Almost Forever Page 5

  Georgie and Albert periodically went to the cafeteria to get food and coffee, which no one ate or drunk. Too restless to sit, I paced the room, leaning on the windowsill, looking obsessively at the wall of the building in front. Harry sat in one of the chairs, looking like a desolate island in the middle of a stormy sea.

  I wanted to reach out to him, console him somehow, but I didn’t have the strength for it; so I just kept studying every single brick, noticing how they were both identical and completely different, at the very same time.

  Paul’s odds improved to fifty per cent and then eventually to seventy per cent and Harry insisted we take a break. Too tired to argue, I let Harry and Georgie take me home.

  ***

  The cab stops in front of my house, and I feel as if I cannot set foot inside it without Paul at my side.

  ‘I can’t go in without him,’ I murmur to Harry who firmly but gently helps me out of the car.

  ‘I know it’s hard but spending the night in the street will not help anything,’ he says, waiting for Georgie to open the front door, and then, without hesitation, all but carries me in.

  The shock of returning home for the first time since Paul was taken to the hospital is a painful punch in my stomach. Walking through the front door without Paul, when he should be actually carrying me across the threshold as his wife, makes the emptiness of the house even more tangible and devastating.

  At least Harry’s here, supporting me through a tragedy I know I can’t handle alone. In a haze, I watch Georgie as she picks up a pile of envelopes that lie scattered on the entrance floor. She places them neatly on the side table, next to Paul’s car keys and his sunglasses, and the sight of them suddenly reminds me that they may end up staying there, untouched, for a very long time.

  ‘He always leaves his sunglasses there,’ I murmur as if it’s important to talk about Paul.

  No one answers.

  It’s been a long thirty-six hours, the longest and most stressful time of my entire life. I’m exhausted; we all are.

  ‘Why don’t you try to sleep a little? You hardly closed your eyes at all in the hospital,’ says Harry leading me towards the stairs.

  I know I look as bad as I feel. I caught sight of myself in the hallway mirror and noticed that my grey eyes have no spark, and the bloodshot tinge in them looks unhealthy. The puffiness of my eyelids makes me look haunted. The dark, purplish circles under them make my pale complexion appear unnaturally pallid. Georgie and Harry look just as tired and worried, but there is no point telling them that. I know I should sleep at least a few hours – I just don’t know if I can.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve recovered from the food poisoning,’ I finally answer him, placing my hand over the top of my stomach that’s continued to churn since the infamous seafood incident in Paris over the weekend. It’s easier to blame the fear and the desperation on something tangible and easy to recover from, much easier than thinking of Paul, alone in a hospital bed.

  ‘Maybe you should see your GP?’ suggests Georgie. Her eyes are trained on me, almost as if she is trying to X-ray a diagnosis just by looking at me. I know she is only trying to help me, so I smile at her, pretending an easiness that’s not really there.

  ‘If I’m not better in a couple of days, I’ll go to the doctor,’ I promise her as I walk up the stairs, one slow step at a time. ‘Please don’t worry about me. I’m just tired – I’ll be all right,’ I say, looking back at the two of them as I reach the top of the stairs. They nod at me but I know they’re not convinced. ‘I’ll be all right,’ I say again with a smile, hiding behind it. The niggling truth is that I’ve just made them a promise it won’t be easy to keep.

  ‘I’ll make us a sandwich,’ says Georgie as we look at each other, unsure how to act normal, now that our lives have been shattered.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ I answer as I walk into my room. The shock of how the bedroom looks leaves me breathless. My luggage is open on the bed. Clothes are everywhere: some folded, some just abandoned. The wardrobe doors are open and Paul’s trolley lies neatly packed, to the side of the bed. I turn my back to it and head for the en suite.

