Almost Forever Page 3

  ‘So? Do you want to read with me?’ he asked patiently, turning so that we were facing each other.

  ‘Ehm, I …’ I mumbled, not sure of what to do.

  ‘Look,’ he said, lifting the book over the armrest so that I could see it. ‘Only four pages in.’

  ‘Okay, then,’ I said and slid off the sofa. I gingerly kneeled nearby.

  ‘Sit closer,’ he suggested, and gestured to the paperback he held open on his lap. I nodded and sat next to him with my back propped against the sofa, mimicking his posture. My head, tilted to his side, almost touched his shoulder, but he didn’t seem to mind the proximity. He turned back to the beginning, and after a few pages, we found a pace that suited us both, reading line after line almost at the exact same speed.

  We sat engrossed in J.K. Rowling’s words for the entire afternoon and started a friendship that would grow into a deep, everlasting love.

  Chapter Two

  ‘I need to see him,’ I murmur to Georgie, fidgeting on my chair.

  ‘I know, Fran, but he’s still in surgery, there is nothing we can do right now … I’m sorry,’ Georgie says, squeezing my shoulder.

  ‘Why are they not telling us what’s going on in there? I’ve been waiting here a long time now for someone to tell me what the hell is going on with Paul.’ My voice begins to rise. ‘Maybe I should go and ask again.’

  ‘Fran,’ she says, touching my arm with her hand, a gentle restraint. ‘I know it’s hard to just sit here, unable to help, but they’re focusing on making Paul better right now. They’ll tell us something, as soon as they can, I’m sure.’ She keeps her hand on my arm so I take a deep calming breath, trying to relax – even though every cell in my body is pushing me to break free and run to Paul.

  ‘They’ll tell us something as soon as Paul is out of surgery; they said so,’ she reiterates and I nod, trying to convince myself that patience is the best option right now.

  When Georgie’s phone starts to ring again, she looks at me apologetically. ‘Sorry, it’s the office,’ she says, turning it off with shaky fingers.

  ‘If you need to work, just go ahead. There’s not much to be done here other than wait,’ I say to her with an attempt at a smile.

  ‘I’m sure it can all wait till tomorrow,’ she answers, taking my hand in hers in a reassuring gesture that mitigates my anxiety but only slightly.

  I look around absentmindedly as I twist and turn the ring on my finger.

  Time goes on while Paul’s life hangs over a void and we have nothing to do other than look at the boring prints on the wall and the mismatched furniture. The chairs are blue, while the carpet is a dirty shade of green, and the side table – with leaflets and informative booklets against the far end of the square room – is a yellowish pinewood.

  Nothing seems to make sense as the whirlpool of thoughts in my head creates a gurgling noise inside my ears, muffling all other sounds. Georgie’s voice finally comes into focus once I realise her lips are moving. I pay attention to her and begin to process what she’s saying.

  ‘Harry says he is getting close now, so he’ll be here soon,’ she says, hoping that the news will cheer me up. I pretend it does. I pretend I’m fine but after fifteen minutes I’m restless again. Another half hour goes by and I’m going crazy. ‘I can’t sit here doing nothing,’ I say, standing up and walking to the window. The brick side of another building is the only thing I can see, and it makes me feel heartbroken. My eyes fill up with tears. My heart starts pounding in my temples, and I know I’ve reached the end of my will to wait for something to happen.

  When I hear the sound of footsteps, I turn immediately towards the door hoping to see a surgeon bearing news. I see Albert and Harry instead. Their eyes are haunted and when I feel my head spinning I worry that I’m about to pass out.

  ‘Fran!’ Harry runs to me and takes me into his arms. I feel my knees buckling under me but he supports my weight, crushing me against his chest. For the first time in hours I wish I could just close my eyes and rest a little. We stay like this, still and quiet, for a few seconds, but I can feel he’s restless so I step away and look at him.

  ‘What happened?’ he asks. ‘How is he?’ His voice shakes with worry. Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer to give him; so when my eyes fill with tears, he suggests we sit down.

  ‘You look exhausted,’ he says, holding my face in his hands.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I answer, looking away from him before he can read the truth in my eyes. My gaze stops on Albert, who is still standing near the door.

