Chapter 41
Lesson 40: Champagne may help you to forget, but it doesn’t last forever.
Bridget Jones Tally:
questions—1
answers—1
We slept until noon and then had a slow day. We had a tasty brunch on the West Bow of the Grassmarket and then strolled down
into New Town, hit up a couple of antique shops and bookshops that Robbie wanted to show me, then took a break from the city
and strolled the magical green valley of the Water of Leith Walkway to Dean Village and back. We held hands under the leafy
trees and beautifully arched bridges, and listened to the birds sing and the river babble beside us.
Robbie’s flat was in Stockbridge, an adorable little hamlet of Edinburgh situated along the river and positively filthy with
boutiques, cool cafés, eateries, and charming bookstores.
“Home sweet home, at long last.” Robbie opened the door and revealed a space that gave my heart a little palpitation. “Get
comfy, I’ve been training up the rats for a little parade in your honor.”
“I’m not surprised. This place is a hovel. It’s gross. I definitely can’t get naked in here. Ever.”
It wasn’t. I loved it.
He laughed. “Oh, is that so?” He snatched my hand and yanked me until I crashed into him, his back against the closed door.
He wrapped his strong arms around my waist and took my breath away, his mouth hungry on mine. “I take that as a personal challenge,
Miss Cooper.” I sighed and kept my eyes closed as a supernova gathered in my tummy.
“Give me the grand tour then.”
“Nae chance. I’m off duty.”
“Do you work for tips?”
He gave me a dark look. “I might be persuaded.”
He tugged at my hand, and I forced myself to remain mostly composed while he showed me around. He had an entire wall of bookshelves
and several good reading nooks. He even had one of those antique chairs with a curved back and top that canopied over the
sitter like a giant hood. It sat looking out over a big window, perfect for losing yourself in a great story.
The flat was historical, probably a hundred and fifty years or more, and it had retained many of the original period features.
Some were a bit crumbly, like bits of missing cornicing or the squeaky hardwood floor planks that came loose and set out to
stub your toe, but no less charming for the gentle dilapidation.
The ceilings were high, with crown molding and huge sash windows with those old foldaway wooden shutters that were so neat.
The living room was painted an interesting fern color. From the ceiling hung a lighting fixture made from an old piano soundboard,
and there were various instruments, of course, hung in cases or leaning against furniture. The walls were hung with old maps,
no doubt scavenged from antique shops around town.
Most of the furniture was antique. Not so much of the type that was purchasable from polished showrooms in the fancy part of town, but rather the bits that were dug out from the crammed old junk shop on the corner, dusted off, and loved all the more for their nicks and chipping paint. He had houseplants too, but most were of the desert variety, probably because he could leave them for a month and they wouldn’t judge him for it. His kitchen was small but clean, and the spices and appliances made it clear that he liked to cook. Everywhere I looked, there were little pieces of him, and I ate up every morsel.
As we walked around, and he pointed things out, I slowly undressed myself, starting with my cardigan, taking items off one
at a time and dropping them on the floor where they fell.
By the time my top was off, he got muddled, and tried clearing his throat several times while he took me around more slowly.
“And here is some stuff.” He stared at my bra with single-minded intent as he waved his hand at a collection of things that
looked like they probably came from an archeological dig. “It’s all good stuff.” He reached out a hand, and I slapped it away.
On the way to the bookshelf, I slid out of my jeans and stepped over them in a new lacy red thong, similar to what I had been
wearing that drunken night in Whitby.
He made an uncomfortable grumble.
“And some other stuff. With... pages.” I slid my hands over my bra suggestively and then slipped a strap down. He inhaled
a long, pained breath, and his eyes widened.
“Oh, and you should see the umm... this... uh.” He looked around, and then pointed at a painting. “This junk, whatever
it is.”
I unhooked my bra, gave him a little smile, took my time slipping it off, and hung a strap from the corner of a painting’s
frame. He made a low appreciative sound, and his eyes grew dark.
“Would you like to check out my cupboards?”
“Oh, absolutely. But it is pretty chilly in here.”
“Mmm. I can see that.” He stepped in closer. And then he swooped down and picked me up just like he had done at the castle, and I rested my head against his shoulder and pressed slow kisses into his neck as he carried me to the bedroom. “Let me see if there’s anything I can do to help.”
We got dressed and swung by a few pretty shops and bakeries for groceries, where Robbie spoiled me with a lovely bottle of
full-bodied red wine, olives, a selection of life-altering cheeses, and an incredible bottle of cava. We opened the red, put
on an old scratchy Billie Holiday record, and cooked together, dancing and tasting as we went, in no particular hurry to sit
down.
We spent hours at the table until the candles burned low. We laughed and drank, and he told me embarrassing horror stories
from his past tours, and I told him about my foolish university hijinks. I talked about my plans for the future, about the
type of job I hoped to find.
I was surprised when I found myself saying that this trip was making me question my plans in ways that I hadn’t expected.
Talking about it was helpful. Robbie’s face was tight. I got the feeling that he didn’t much like talking about my plans for
going home but had resolved himself to doing the best he could to be supportive and insightful for my sake.
I would need to take stock and do some real soul-searching when I got home.
“Will you think some more about the new bus?” I asked gently. “You sounded like you might have been coming around to the idea
the other day.”
He didn’t answer right away.
“I think I’ve started to come round to the idea of planning for some things, but I don’t know that I’m quite ready for that.”
“Okay.” I tried not to be too pushy. It did not come naturally. “Would you maybe consider letting me do some research for
you?”
