Almost Forever Page 10

  Lucky for me the wind had other plans, and it was pushing Paul back towards our villa’s pier. I watched as he fought his way to the opposite side, to no avail, and so he waved at me then pulled the boom with lots of energy to head to shore. I worried then that he was in trouble so I waved back and ran out of my room as fast as I could.

  I saw him stepping onto the pier just as I sprinted out of the house.

  I remember running through the grass wearing no shoes on my feet and a big smile on my face at the realisation that Paul was fine. He smiled back at me, so I started to run faster with a declaration of undying love on my lips. It turned out that wasn’t one of my brightest ideas, because I skidded at full speed on one of the wet planks and fell, head first, into the lake.

  I remember the water was freezing cold, dark and bottle green, and how at first I struggled to see. Before I could start swimming back up, Paul grabbed my waist with his arm and pushed us both to the surface. As soon as my head broke the surface of the water I started to sputter and giggle hysterically. To this day, I still don’t know if I was laughing because of the shock of the cold water or the warmth of Paul’s body pressed against mine. I remember Paul pushing my hair out of my face while I wrapped my arms around his neck and tangled myself against him to stay above water.

  ‘I was coming to save you,’ I said to him, infusing a serious tone into my trembling voice. ‘I thought you were signalling a distressed sailor SOS.’

  ‘Fran, as rescues go, it wasn’t the greatest attempt, I’m afraid,’ he said, laughing at me.

  ‘So, ungrateful,’ I answered with a pout.

  ‘I know,’ he said, looking straight into my eyes. Our bodies were entwined, his eyes brightened by laughter, and I felt my heart swollen with my love for him. When his eyes turned serious, the joyful mood around us changed into tension. This was my moment, I thought, but before I could speak he beat me to it.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. His voice was a whisper above the noise of the waves. Water drops were slowly running down his hair, over his face and his shoulders.

  ‘Hi,’ I whispered back. My voice was feeble and almost inaudible over the drumming of my heart. Goose bumps covered my skin while I tried to stop shivering. I wondered if Paul’s heart was beating as fast as mine or if I was just about to have a heart attack. I searched his eyes for the answer but he was not giving anything away. His soft lips were so near mine I could feel his warm breath on my skin.

  I remember how, instinctively, I gripped him closer to me and the intimacy of the embrace heated my belly. The contrast with the cold water against my skin was pure torture. I was too caught up in the emotions of the moment to weigh up the possibilities as I leaned slowly towards him. When he did the same and it looked like our lips were about to touch, I panicked and pulled away, sinking us both underwater again.

  We let go of each other and started to swim to the nearest ladder, which was almost at the end of the pier. It was good that I was a strong swimmer because with my emotions running wild inside me and my heart about to explode I wouldn’t have made it to shore otherwise.

  ‘Swimming school captain and owner of the England trophy for the fifty-metre freestyle under sixteen,’ I shouted back to him when I was the first one to reach the ladder. The distance between us was definitely a welcome respite.

  I propped myself up, sat on the pier’s wooden planks, and rested my feet on one of the steps. My clothes were stuck to my skin and I started to feel self-conscious when Paul swam nearer, watching me. The sun was shining on the wet skin of his shoulders; his blond hair was falling messily over his eyebrows. I wrung the hem of my top and squeezed my shorts that were making a large puddle of water all around me. I was so nervous that keeping my hands busy seemed the only way to stop them from shaking.

  He swam over, keeping his eyes fixed on me. His lips tugged into a charming smile, and that was when I knew he wasn’t totally indifferent to me, as I had believed until then. I brushed my hair off my face, combing it with my fingers, trying to look more like Belle and less like the Beast; but, unsure if I was actually succeeding in my attempt, I grabbed the bottom of my wet top and yanked it off, pulling it over my head and hoping that the sight of the prettiest swimming suit I owned would compensate for the untidiness of the rest of me.

  Paul suddenly slowed down and I took that as a compliment. So, slightly more confident because of that, I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, ‘You’re getting slow in your old age.’