  I shower quickly, pull some clothes on at random, and with no real enthusiasm eat the sandwich Georgie brought up for me. ‘You should sleep,’ she says, carefully piling the clothes scattered on the bed into my chest of drawers, and moving my open luggage and gingerly placing it on the chaise longue under the skylight. She closes the doors of the wardrobe that are still open and moves Paul’s trolley out of sight.

  Not that any of that will help me forget that Paul and I were just about to fly out to Vegas to get married, before he ended up in the ICU, but at least the room looks tidier and I can actually lie down on the bed now.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say to Georgie as I curl up under the covers.

  ‘Fran, you don’t have to thank me; you’re my best friend. Try to get some sleep,’ she says, stroking my hair out of my face. ‘I’m going home for a while, to have a shower – and I need to speak with my boss to ask for more time off. Harry is downstairs if you need anything,’ she adds.

  I nod again. The words ‘thank you’ are on my lips again, but I stop myself from saying them.

  I sleep badly for a few hours, and when I wake up and see the empty place beside me, I’m reminded immediately of what’s happened. My hand reaches out seeking Paul’s warmth, even though I know he isn’t there.

  Needing to have a piece of him close to me, I uncurl myself from the sheets and open the wardrobe doors. I grab one of his favourite jumpers and pull it over my head. I inhale deeply reminding myself of Paul, of what could have been, should have been, and how much has changed in the space of two days.

  I bite down on my lip to stop the scream that’s about to rip through my chest. Tears start to flood my eyes and my legs give out under me. I slide down to the floor, sobbing, curling in on myself, protecting my broken heart, but no respite comes for my agony. I force myself to crawl back towards the bed after my limbs have seized up due to my inactivity.

  When I lift myself up, the pictures in the frames on the wall stare at me with their happy smiles and funny faces. Memories of us together, always together, forever together.

  Paul and I in Marseille, on the cliff behind Paul’s uncle’s restaurant. There is one of a grinning Paul I took on top of Ben Nevis, a landscape from a scuba-diving holiday I will never forget, and then a photo of Paul, Harry, Robert, and I – all wearing the same uniform – just outside the gate of the exclusive private school in Cambridge that we attended. I think back to the shock of going from my local oversubscribed and underfunded primary, to a school that had a library centuries old and a chef who cooked delicious dinners from scratch every single day.

  I lie on the bed again, without bothering to pick up the duvet that I’ve thrown on the floor. I hold Paul’s pillow in my arms and stare at that picture, bringing back the emotions of my first year there.

  ***

  ‘How would you like to go to Paul and Harry’s school?’ Josephine asked me out of the blue one sunny summer afternoon. I’d become a stable fixture in the FitzRoys’ family since I first met them almost exactly a year earlier. Becca left for university that September, and knowing that I would have to be at home by myself every day, Josephine called my father and suggested I spent the afternoons following school at their house instead.

  At first my father had been slightly reticent to agree but Josephine charmed him into saying yes. I usually stayed for dinner and often even spent the weekend with the FitzRoys in London or at their house in the Lake District. My father was content with the amount of time I spent with him, and because my school grades were still exceptional, and my French was improving before his eyes, he let me go with the FitzRoys whenever I asked his permission.

  He was never a bad father and I knew he loved me, but I realised early on in life that his mind was so full of knowledge, and his heart so full of passion for discovery, that he didn’t really have much space left fo
r anything – or anyone – else.

  ‘So, Fran, what do you think?’ Josephine asked me expectantly.

  I looked at her thinking that I loved my school and if I moved I’d miss Georgie, but, on the other hand, the opportunity to study at such an acclaimed institution meant that I would be a step closer to my dream of being accepted to Cambridge University. That school was a fast lane into Cambridge and the kudos of studying A levels there would not be matched by the state school I was attending.

  Paul had told me that his school had an Olympic-size swimming pool and a cricket field, tennis courts and an entire science building as well as a library and a fully equipped indoor gym, complete with a climbing wall.