  I stand up and he walks towards me. When he is near I lift my arms to him and we give each other a quiet hug that speaks more than a thousand words.

  ‘Love conquers all,’ I whisper to him.

  ‘Always,’ he replies, patting my back. Then we sit. He chooses one of the empty chairs on the opposite side of the coffee table; I return to my place in between Harry and Georgie.

  I don’t feel like talking and any attempt at conversation from them fails miserably after a few sentences; so we all just sit and wait, while the silence consumes us.

  Harry is restless. I can feel tense energy radiating from him when he stands up and starts moving around. I watch him pacing the room like a caged animal. He walks around for a while, then he sits again, rubbing his chin or stroking my hand, then he goes to the windows. He stops to look at the booklets on the table. He studies the prints on the wall, then he returns to sit before starting the routine again.

  His eyes are a deeper green when he’s not smiling and his lips, set in a straight line, make him look older than twenty-seven. I watch him struggling to keep his frustration under control. Harry looks so different when he frowns, maybe just because it’s a rare event for me to see his serious side, but the worried look in his eyes makes my stomach knot with fear.

  Georgie, whose phone has been ringing non-stop since the minute she arrived, gives in to the pressure of her career and answers the next incoming call, opening a floodgate of urgent tasks. It turns out they can’t wait until tomorrow. After an hour, she is still firefighting, trying to send as many emails as possible and delegating the critically important tasks she can’t resolve remotely. I look at her with admiration. She looks the part with her power suit, the laptop balanced on her lap and the aggressive way of typing that only people who spend their lives sending emails have.

  Albert, sitting still in the same spot, seems to be lost in a separate dimension, worrying more and more as the seconds go by without news. He is quiet, his hands in his lap and the weight of the world on his shoulders. His blond hair is turning grey and his light blue eyes are hollow, without the spark I remember. Paul looks so much like his dad, and watching Albert now, I can’t stop myself from picturing how Paul would look in twenty years. The idea of Paul growing old is the most soothing thought I’ve had since I arrived at the hospital.

  I think back to the events of this morning, at how – lost in my own world of packing – I didn’t register that too much time had passed since Paul left. Maybe because I was too caught up in my daydreaming, maybe because I was stressing about forgetting some of the documents we needed to take with us, but half an hour had slipped away unnoticed.

  When I heard the knock at the door and opened it to an apologetic Cecilia who was telling me she had been caught in the traffic caused by the assault at the end of our road I started to worry at the realisation that Paul was not back yet. I knew immediately something had happened to him. I felt it in my heart and I was filled instantly with panic.

  From that moment on, everything was a blur – a string of events that I can only partially bring back to the surface. Everything was slightly confused with only some of the details in focus.

  I remember carefully watching the police officer who told me what happened to Paul. I remember staring at him as the words formed on his lips, thinking that he had probably made a mistake, that it couldn’t be, that Paul wasn’t the man who had been stabbed and beaten in the off-licence. I rem
ember Cecilia touching my arm and murmuring something I couldn’t quite hear while I shook my head in denial. I remember watching the ambulance, already speeding away in front of me before I could go with him. I remember the A&E, the frantic calls I made to Harry and to Georgie, telling them – through sobs and tears – what had just happened.

  The four-hour deadline the doctor gave us originally has come and gone, and while we are stretched to the limit with worry, I insist that it’s now time to go make some enquiries.

  ‘No news is good news, Fran,’ Harry tells me when I complain about our lack of action.

  I sit back slightly resentful and decide that if I don’t hear anything in the next fifteen minutes, I’ll take the matter into my own hands and question anyone and everyone around, until I get some answers.

  I fish my phone from my purse to keep an eye on the time.

  The date, Monday, 29th of February, is flashing on the top of the screen above the picture of Paul and I at Gare du Nord. The shock of the realisation that I was in Paris with him only yesterday knocks the wind out of me. It’s scary how our engagement already feels forever ago.

  I close my eyes to regain a little perspective, and the images of this past weekend – one of the most romantic of my entire life – fill my mind and take me back into Paul’s arms.