  He laughed and started to swim to me properly, showing off the power of his arms. It was good that he had his head in the water because my mouth fell open. When he reached the pier, he held both sides of the ladder and pushed himself up. Neither of us was laughing when he folded my arms on top of my legs and rested his chin there. His touch gave me a jolt, even if I pretended otherwise. ‘There is life in this old dog yet,’ he said, looking up at me.

  ‘Good for you, Wolfie,’ I commented in a patronising voice, patting his head gently at the same time.

  ‘Do you want to race me, Champ?’ he asked, pulling himself up, palms flat on the wet wood of the pier, arms either side of me while squeezing both feet on the ladder step.

  He stood there so that our eyes were now level. ‘Put a wager on it, maybe? Make it interesting?’ he asked coming very near again. I swallowed the knot in my throat.

  ‘Sure,’ I agreed when he stabilised himself on the ladder. He lifted one hand and slowly moved even closer. ‘You choose the stakes,’ he said, making me shiver. I turned my head and angled my body in his direction. I knew my eyes were wide and dreamy, and full of fear when they locked on to his.

  Facing each other, our lips just inches apart, I collected all my courage to suggest we bet a kiss but ‘Ehm …’ was all I managed to say before Harry’s voice called out my name from the garden fence. Automatically, I turned to Harry and gave a big, enthusiastic wave.

  I did it to cover my embarrassment at being caught flirting, but I realised too late how my gesture could be easily misinterpreted, and when I turned to look at Paul, the tenderness in his eyes had been replaced with the stern coldness that I had become used to. ‘Paul, wait …’ I said but he was already swimming to his board with fast, strong strokes.

  It would be two painfully long years before Paul and I would meet again, face to face.

  Chapter Seven

  I look at Paul as the memories of the past fade away bringing me back to his stuffy hospital room.

  Harry arrives at eight o’clock to take over the night shift from me but even if I promised myself a night of pampering, I linger longer than I had planned, just because I’m unable to leave. I sit on the armchair in the corner, a book open in my lap, and immediately fall asleep.

  ‘Fran,’ Harry says, gently shaking me awake. ‘You need to go home and get some rest – proper rest,’ he says, anticipating the list of all the naps I had today – which really was equal to none, apart from a little snooze this morning and the half hour I had just now.

  ‘Go home and please get in the shower, change your clothes,’ he says, looking at me as if slightly disgusted by my appearance. I look down at my jumper that has a crust of some sort of food on the sleeve. The fact that I don’t know what it is and I don’t even remember when I ate something of that colour is quite disconcerting.

  ‘So?’ he asks impatiently. ‘Why are you still here?’

  ‘Okay, okay, I’m going,’ I answer him, picking up my handbag and my jacket. ‘There’s no need to be rude.’ I look down and say, ‘I feel better when I can look at him. I have terrible nightmares when I’m at home – that’s why I stay …’

  ‘Oh, Fran.’ Harry stands up to give me a soothing bear hug. Being in Harry arms make me feel better too, so I hold on to the feeling.

  ‘I’ll look after him, I promise,’ he says, letting me go, but I just stand there, next to him, really reluctant to go.

  ‘I’ll get some water while you say goodnight to Paul, okay?’

  I nod and watc
h as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

  I reach the bed, take Paul’s hand in mine, and hold it tightly until I’m sure I can speak without tears in my voice.

  ‘Harry is sending me away,’ I complain. ‘He said I smell and I need to sleep, and I know he won’t take no for an answer this time, so I think it’s better if I say goodnight and go home for a while.’ Paul doesn’t move but I feel him close, closer than I have since he was taken to the hospital, so I lift his hand to my lips. Closing my eyes, I kiss his palm, his knuckles, and wish with all my heart that he’ll return to me. I open my eyes when I feel his finger moving.

  ‘Paul? Paul, can you hear me?’ I ask him softly, hoping that he’ll move his fingers again, in response to me. I wait a few seconds but his body is motionless. His eyes are still closed shut.

  I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the need to hear his voice.