  ‘I …’ My words died on my lips. How could I explain to her that I really wanted to accept but I knew my father didn’t have the means to pay for their steep fees? I lowered my eyes to my homework sheet, trying really hard to think of an excuse why I didn’t want to move schools.

  ‘There is a scholarship you could apply for, and with your grades I’m sure you’ll have no trouble getting in. It’s not a full-funded scholarship but I’ve talked to your father and he said he should be able to pay the remaining fees if you wanted to go,’ Josephine said.

  ‘Is this really true?’ I asked incredulous at the opportunity in front of me. She nodded and smiled.

  ‘What do I need to do?’ I asked, fidgeting in my chair, too excited to be able to stay still.

  When school began, and I had to walk into my new classroom, I felt nervous and shy as if I didn’t quite have the right to be there, but the thought that Harry was in the classroom next to me helped me keep my emotions under control. Paul was in a different part of the building, as the Junior and Senior schools had slightly different facilities, but even if I was able to see Harry during break and we met up with Paul when our school day was over for a snack in the canteen that would be great.

  It was during one of those breaks that I started to look at Paul with different eyes. It was raining outside. Harry and I had rushed into the cafeteria that was already filling up with pupils trying to avoid getting soaked.

  ‘Hey, Fran. Harry,’ Paul greeted us with a tray in front of him, already waiting at our usual table. I smiled at him and sat down next to Harry, who shook his hair like a dog would do, spraying water all around. I chuckled at his silly actions, and so did Paul, but not everyone found it as funny as we did.

  ‘Stop it, you idiot,’ barked a bulky guy who was sitting at the table next to ours. He was so big and tall I can only assume he was at least eighteen. What was he even doing in the canteen with the younger kids? The senior students usually hung out in their House’s common room.

  ‘Sorry,’ answered Harry, rolling his eyes, but the bulky dude stared at us as he kept mumbling something under his breath. Paul broke the silence that descended on us.

  ‘Oliver is always grumpy so just ignore him. Hot chocolate and blueberry muffin for you,’ he said, moving the cup and the small cake in front of me. ‘Flapjack and Coke for Harry,’ he said, distributing the rest of the food. Only then did he start his drink. ‘Enjoy,’ he said as we dug in.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, taking a bite and spreading soft crumbs all over my uniform. ‘Oops,’ I said and then pushed my chair back. ‘I’ll get some napkins.’

  The floor was wet and slippery so when I stood up and sidestepped out of my chair, I slid to the side and bumped right into Grumpy Oliver, who only a few minutes earlier had complained about Harry.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled when he stood up and – towering over me – growled like a rabid animal. I wanted to step back but at that point he had already grabbed the front of my blazer and almost lifted me up from the floor. I was terrified as he spat insults in my face. Before I could think of what to do, Paul was already on his feet. He turned to Oliver and punched his jaw with a well-measured jab.

  Oliver released me with a shove and focused his rage on Paul. I wanted to cry as I watched punches flying. Harry helped me up from the floor and we held each other while the cafeteria exploded around us. People were shouting. The teachers in charge were running towards us, to pull Paul and Oliver apart.

  The fight ended quickly after their intervention. Oliver was sent to the infirmary and Paul had to spend an uncomfortable half hour in the headmaster’s office.

  When he came home that evening I was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, Paul’s Bernese puppy, Coco, loyally waiting at my feet. When the door opened and Paul came in with a red cheek and a split lip, we both jumped up and ran straight into his arms. ‘Ouch!’ He winced when I crashed against his ribs, and Coco wagged her tail against his legs.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, stepping back from him. He kept his eyes on me, while patting the dog’s large head. ‘Thank you, Paul.’ I looked at him as if he was a superhero from one of the comics Harry collected on the shelves of the playroom. ‘I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble.’

  He shrugged his shoulders and gingerly put down his school bag. ‘I’ll be all right. Oliver had that coming for a long time. He’s a bully and I looked away one too many times already. I’m glad you gave me the excuse to break his nose.’ He took off his shoes.