  ***

  Paris stretched majestically in front of us in all her timeless beauty.

  Its terracotta chimney pots on the dark roofs, and its tall spires lit by the fading sun reminded me of the unique charm of this city. The Eiffel Tower twinkled from the heart of the most romantic place in the world, dispersing a love-scented atmosphere all around us, so when I took a deep breath, the crisp air filled my soul with the beauty of a wintry sunset in the French capital.

  I held Paul’s hand as we walked from the station to the hotel.

  La Maison St Martin was a quaint boutique establishment off the beaten track, one we always stayed at when in Paris – almost a second home to us now. The place was timeless with its old-fashioned style, the baroque furniture, the busy wallpaper, and the heavy brocade curtains on every window.

  Josephine had stayed here several times before her fame took her to hotels of a different league. Forty years on, they still displayed her autographed portrait in the main reception room.

  ‘Hungry?’ Paul asked me as soon as we dropped our bags in the room.

  ‘Yes!’ I answered. ‘I’m starving,’ I added, thinking of the delicacies that this city had to offer. ‘Allons-y.’ I took his hand in mine.

  ‘We don’t come often enough,’ Paul said with a smile as we walked out of the hotel lobby.

  We were at home in France, as much as we were in Britain, and it was always a great pleasure when we did get the chance to cross the Channel, and unearth our sense of belonging.

  We strolled down a little alley that took us right down to one of the main roads. With my eyes open wide I admired the lit-up shop windows and the restaurants that were already getting busy with early diners.

  ‘True,’ I agreed. ‘And when we do, we always end up in the same places …’

  ‘Brasserie Juliette and Café Rue de Bac,’ we said at the same time before looking at each other and laughing.

  ‘Wait,’ Paul said, taking my face in his hands and gently kissing my lips. I smiled at him and he kissed me again, making my heart beat fast inside my chest.

  ‘We should explore a little,’ I said, ‘maybe try something new for once.’

  ‘Maybe we should,’ he murmured, placing a featherlike kiss on my forehead.

  ‘Let’s go to a place we don’t already know. Let’s be bold,’ I suggested.

  ‘All right. How about the first place we see? Whatever it is, we’ll go for it. Deal?’

  ‘Deal!’ I said, snuggling under his arm when we resumed our walk. ‘I hope it’ll be a crêperie,’ I said lifting my crossed fingers.

  ‘Crêpes for dinner – I don’t think so.’ He laughed, pulling me closer as we wandered down the road to meet our destiny.

  Our expedition didn’t take us very far as the first restaurant we encountered was just around the corner.

  ‘Oyster bar? Nooo!’ I squealed, horrified.

  ‘A deal is a deal,’ Paul said, amused by my bad luck. I wasn’t very keen on seafood, always doing my best to steer away from the creatures of the sea. Feeling the disgust for those slimy, colourless crustaceans already closing my throat, I considered begging Paul to forget about our wager and choose somewhere else, but then I remembered Paul loved seafood and we rarely ate fish because of my aversion to it; so I decided that as long as I could wash it down with champagne, I was going to be all right.

  ‘Fine. Fine,’ I said, swallowing my repulsion, ‘but you owe me, my friend. We are going to have pancakes for breakfast, lunch and dinner tomorrow. Is that clear?’ I asked as he opened the door and gestured for me to go first.

  ‘Sure …’ he agreed with a chuckle. ‘We’ll make tomorrow pancake day.’

  ‘Yep,’ I said, steering us as far away as possible from the big counter displaying the most incredible variety of fruits de mer.

  I chose one of their small round tables in the orangery and, despite the menu, I had to admit the place was stunning. Its tasteful combination of traditional and new was very pleasing to the eye. Almost as much as looking at Paul, who was finally relaxing and enjoying himself. A tough six months, I reminded myself as we held hands. He deserves a break.

  ‘What do you fancy?’ he asked, distracting me from my musing.

  ‘Nothing,’ I snorted, categorically refusing to look at the menu. Paul just ordered white wine and a seafood platter for two and I just hoped for the best while preparing for the worst.

