usually.

‘So how’syourwork?’ Sophie asked, taking a large gulp of wine and resisting the urge to emit a dramatic sigh of relief as it warmed her throat.

She was treated to a long story about a flight, a missing suitcase, a meeting in which Sam had taken the lead and got a great deal. It sounded so far removed from her own life that it was hard to imagine. Dressing in sharp, corporate wear, strutting into meetings with head held high. Not staggering into a classroom in the same creased skirt you had worn the day before, trying to balance your coffee on a pile of textbooks.

‘Are you actually listening?’ Sam asked her after a pause.

‘Yes. Sorry. Yes, I am.’

Sam cocked an eyebrow. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I know I go on a bit.’