  ‘You broke his nose?’ I asked incredulously, ogling Paul as he crouched down so that Coco could lick his face.

  ‘How about you? Are you all right?’ he asked, turning his eyes on me while the dog whimpered and bumped her head against his leg, trying to regain his full attention.

  ‘I’m fine.’ I nodded, too emotional to tell him that he had just made it onto my heroes wall of fame and that the memory of what he did for me today would stay forever in my heart.

  ‘Good. Let’s go get some dinner, then. I’m starving,’ he said, taking my hand, and with that simple gesture he made my heart swell.

  We walked down the corridor. Coco followed us keeping her eyes on Paul – in awe of her master. I blushed knowing that I most likely had the same expression in my starry eyes.

  The only consolation? My tongue wasn’t lolling out of my mouth, at least.

  That was the day my heart started to race when I caught sight of Paul at school, and my mood would swing drastically depending on whether Paul was paying attention to me, or not. That was the day I fell in love with the only man I thought I’d ever love.

  Chapter Four

  It’s been another all-nighter at the hospital and I can hardly keep my eyes open. Harry is just as tired.

  Robert flew in from Rome yesterday, and with Albert came to take over from us and give us a chance to go home and at least get washed and changed before our next shift. It’s always hard to walk out that door but even if it takes all of my strength to prise my hand from Paul’s, I’m glad I’m home because a hot shower and a cup of tea are just what I need to feel slightly more energetic. As soon as my hair is dry, I fish a jumper and a pair of jeans from my wardrobe and go downstairs.

  ‘I’m making us something to eat and a cup of tea,’ shouts Harry from the kitchen when he hears my footsteps in the hall.

  ‘Do you need a hand with that?’ I call out to him.

  ‘No, I’ve got it, thanks,’ Harry says in reply so I walk into the lounge and flop down on the sofa with a sigh. I look guiltily at my phone on the coffee table in front of me. I know I should return the messages that our friends have left on the answering machine. I know I should call Georgie with an update – even if there is no real update – and I should talk to my sister, who has pestered me with a million and one texts; but right now, I don’t have the strength for it. ‘Later,’ I say to the phone as if it was actually staring back at me with judgement.

  At the moment Harry is just about the only person I feel comfortable sharing my pain with. No one else needs to be involved. He knows me better than anyone else; in some ways he knows me even better than Paul. He also understands me and I trust him so completely that I’m letting him see the mess that I’m in. We are more than friends, we literally grew up together and we were always each ot
her’s sidekick.

  Paul used to say that Harry was a better brother to me than he had ever been to Paul. We would find it funny now, but when we were younger it irritated us – when people assumed we were twins, or didn’t believe us when we explained we were not a couple.

  Paul was okay with my close relationship with Harry, even if – regularly – we ganged up against him. We couldn’t help that often we just wanted the same thing. Life was so much easier back then. At least most of the time.

  I close my eyes and rest my head on one of the cushions, remembering the one and only time when my camaraderie with Harry almost cost me my future with Paul.

  ***

  The summer months in France were always fantastic.

  At fourteen, this was my third holiday at the FitzRoys’ villa in St-Tropez and my third holiday abroad overall. My father only ever took Becca and I to Norfolk, which was always nice but never quite as full of magical excitement like the times I spent in this beautiful eight-bedroom villa by the sea. It had a private pool with a two-bedroom pool house, parkland, and private access to a pristine beach that gently rolled into the Mediterranean Sea. There was an oversize garage and detached staff quarters to the side.

  I remember how the first time Josephine invited me to join them, I spent an entire week looking around with my mouth gaping. Now, walking out from my room with a book under my arm, I’d happily sauntered around the house waving at Michelle, the cook, already in the kitchen, and Luis, the old gardener, busying himself with the pots of geraniums disseminated around the patio. Luis was the one who taught me that geraniums were one of the best defences against mosquitoes.