Chapter Fourteen
The ascenseur landed with a neck-jarring thump, and then they were out on the street in the soft grey dawn. It was quiet on the Rue de Chemin Vert; there were few people around this early. They set off walking south, towards the river, automatically turning their wrists so they were holding hands.
‘Do you know the way?’ he said. ‘Getting anywhere without Google maps is always a challenge.’
‘Yes, I often do this at weekends – straight down here to the Place de la Bastille, then we can follow the canal to the Seine. It’s a nice walk, and there should be a café or two open at the square.’ She glanced at their wrists. ‘We can grab an outside table, sit close, and eat and drink one-handed. Easy!’
This morning she was filled with love for quiet, pretty Paris as the rising sun twinkled between the buildings, warming the air.
Fifteen minutes later they were sitting under the red awning of a café overlooking the Place de la Bastille’s soaring blue-green centrepiece.
‘Is that you up there?’ said Joel, looking at the statue way up high on top of the column. The Spirit of Freedom was catching the light as the sun peeped above the buildings, making its golden wings shine. ‘My French angel?’
‘Pft,’ she said. ‘I thought your brother was the poetic one?’
‘I have my moments. I’m gagging for a coffee. Where’s the gar-kon ?’
Englishmen. They were so passive-aggressive when it came to Frenchmen.
‘For that, you can order,’ she said. ‘Coffee with milk, and a croissant for me please.’ That was too easy. ‘And a freshly squeezed orange juice. And perhaps a pain au chocolat to share?’
A waiter in a smart apron appeared – ‘ Oui? ’ – and she smiled at him, then looked at Joel, waiting.
‘Um. Café au lait. Deux. ’ He held up two fingers. ‘ Deux croissants. Un pain de chocolate. ’ He held up one finger. ‘ Et un jus d’orange . Freshly squeezed, s’il vous pla?t. ’ He mimed squeezing an orange. Chloe swallowed a smile. He was too cute.
The simple breakfast was delicious. It was the same breakfast she always had when she treated herself, but today it tasted twice as nice – no, fifty times as nice – as they sat chatting, about France, about their jobs, their histories, her dreams of designing gardens, like a couple on a first date that was going exceptionally well.
‘It’s like we’re doing everything backwards,’ said Chloe.
‘Yep,’ said Joel, ‘normally the shackling together part comes last.’
Their breakfast finished they carried on, and as the sun climbed higher in the pale blue sky they reached the Seine, strolling along the leafy riverbank opposite the ?le Saint Louis, its old walls and buildings the colour of sun-infused honey. Stall holders were setting up their displays of books, paintings, and all the Parisian knickknacks Chloe loved to browse on her days off. The path led beneath picturesque stone bridges; they passed thin Parisians on their morning runs, and smart ladies taking very small dogs for walks.
‘Would you like to go over to the ?le de la Cité?’ asked Chloe, as the tops of Notre Dame’s towers came into view. ‘The cathedral’s still closed though, I’m afraid, after the fire.’
‘Nah, been there done that,’ he said. ‘School trip. But we’ll have to cross the river at some point; my hotel’s on the other side.’
Chloe went quiet. Their time together – not even twenty-four hours – was drawing to a close.
He squeezed her hand. ‘I’m gonna miss you.’
‘Me too.’
Chloe looked around her at the view – anywhere but at his face – as tears mustered for another assault. The Seine sparkled, and the grand buildings glowed in the sunlight. With their touches of gold, pretty balconies and imaginatively shaped roofs, they were like a feminine version of London’s civic buildings and museums. Jeez, Paris. Could you be less romantic, please?
They drew level with the end of the island across the water. Just ahead were the palatial buildings of the Louvre.
They’re five minutes away. Ready? You know what to do!
‘Let’s cross here,’ said Chloe. ‘I think this is the bridge with the really great view.’
They climbed the steps onto the wide wooden footbridge of the Pont des Arts and stopped halfway across, leaning on the barrier, gazing downriver.
‘Aunt Daisy – my godmother who runs the flower shop – she brought me here,’ said Chloe. ‘It’s where people used to put those padlocks … you know, those lovelocks?’
Joel looked down at their wrists. ‘We could add ours, except … slight problem.’
‘It’s not allowed anymore,’ she said. ‘There were so many, the bridge was collapsing under their weight, so they took them all off and put in these glass panels instead. Bit boring of them, really. I wonder what happened to all the locks?’
But Joel was distracted. ‘Hey, isn’t that …?’
Chloe followed his gaze. ‘What?’
‘I’d swear that was the security guard from the cemetery, the one who left us the key.’
The man in question was walking away from them. The uniform, his build and hair colour were similar.
‘Could’ve been, I guess.’
‘Hey, look,’ said Joel. ‘Maybe love always finds a way.’ He was pointing to a lamppost on the other side of the bridge. A collection of padlocks was attached to something looped around it. They went over, and as they did … from behind the lamppost appeared a little black cat.
‘Oh!’ said Chloe.
‘Bonjour, Monsieur Chat Noir,’ said Joel. ‘Are you perhaps taking a morning stroll with your friend the security guard?’