  ‘Please come back to me, Paul,’ I say through the tears that I can no longer contain. My voice is breaking with pain. ‘I need you; I miss you so much. I love you and this is killing me,’ I whisper through my sobs. ‘I don’t know if I can live without you,’ I confide to him. ‘Please come back to me because I’m at breaking point.’

  My eyes are blurry. My lips are trembling as I lean over to kiss him. Then, I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, dry my tears with a hasty rub of my fingers. ‘I want to be brave,’ I tell him. ‘But I can’t. I’ve tried to carry on with a sort of routine but I can’t. I think of you in this bed and I know that here, right next to you, is the only place for me, so if you don’t wake up, I’ll just have to move in with you because I can’t be away.’

  I take a breath. ‘We can’t be apart and I know that if I was the one in a coma you wouldn’t leave me. I know because you are the most generous, selfless person I’ve ever met.’ I sniffle and clear my nose again. ‘Maybe I’m doing this all wrong, maybe I’m not talking about our past enough or our future. Maybe I don’t tell you enough how much I love you and how much I miss you and how much I need you but I do … I do …’

  I’m rambling now. Words are coming out of my mouth without any logic, so I try to calm down. To collect my thoughts. To make a coherent speech, but my brain is just too tired. I turn around and take a tissue from the box on the bedside table. I blow my nose properly and dry the tears that had rolled down my cheeks and my neck and then I stuff the tissue in my pocket. My hands are slightly damp, so I rub them quickly over my jeans before touching Paul’s face with them.

  Very slowly, I lower my face to his and kiss his lips again. Then his eyelids, and then his forehead. I’m only going to be away from him for a couple of hours, but for some reason that I can’t explain, I’m in need of a proper goodbye.

  ‘I’ll love you forever, Paul,’ I say, holding his face in my hands for a minute longer. ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ I say softly. ‘Sleep well, my love. I’ll dream of you, I promise.’

  I hear the door behind me and I know my time is up. ‘See you in the morning,’ I say to Paul. I need reassurance from him, but I’ll have to cope without it.

  I turn to Harry and give him a small smile. I know he can see I was crying. I know he will pretend not to notice, and I’m grateful to him for such a kindness.

  ‘Ready?’ he asks, and I nod, walking over to him. I kiss his cheek.

  ‘I’ll only be a few hours,’ I say.

  ‘I’d be surprised otherwise,’ he answers as I walk out the door.

  Feeling emotionally exhausted, I drift off in the cab, my eyelids fluttering shut. I wake up with a fright when the driver calls out to me. I apologise to him and leave him a good tip, when he says that I was sleeping so well, he felt sorry about waking me up. He is kind and doesn’t drive off until I’m safely through the door.

  I’m home, a warm feeling of calm coming over me as I turn the lights on.

  This house is so beautiful, with its period features restored to perfection, its fireplaces and the log burner, the double-storey extension in the kitchen with its glass roof. Wherever I look, there is something that Paul and I have bought together, or brought into these rooms from our past. The place is immaculate and the decor flawless. It’s a dream home but without Paul here it feels soulless. I stifle several yawns as I walk up the stairs and into the bedroom.

  I need to shower, and I really need some sleep, but I’ve been thinking of it for hours now and I know I won’t be able to settle until I’ve found the figure-of-eight knot silver ring, the one Paul bought me for my fifteenth birthday. I know it’s silly to obsess about it, but I need to find it.

  I open the wardrobe and look in the drawers where I keep my jewellery. It’s not there, and I start to feel slightly anxious at the idea that I may have lost it in the move. I open Paul’s side of the wardrobe and get his stuff out too. Watches, cufflinks, tie clip – no ring. I storm out of the room leaving a trail of disorder and chaos as I search every closet for its hiding place.

  It’s past ten o’clock but I know I won’t be able to sleep until I slip that ring back on my finger. I’ve exhausted all the obvious options, so I take a ladder and go looking for it in the loft. I saw the removal people put some boxes with my books up there, so I’m hoping to find my ring up there. I go all the way up the ladder, push the hatch open, and peer inside.