  We talked and laughed, and when the waiter arrived with a silver tray covered with crushed ice, we intertwined our fingers under the table, unwilling to break contact. The waiter placed the tray down with reverential solicitude, then quietly disappeared, leaving us to admire the edible artwork between us. Delicately laid on the ice, there was a bouquet of colourful shellfish and lemon wedges. Oysters and crabs, langoustine and halved lobsters were arranged so precisely next to mussels and prawns and clams that the platter looked like a mosaic.

  ‘Beasts from the sea,’ I said, trying to hide my repulsion, knowing that my face was possibly turning an alarming shade of green.

  Paul smirked then poured our wine, ready to dig into this seafood extravaganza.

  ‘To us,’ cheered Paul, lifting his glass and clinking it to mine.

  ‘Santé!’ I replied, looking up.

  His gaze immediately locked with mine, and I read a strange expression in it. He was about to say something. He seemed suddenly nervous, but then he grinned at me and said, ‘Everything looks so delicious.’

  ‘So deliciously slimy, you mean,’ I said with a growing sense of unease. ‘I don’t know where to start,’ I admitted, feeling slightly defeated.

  ‘Here, philistine,’ said Paul with the sweetest tone, feeding me a bite of the lobster.

  I loved the romantic gesture but I opened my mouth reluctantly.

  ‘So?’ he asked as I chewed slowly on the succulent white meat.

  ‘Yes, okay, you’re right. It’s really good,’ I admitted, and when he smiled smugly at me, I rolled my eyes expecting a sagacious reply. Instead, he took my hand and kissed my knuckles softly.

  ‘I want tonight to be special, Fran, so if you don’t like it here, let’s just go somewhere else. We can have pancakes for dinner, if that will make you happy.’ And with those simple words he made my heart swoon.

  I looked into his beautiful blue eyes lit up with his smile, his light brown hair streaked with blond strands as if he spent his days on the beach and not in an office, and I thought back on all of the incredible memories and moments we’d shared together. I knew, just from the way his eyes held mine, that we both loved each other unconditionally.

  ‘I could just look at you forever,’ he said and, damn it, I almost fel
l off the chair, his words made me so dizzy with emotion.

  We were having an amazing time, and with every smile we exchanged, the atmosphere between us seemed to grow more and more romantic. The wine was making my limbs loose and my spirit soared. Paul kept looking at me as if I was the most beautiful woman on Earth. He leaned over often to kiss me and softly stroked my fingers, creating a pleasant tingle of excitement in my belly.

  ‘This weekend in Paris is exactly what we needed,’ I said, but the excitement I’d felt earlier was slowly turning into an overwhelming feeling of discomfort. Everything had been so incredibly perfect until now, when an inexplicable sense of apprehension sparked from the pit of my stomach. I felt uncomfortably hot as well, but I blamed the wine.

  Unwilling to let these little details ruin the evening, I just decided to ignore them.

  We worked our way through the ‘plateau de fruits de mer’ in front of us, but truly Paul was the one doing most of the eating while I just nibbled without much excitement.

  When a cramp turned the top of my stomach into a knot, I took a deep breath and shifted my attention back to Paul, hoping that the whole thing would just go away.

  ‘Try at least one,’ Paul asked, offering me the last remaining oyster, but the sight of it was enough to make me go pale.

  ‘No thanks,’ I said as a sense of nausea rose up from my stomach. It was suffocating.

  I leaned away from the table, feeling slightly better only after the waiter finally came to take the tray away.

  ‘God, Fran, I love you so much,’ Paul said, leaning across the table to kiss me. The unease ebbed away and I felt weightless with joy. When he was only inches away I closed my eyes and sighed when his lips gently pressed against mine.

  The dreamy buzz inside me was crushed by the salty taste of seafood that lingered in his mouth and I felt my stomach roll.

  I retreated back against my chair, inhaling deeply and hoping to calm the queasiness that hit me.

  ‘Fran, are you all right?’ Paul’s worried voice came across to me in waves.

  I shook my head, then picked up my glass and drank some water, hoping that it would help, but I realised immediately that it just made things worse.