Chapter Fourteen #5
Emmett is standing next to me, close but not too close. It amazes me, that after all these years of feeling guilty, or sad, or guilty and sad, and some periods of neutrality too, I suppose, it amazes me that we’re here, brought together again by Earl.
Over his shoulder, there’s movement, a shriek of delight, and a whoop of a cry.
‘Look,’ I tell him.
There’s a man on one knee, holding out a ring, his partner standing in front of him, her hands over her mouth, sobbing.
For a second, I’m choked up myself as she shrieks, ‘Yes, YES, of course yes!’ and then there’s a fair bit of kissing and some gentle applause from those of us standing watching them.
Proposals are probably ten a penny up on the Eiffel Tower, but it’s still nice to think that you’ve witnessed a life-changing moment for two people.
It’s a lovely moment. I don’t quite know why I suddenly feel so melancholy.
‘How do you think they know?’ I ask Emmett.
‘Probably, people just know. It’s letting themselves believe it that’s hard.’
Neither of us say anything for a moment and yet the air feels charged. Emmett and I have always been good at dancing around what needs to be said, and this is no different.
‘Should we go down?’ I say eventually, and Emmett nods. We obviously aren’t going any further up. I’m not sure I can. I need to lie down.
We begin a slow descent. Going down is easier than going up, but I’m still winded from that.
My legs feel stiff and wobbly. I have a sense at all times that I’m going to miss the next step.
Emmett is two steps ahead of me and he keeps looking over his shoulder, I assume to check whether I’m going to collapse and crash down the steps.
Down, and mercifully on the ground again, we begin the slow walk back to my hotel.
‘I just need to rest for a little while,’ I tell him. ‘I had glandular fever last year and it really knocked me. I didn’t realise that I’d got so unfit. You don’t have to stay with me, though; I can meet you later if you still want to have dinner?’
It’s late afternoon now. My medication alarm beeped on the way down, but I didn’t see how I could reasonably stop and explain taking a bunch of pills.
‘I’ll stay,’ he says. ‘But only if you don’t mind. Just want to make sure you’re okay.’
‘No, I don’t mind. There’s a balcony; you can sit out there if you like. And when I get home, I’ll get a personal trainer. A Russian one who makes me cry.’
Emmett nods, only mildly appeased. We keep walking in silence. Emmett looks to be thinking; there’s a frown line between his eyebrows, which is a dead giveaway. I’m not talking because I’m concentrating on survival.
‘You’ve never been married,’ Emmett says eventually and I don’t know if it’s a question or not.
‘I could be married now,’ I answer.
He looks down at my slightly swollen hands; my rings are digging into my fingers. I’m wearing a giant owl ring on my ring finger.
‘But you aren’t.’
‘No, I’m not.’ I think about pretending to have a boyfriend, but I’ve been there before with Emmett, and it was a total farce. Mae said only yesterday that I’m a bad liar. And when you consider how much lying I do, you’d think that I’d have honed my skills a little.
I’ve never seen a partner on Emmett’s sparse social media, but still, I ask the question.
‘How about you? Anyone special in your life?’
He shakes his head. ‘There have been people, over the years. It just never worked out.’
‘Same.’
Because none of them were you, I think but don’t say. It’s normal, according to Mae, to compare all subsequent loves to your first love. It’s less normal, I suspect, to break up with all of your subsequent boyfriends because they weren’t your first love.
And now we’re here, together in Paris. I try to ignore the little flicker of hope; snuff it out like a fading candle.
I shouldn’t even be thinking that way about Emmett.
We have this one time – that’s it. Brought together by Earl for three more days.
It can’t ever be anything more than that.
His work, my life, the fact that I’m lying to him again. It’s an impossible situation.
‘It’s here.’ I’m so exhausted by the time we make it to the hotel – and so angry about the fact that I’m so exhausted – Emmett has to take my elbow to guide me up the stairs, a deeper than ever worry line between his pinched eyebrows.
‘It’s the glandular fever,’ I babble as we climb the last steps, ‘I have post-viral fatigue. I’ll be fine soon. Just a quick nap and I’ll be good to go.’ I’m slurring my words. And Emmett looks seconds away from performing CPR.
I root around in my bag for my key, and then we’re inside, and Emmett is guiding me towards the bed.
He’s pulling off my boots and socks, my shacket.
He’s right up in my personal space, and it’s strangely comforting.
I breathe him in deep. I’m acting weird, I understand that, but I might never get this again.
In contrast, he is stony-faced and concerned.
He’s tucking me into bed.
‘Balcony… half an hour…’ I mutter.
‘It’s fine. Just rest.’ He’s still frowning, but I’m drunk on exhaustion, I’ve no energy to reassure him as I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.