A stranger
He’s looking at them, but they can’t see him.
Golden Square, at that golden hour. Not sunset, during the rush hour stampede, but later, somewhere between evening and midnight, that odd time when the older people have already gone home but the younger ones aren’t out yet, and so places like this stand strangely empty.
He works on the door of a nearby nightclub, and because they are not yet open, he is stretching his legs in one shaded corner.
Their twenty-something clientele will arrive soon.
For now, a mother and daughter traverse the cobbles, in the direction of the tube.
The woman is short and smart, blond hair and a billowing coat.
Her daughter’s hair glows red under streetlights.
They pause beneath the faceless statue, then move on, crossing under trees that, even in the darkness, are in bloom.
He’s looking at them, because they’re the only two people in the square. Until—
‘Clara,’ comes a voice. The man shouts louder. ‘Clara!’
The little girl turns. Her mother turns, too, shock passing over her face.
‘Seb?’ says the woman.
‘Seb!’ shouts the little girl.
She looks overjoyed. Then she looks up at her mother, who does not look overjoyed, and she copies her mother’s expression. She frowns, crosses her arms. This Seb is out of breath. He’s been running after them. Finally, he’s caught up.
‘I looked for you,’ Clara says. ‘Where were you?’
‘I stayed for the credits.’
‘I don’t mean tonight,’ she says, brusquely. ‘How many times can you leave?’
Seb is still catching his breath. ‘Third time’s a charm.’
Clara makes a face. ‘You’re doing jokes now?’
‘I’m trying to take a leaf out of your book.’
‘I prefer you serious.’
A silence. She’s waiting for him to talk.
‘There were too many people,’ he says. ‘Back there, in the lobby. I had to see you alone.’
‘You’ve been following us?’
‘I’ve been walking,’ he says. ‘Thinking.’ His voice takes on an embarrassed edge. ‘I thought you might come here. I wanted to catch you, here.’
‘I’m not alone,’ says Clara.
‘I know,’ Seb says. He looks at the girl. ‘Hi, Nora.’
‘What have you been thinking about?’ says Nora.
‘I hadn’t really thought about the fact that I’d be doing this in front of you both.’
Clara looks, suddenly, alarmed. ‘Doing what?’
The stranger has never noticed before, but the square is slightly elevated above the level of the streets around it. He feels as if he’s watching them on a stage.
‘Look,’ Seb says. ‘I—’ He pauses. ‘It’s just—’ He tries again. ‘I can’t—’ One more time. ‘I’ve never had the words,’ he says. ‘I was never good at saying how I feel.’ A pause. ‘But I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘You are,’ Clara says.
‘And you’re still listening.’
‘It’s too late,’ Clara says. ‘We waited long enough.’ She looks like she might be about to leave, to take her daughter with her.
‘I was scared,’ Seb says, before she can.
‘I ran away. But I don’t want to run any more.
’ He looks back to where he’s run from. He looks at who he’s run to.
‘It’s easier to pretend that something isn’t good enough,’ he says.
‘Right? Especially when the alternative is admitting that it’s so good, you can’t bear to lose it. ’
The windows over the square are dark. The night is clear. Clara doesn’t say anything. When Seb speaks again, his voice echoes.
‘That was us, up there,’ he says. ‘You got so much of it right.’
‘It’s just a film,’ Clara says.
‘No, it isn’t.’
She doesn’t protest. ‘So much of it?’
‘I was too likeable,’ Seb says. ‘In reality, you’re well within your rights to tell me to piss off.
’ A pause, as if he’s worried she might.
‘I got it all wrong,’ he continues, when she doesn’t.
‘I thought that if you don’t have anyone, you can’t lose anyone.
But you can lose people even when they’re not yours.
’ A silence. ‘I don’t know if it’s too late to change.
But I’d like to. I’d like to try.’ He takes a deep breath.
‘That means saying how I actually feel,’ he says.
He hesitates. ‘Just because I don’t talk about it, doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.
I love you, Clara. I never stopped loving you, not once, not through all of it. ’
Clara is silent again. Her daughter is watching her carefully.
‘You said you felt like it was all I wanted,’ Seb continues.
‘It wasn’t. Not always. There was a time when all I wanted was you.
I think, when it comes to it, all I’ve ever wanted is you.
’ He shakes his head. ‘It’s not about how we got to this point.
It’s about walking into a room and—’ His words fail him.
‘Yours is the face I want to see.’ He remembers Nora.
‘Both of you. Both your faces.’ He grimaces, groans a bit.
‘You’re the writer. What I’m saying is, I want to be in your lives.
So there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here, in this square, on my knees, begging you both for another chance. ’
‘You’re not on your knees,’ is what Clara says, when she eventually answers.
‘They’re not what they used to be.’
Clara’s expression is unreadable.
‘So…’ says Nora.
‘So?’ says Seb.
‘So,’ says Clara.
As she weighs up her response, it’s like the entire city is holding its breath. The stranger is holding his breath, too. He checks his watch, lingers a little longer. He wants to know how this ends. Clara takes Nora’s hand, and though the girl looks like she wants to stay, they turn to leave.
But they don’t leave. Not yet.
Clara is looking back over her shoulder. She’s looking at Seb.
‘Are you coming?’