“That’s sweet. Sure. And I can promise that I’ll do some of my own as well. But I think that’s all I can promise at this point.” I was content with that. The rules we live our lives by seldom change overnight. I was proof of that. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, this unplanned life of mine brought you to me—delivered you right to Rosie’s door looking for a fight. And you sure look bonnie when you’re angry.”
“Oh, I do, do I?”
“That’s right. That’s why I didn’t mind waiting while you lost your temper outside the bus on day one. I knew you’d eventually
give in. At least I had a show while I waited.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I’m about to get real bonnie in a minute here if you keep this up.”
“Wonderful. Why don’t we move this to the sofa in that case.” I threw a cork at him, and then he pulled me over to his lap
for a kiss.
It was perfect in every way, and that in itself was excruciating. Then the strawberries and cava led us back to bed, and for
a time I forgot everything else, including how difficult the next day was going to be.
In the morning when I woke, Robbie was already up. I stretched and yawned myself into life, and he smiled down at me.
“Alice Cooper. Are you finally awake?”
“Mmm.”
“Good, because I have another question.”
I stretched again and wrapped my arms around him, pressing kisses along his jaw and letting my hands roam.
“Are you paying attention? It doesn’t feel like you’re paying attention.”
“Mmm.” Both my hands cupped his bottom.
“Well, maybe this is better, come to think of it. Go ahead and get a handful. So.” He pulled away far enough to look me in the eyes. “What I want to say is... stay.” We both waited for a moment, not daring to breathe.
“Stay,” he repeated. “At least for a little while. Maybe a few months?” Before I could respond, he rushed on. “You could stay
here with me. You won’t need a visa, and we can cook, and spend the summer together, and I can show you around Edinburgh,
you could come on my next tour if you wanted to stay that long, and we can just... we can just be together.”
I breathed and took a minute.
“What would I do here?” I asked softly after a while.
“Why do you have to do anything? Can’t you just take a few months off?”
“Robbie, I’ve had a few months off. I’ve had six. I need a job. I need to go home and get my life in order. I know this is hard, but—”
“Please think it over. I know it’s not your plan, but... Alice, you’ve changed everything. You challenge me. You’ve woken
up this part of me that I had cut away years ago. Being with you makes me realize I want this back. I don’t want to be Sidney.”
He put a hand on each side of my face and stared into my soul. He forced me to look at him, to see how vulnerable he was.
“I don’t want to let this go. We can make a new plan. Let’s make time to see where this goes, instead of letting it slip through
our fingers. Let’s fight for this.”
My heart burned from the inside out into a cinder. The champagne glow from the night before had worn off. I knew that I couldn’t
stay. I mean, maybe I could stay a few more weeks, maybe a month, but that would only make it harder to leave when the time
came.
I had no life here. I also knew that with his mom in Edinburgh, Robbie wouldn’t leave Scotland any time soon. It’s not as
if he could drop his business and his mom and move to the States to be with me.
My eyes burned. My stomach felt like a black hole, dropping and pulling everything down into the darkness with it. I wasn’t strong enough for this. But I had to be. I had prepared for it. I’d thought of little else since that night at Glenapp Castle. I had said it enough, over and over to myself. All I had to say was two words.
“Sweetheart.” It was the first time I had called him that, and I saw him wince. He knew I was softening a blow. “I can’t.”
I sighed. “You know I can’t.” I wrapped him up in my arms and held on to him. Hot tears broke free and made their way slowly
down my burning cheeks. “I have to go and face my life now.”
We clung to each other as if we were at sea and a storm was coming. And maybe we were.
Robbie wanted to drive me to the airport, but I couldn’t stand the pain of a long goodbye. I called a cab, and on the ride
over I dug out my little notebook and looked at my Trip Goals List.
UK Bus Trip Goals:
Crawl out of pajamas.
Get over cheating bastard and his stupid ironed jeans.
Have my first real adventure!
Achieve stability, strength, and growth.
Adjust life plan, and prepare to kick butt upon arrival home.
I took out a pen and started checking them off one by one. Then I made a new list.
Things Learned and Never to Be Forgotten:
Stop and appreciate the moment, the small things, the roses. You will never be in this exact moment again.
Always listen and keep learning from others. Everyone has a story to tell.
Learn to listen to your heart when it speaks to you.
Sometimes it’s okay to be the one who gets looked after. It does not make you weak.
Show people how much they mean to you.
Be ready for anything life has to throw at you. Embrace it. Adjust. Find the silver lining.
Happiness comes from within, so fill yourself up! Take up knitting, learn to sing, read more books, do something with your
photographs.
Not everything has to happen by thirty. Life keeps going, and new, exciting things can happen at any age if you let them.
Even thrilling new romances at seventy-six!
Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.
I cried quietly on the flight home, numbing myself with hamster-size bottles of wine and an endless stream of stupid movies
I hadn’t yet seen because they made me feel ashamed to be human—movies that featured, for instance, a time machine that was
also a hot tub.
When I got home, I tried to cry myself to sleep, but the jet lag had turned me upside down, and I found that my body refused
to be rocked to sleep by shaking misery. I allowed myself one night. One night to wallow in self-pity until my fingers got
all pruney.
It was midnight. My allotted heartbreak time was officially over, and recognizing that the luxurious abyss of sleep was out
of reach, I grabbed my book. When I opened it, a little scrap of paper lay tucked into the pages alongside my bookmark. In
Robbie’s tidy, slanted hand it said:
I love you, Alice Cooper.
And then a little lower down: If you enjoyed your trip with Boadicea Adventures, please be sure to leave a glowing review on Tripadvisor.
I laughed out loud alone in my empty room. The sound echoed off the walls as salt tears slid into my mouth.
Okay, another hour or two, I decided. Another hour or two. And then I’ll move on.