‘Monsieur Le Security Guard and another black cat,’ said Chloe. ‘That’s a coincidence.’
The cat fixed her with its green-eyed stare. Could it be the cat from the cemetery? How was that possible? It was miles away! But the city cats probably roamed a lot. And perhaps this one liked to go for walks with the guard.
It came over to Joel, its tail held high, butted its head into his calf, rubbed itself against him, circling clockwise then anti-clockwise, then trotted off, following in the footsteps of Monsieur le Security Guard.
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ said Joel.
‘I know, right? Quite strange.’
‘No, not the cat. That,’ said Joel.
Chloe was still watching the cat. She turned to see what he was talking about.
A key. A tiny key, lying on the ground by Joel’s foot. She bent down and picked it up. It was gold, and it twinkled in the morning sun.
They stared at it, and then at each other.
‘Just a coincidence,’ said Joel. ‘I mean, loads of padlocks right there, someone dropped a key.’
‘But we should try it?’ said Chloe. There was magic in the air. That sense she’d had before, that something was at play.
They lifted their wrists and looked again at the padlock.
‘Wait,’ said Joel. ‘Kiss me, Chloe, just in case this works. My separation anxiety is real.’
She smiled, and twined her free hand around his neck and he pulled her close, then pressed his lips to hers.
‘Let’s give it a go, then,’ he said, pulling apart.
Chloe was reeling from the kiss. It had been so full of emotion, and feelings, and goodbyes; she was suddenly in tears. She took a deep breath. Whether or not this was goodbye, she didn’t want to break down.
She held up the lock, and he slipped in the little key and turned it. Chloe wasn’t at all surprised when it clicked open.
Joel shook his head in disbelief. He slipped the lock off their shackles, and with a shake of their arms the chain fell to the floor, landing in a silvery heap on the wooden bridge.
They were free.
Chloe rotated her wrist, flapped her hand about, easing it. It felt oddly unsettling to be unshackled.
Joel was still staring at the padlock, the key sticking out of its hole.
‘Should we put it there, with the others?’ she said, looking over at the lamppost. ‘I know it’s only been one day, but–’
‘One night ,’ he said. ‘One bizarre but unforgettable night. Yes, our … story deserves a spot on the lamppost.’
‘We need to put our names on it, though,’ said Chloe. ‘How do we do that without a knife or a pen?’
Joel removed the key from the lock and scratched it across the gold surface. Incredibly, a J appeared. His eyebrows shot up. ‘What’s this, a diamond-tipped key?’ Then he carved a C. And then drew a heart around the initials.
Chloe was battling those tears again. ‘Can I hold it?’
He passed it over, and she stared at the letters, side by side, the J butting into the back of the C, just like how they’d woken up this morning.
She flipped the padlock over and frowned. On the back was a tiny serial number. Then she gave an incredulous laugh. ‘No. That’s just …’ She held it out to show him. The number running along the bottom of the lock read: 10092024 .
‘Yesterday’s date,’ he said. He stared at Chloe. ‘What the actual fuck?’
She smiled. ‘I have no idea what’s going on, but I’d call that a sign, wouldn’t you? I might even call it magic.’
‘Are you in truth an angel?’ he said. ‘And will I take one last look at the view from the bridge, and when I turn back you’ll have disappeared?’
‘I’m real enough,’ she said. ‘All of this is real but somehow unreal. Come on, let’s attach the lock.’
They went over to the lamppost, and Joel put an arm round her. ‘You do It, Chloe. And, hey … how about we make a pact, to come back here in a year’s time, same time, same place. Meet me right here at – must be about nine o’clock. No matter where you are, what you’re doing; whether you’re still in your shop or designing some fancy garden somewhere, drop everything and come here. Say you will?’
‘Yes, Joel, I will,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll see you here, nine o’clock a year from now, no matter what. That’s a promise.’
She found a space on the chain that had been attached to the lamppost, and slipped the padlock round it, closing it with a click .
‘Chloe and Joel forever,’ she said.
He picked up the chain from where it had fallen, saying, ‘I’m keeping this. And … one last thing.’ He took her hand and led her over to the glass barrier. ‘Ready?’
‘I’m ready.’
‘Kiss it,’ he said.
She took the key from him and put it to her lips, closing her eyes for a moment, offering up thanks to whatever angel or god or fairy godmother had organised for them to be locked together. Then she held the key up to his lips, and he kissed it, those blue eyes on hers.
‘Throw it.’
‘No, you throw it.’
‘Together.’ He pressed the key into the palm of her hand and closed her fingers round it, counting down: ‘Three, two, one …’ then held her hand out over the water. She opened it and the key dropped, quickly disappearing with the tiniest splash.
‘I’m going now,’ said Joel, his eyes still on the water. ‘I hate long goodbyes. I’m not going to kiss you again because it would be too sad, and anyway the last one was a top kiss, so … goodbye my angel, my lovely Chloe, and don’t forget, next year. Right here. By our padlock.’
She couldn’t look at him, either; she was crying too hard. As she sensed him moving away, she lifted her hand in a wave and called, ‘Don’t marry her!’
Chloe let a minute pass before she looked towards the south bank, but Joel was gone.