  I turn the lights on and realise there is much more than I expected in there. There are the boxes with my books as expected, but also ski boots, an old chest, a small wooden rocking horse that I vaguely remember, and a tattered leather suitcase that I’ve definitely never seen before. Everything else looks familiar, but that suitcase. I take another step up on the ladder until I’m balancing on the last step. I lean in but I’m still too far away to reach the suitcase.

  ‘Damn it,’ I mumble going on my tiptoes – still too far away. I realise I’ll have to climb in, and just as I’m about to push myself up, I feel the ladder wobbling under my feet and decide that it’s safer if I just leave this little adventure until the morning, possibly after I have some breakfast and get some of my strength back.

  I carefully close the hatch, come down the ladder one step at a time, and fold it away, thinking about what could be hiding inside that old suitcase. Probably nothing special. I enter my bedroom again.

  I realise that my clothes are now covered with dust from the loft. Just as well, I tell myself as I peel them off my skin and dump them all in the laundry basket. I run a bath, use my favourite foaming gel, and lower myself into the bubbles with a sigh. The warmth of the water on my skin is pure bliss, the perfume around me is delightful, and I think I’m actually starting to relax.

  My neck and shoulders are still knotted and tense but I can feel my heart rate dropping and my breathing slowing down. I rest my head against the roll-top of the Victorian-style bath and a content smile appears on my face.

  The memories of our first Valentine’s Day in this house are floating to the surface with the white bubbles to remind me that Paul and I shared this very same experience only a few months ago. We had candles and strawberries and Prosecco and red roses and chocolate truffles, and it ticked all the boxes of a picture-perfect Valentine’s Day. But although the setting was romantic and sophisticated, we just had fun with it.

  We laughed while we sprayed water at each other and used the thick bubbles to create foamy beards, attaching them to our chins. When the laughter led to passion, and the water intensified our senses, we got out of the bath with our eyes locked. Paul wrapped me into an oversize fluffy towel and held my hand as we walked into our bedroom.

  All alone now, I feel a deep ache inside my heart and as my smile disappears I think back to another encounter I had with Paul in a bath – one that didn’t end quite so pleasantly. My memories take me back many years, all the way to the summer I turned seventeen.

  ***

  I remember how hot the weather in Cambridge was, in comparison to the lovely Mediterranean breeze I had left behind the day before. The bus was hot and smelled faintly of old sweat. I
remember thinking that I should have walked instead of taking that suffocating bus. Normally, I would have done just that, but that day I was too tired for the mile-long trek. Harry and I had flown back from the FitzRoys’ villa in France the night before, and, annoyingly, I hadn’t slept well. My ears were buzzing and my head seemed a little fuzzy.

  I had one more week before I started my last year of high school and I couldn’t wait to go back to school. It was a relief to know that the days were going to be, once again, filled with lessons, swimming practice – every morning before school and two afternoons a week – choir rehearsal, and tutoring in Latin and maths.

  My hectic schedule was as full as the day allowed and exactly how I liked it. I liked to be busy, to be on the move, to have my life filled with stuff. It kept my mind off Paul. Two years had passed since that day in Lake Garda, and we had done our best to avoid each other since. Still, my thoughts would always drift to him, thinking of him in Stanford, wondering how he was doing, if he had lots of friends, if he was missing home, if he was missing me as much as I was missing him.

  I swatted the question out of my head but I knew it was fruitless. Without fail, I’d just go back to thinking of him after five minutes. Georgie suggested that the only way to forget Paul was a sultry sexual affair with a handsome stranger. Maybe Georgie was right. I needed a turning point in my life, a defined moment where my unhealthy infatuation for Paul ended.

  When Paul started university in America I had to follow his life through a social media window. He wasn’t much of a sharer and the little that he posted was hard to accept so, to ease the pain, I purposely avoided looking. We grew apart, especially when he decided not to spend his holidays with Harry and I, like we always did. I started to believe he had forgotten about me, that he had moved on. It felt it was the right time for me to do the same.