Chapter Three #2
‘That sounds nice,’ said Lucy, reminded of the video Nate had posted on Instagram of him cycling around the Bois de Boulogne in Paris.
It had been taken by somebody riding the bike behind, but frustratingly there had been no indication of who that might be.
Did he have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?
And why on earth was she thinking about THAT when there was a half-naked Spanish athlete in her bedroom?
‘Yeah,’ said Marco, pulling on a fresh pair of white socks. ‘I thought I might stay for the weekend. Do you want to come?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Lucy snapped out of her Nate-based reverie and furrowed her brow at Marco. ‘Did you just invite me to Paris?’
‘Yes,’ said Marco, giving her a challenging look.
‘Why?’
He smiled awkwardly and pulled a red Lycra top over his head. ‘Because it’s Paris, and my work is paying for everything, and we will have a nice time.’
‘It sounds romantic,’ said Lucy warily, imagining the pair of them walking hand in hand through the Tuileries, Marco kissing snowflakes off her nose.
She hadn’t been to Paris in years, not since a school trip when she was eleven.
In fact, now she thought about it, she hadn’t really been anywhere in years.
Her parents’ place in Croydon, a reunion trip to Liverpool Uni that she’d bailed on after an hour, lots of pub walks in Somerset or Gloucester or Devon with Jonno and his family to climb some hills and get some country air. But that was pretty much it.
‘What’s wrong with romantic?’ Marco threw his dirty clothes into her laundry hamper, Lucy trying not to scowl as he didn’t put the lid back on properly, then came to sit on the end of the bed.
Lucy sighed. ‘I don’t do romantic. That’s not what this relationship is.’
‘I know that,’ said Marco patiently, reaching out to take her hand. ‘But I also enjoy your company and thought it might be fun. Have you ever been to Paris?’
‘Yes,’ said Lucy. She remembered the school coach trip to Euro Disney – Leo had been sick on the coach and Lucy had been nominated to mop it up with paper towels, like being Leo’s twin sister made his vomit her responsibility. ‘But it was a long time ago.’
‘It’s a beautiful city in the winter,’ said Marco. ‘I’d like to enjoy the food and the culture, and you seemed like the kind of person who might appreciate that too.’
Lucy didn’t disagree, but it felt like she and Marco would be crossing a line. Going to a wedding with Anthony already felt like wobbly ground, but a Parisian mini-break was a whole other level.
‘I’m inviting you to Paris for a weekend of wine and food and culture, Lucy,’ said Marco, clearly sensing her discomfort. ‘I’m not asking you to marry me.’
‘And I appreciate the offer,’ said Lucy. ‘But I don’t think it’s a good idea.’
‘Fine,’ said Marco, shuffling up the bed and leaning over to kiss her. ‘What is it British people say? I’m not angry, just disappointed.’
‘Maybe I could make it up to you,’ said Lucy, lifting his Lycra top and stroking her hand across his hairless stomach. Touching his abs felt like running her hands over a marble statue. Like Michelangelo’s David, but with tattoos and a padded crotch.
‘It drives me crazy when you do this,’ said Marco, his breath catching as Lucy’s hand trailed lower. ‘You are a master of distraction and misdirection. You are like Derren Brown, but SO much hotter.’
‘That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,’ whispered Lucy.
‘I’ve just invited you to Paris,’ laughed Marco.
‘I know, but I’m pretending that never happened,’ said Lucy. ‘Maybe you could take your clothes off again?’
Marco made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a sigh, the conversation about Paris already forgotten as they fell back into the pillows and their familiar, exquisite routine.
Lucy lay in the bath, the hot, foamy water soaking away the aches and pains of two hours in Marco’s very strong and capable hands.
She’d relax here for half an hour, then get her act together.
Maybe she’d go for a walk, or do a YouTube workout.
She smiled to herself, knowing that neither of those things had the smallest chance of happening.
Cleaning was the only thing she did religiously, because keeping her personal space immaculate made her feel calm and in control of things.
Her therapist had asked all kinds of questions about that, back in the day.
Her phone buzzed on the edge of the bath, and she glanced at the screen to see a message from her mother. Are you free to talk about plans for next weekend?
Shit, thought Lucy, all her bathtub zen instantly draining down the plughole.
It was Leo’s eleventh anniversary next weekend, and whilst she obviously hadn’t forgotten, she’d hoped the tenth anniversary last year might mark the end of the annual trek to Croydon cemetery, followed by a lacklustre roast lunch at the same soulless pub in some godforsaken Surrey village, firmly in the Gatwick flight path.
At least this year the anniversary was a Friday, and there would likely be other people in the pub.
She vividly remembered the year it had fallen on a Tuesday – they’d been the only ones there, apart from a small group of pensioners silently sipping sherry, clearly dressed for a funeral.
She ignored the message, slowly counting the seconds until her phone rang and MUM lit up the screen.
One, two, three . . . she made it to twelve before the phone started to vibrate.
Her mother would let it ring out, then leave a passive-aggressive voicemail, which Lucy would avoid listening to until the tiny tape recorder symbol started to haunt her.
Most of the time her mother called back before she made it that far.
Lucy sank further down until her chin was immersed in the warm water, irrationally annoyed at her mother for calling during her bath.
This was her meditative time, when her blood was flowing and her body was still tingling from Marco’s attention, and she could empty her head of everything else for an hour.
Now she was thinking about Leo again, and feeling guilty about going away next weekend, even though she hadn’t missed a single one of the ten anniversaries that had passed so far.
Every year the same routine, as if the Red Lion was in some way special to Leo rather than conveniently close to the ring road with a good-sized car park and a decent selection of vegetarian mains.
Lucy played out the inevitable conversation in her head.
Her mother would gasp in horror at the news that Lucy wasn’t coming, and Lucy would try to explain that it was a team-building thing with work, but Shirley would feign confusion.
She had refused all attempts to understand her daughter’s job – anyone would think Lucy was a computational fluid dynamics engineer rather than a copywriter in an ad agency – so Lucy had given up trying years ago.
Then Shirley would get breathless and insist that Lucy speak to her father, who would listen patiently and attempt to understand Lucy’s need to do something different this year, to be somewhere else.
He’d promise to smooth things over, while Shirley squeaked and huffed in outrage in the background.
I’ll go and see them the following weekend, thought Lucy, then remembered that she’d promised to go to a wedding with Anthony.
That had been a mistake, but he’d caught her in a moment when her knees were weak and her guard was down.
The weekend after that, then, she decided.
She’d have to be careful not to mention Anthony or the wedding, or they’d think she’d got a boyfriend.
One of the many benefits of not having a social media presence was that her parents couldn’t pass judgement on her life – not that there was much to judge right now.
I miss you, Leo, she thought, her eyes swimming with tears. She let them flow into the rapidly cooling water, too tired and heavy to move her arms. You don’t mind if I go to Switzerland, do you? You’ll forgive me, just this once?
Leo didn’t answer, but then he didn’t need to.
He would have forgiven Lucy anything, and she knew he would have hated the idea of her missing a mountain adventure in favour of another frigid lunch with their parents.
She’d always known what he was thinking, it came with being a twin.
Apart from that one time, thought Lucy, giving in to the surge of memories that pinned her helplessly in the bath, like her body was a block of metal engraved with words of pain and loss and loneliness.