The Bucket List to Mend a Broken Heart

by Anna Bell

  ‘How about a photo?’ I say, realising we’ve got the perfect backdrop as you can see the Eiffel Tower and other picturesque Parisian buildings on the other side of the Seine.

  ‘OK,’ says Ben, digging out his camera and standing back.

  ‘No, you’ve got to be in the photo too. I reckon your arms are long enough for a selfie.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m gangly?’

  ‘No, they’re just a bit longer than mine,’ I say, getting the giggles.

  Ben looks behind us at the view and positions me next to the concrete balustrade before standing next to me.

  ‘I think we’re going to have to get in close,’ he says, putting his arm around me and stretching out the one holding the camera.

  It feels cosy being nestled in with Ben. Instead of feeling awkward and as if I’m invading his personal space, it feels natural.

  He takes the photo and for a minute we stay wrapped up together as he reviews the picture on the viewfinder.

  ‘That’s not bad,’ I say.

  It really isn’t. Not only do I not have a double chin or giant bags under my eyes, but I look kind of pretty. Ben looks like, well, Ben. A mess of curls on his head and his stubbly beard. We actually make a cute couple.

  What is it with this damn city, are they pumping pheromones out somewhere?

  ‘So,’ says Ben, releasing his arm with a little cough as if he’s embarrassed that we’ve stayed that way for longer than necessary. ‘I should probably take a photo just of you, as I’m sure you don’t want to put that photo on Facebook – it might give Joseph the wrong idea.’

  ‘Joseph, right,’ I say nodding. I’d temporarily forgotten about him. My mind has been stuck on that hug and that photo. ‘Although a photo of the two of us might make him jealous.’

  A number of photos of me and Ben looking starry-eyed in Paris might rile him up enough to get him back.

  ‘I hardly think he’ll be jealous of me, if your descriptions of him are anything to go by.’

  We start to slowly meander along the river bank once more. Despite being on a tight schedule, it seems neither of us are in the mood to hurry.

  ‘I think he’d have every reason to be jealous of you,’ I say without thinking.

  This city has got right under my skin and suddenly all I want to do is kiss him. Where did that come from? It’s like I got out of the train station and accidentally inhaled a love potion.

  I can feel Ben looking at me and I can’t turn to meet his eyes, in case he’s thinking the same as me.

  I try and fix an image of Joseph in my mind to remind myself why we’re in this city in the first place.

  Ben doesn’t say anything and after a little while I sense that he’s looked away again.

  ‘Oh, wow,’ I say involuntarily as I realise we’ve made it to the cathedral. It’s the perfect thing to distract me from the crazy thoughts about Ben that keep interrupting my Joseph pining. ‘I had no idea this place was so impressive,’ I say, gaping at the building like a proper tourist.

  There’s a swarm of people milling about snapping photos and craning their necks to get a better view, and I can’t help but join them.

  ‘When I came here on the school trip they were doing restoration work on it,’ I say. ‘It had those big canopy sheets over the scaffolding with a painted scene of what it looked like, but it did not do it justice.’

  I start snapping away like I’m David Bailey – I honestly don’t think I’ve seen anything like it. The architecture is extraordinary.

  I look back at Ben, who’s standing on the pavement smiling.

  ‘What?’

  I tuck my hair behind my ear, suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious.

  ‘Nothing. It’s just nice to see you like this.’

  ‘What, happy?’

  ‘No, excited and passionate about something.’

  ‘Ah, well, don’t forget you’ve probably seen me at my worst, doing things that I’d rather not do. Whereas this, this is totally up my street. I did a history of architecture module at university and I actually really enjoyed it.’

  ‘So you’ve got an inner geek in you too.’

  ‘Oh, yes, she’s not buried that deep. I was torn between doing art history and graphic design at university.’

  ‘Do you think you made the right choice?’ asks Ben as we start to circle the outside of the building.

  ‘Definitely. As soon as I started my course I knew it was the right decision. I love being creative every day in my job. I can’t imagine now that I’d have been happy studying someone else’s creativity.’

  ‘It’s nice, isn’t it? Doing a job you love.’

  ‘Yeah, I often forget how lucky I am to enjoy what I do. I guess I take it for granted.’

  ‘I think we’re all a little guilty of that.’

  ‘And you, you love working in the shop?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘What did you do at uni?’

  Ben coughs and mutters something.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear.’

  ‘Forensic science,’ he repeats before sighing.

  ‘Forensic science? Like CSI, white-suit type stuff?’

  Ben nods.

  ‘And you ended up with a bike shop? How did that happen?’

  ‘I worked in a specialist bike shop when I was at uni. Then I came down to Portsmouth to start a master’s, but after a few weeks I realised it wasn’t for me. I ended up doing some temping work in a call centre and working part-time at a bike shop. One day the owner told me he was looking to sell and I thought, what the hell.’

  ‘Wow. You just bought it?’

  ‘Uh-huh. It sounds pretty crazy now, but the guy hadn’t done a very good job with it, and it didn’t cost that much. I had some inheritance money from my granddad and I managed to make a pretty good business case and got a bank loan. Of course, that was before the recession when they handed out loans willy-nilly.’

  ‘That’s still pretty impressive.’

  ‘Well, I’d had the idea for supporting the shop with the mail-order side, and luckily over the years that’s kept the shop afloat.’

  ‘Would you ever consider just going mail-order? If that’s where the money is?’

  Ben shakes his head. ‘Nah, I’d miss the people in the shop. There’s something really satisfying about seeing people find their perfect bike.’

  ‘You’re a really cheesy guy at heart, aren’t you?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  For a minute we lock eyes and I feel that thing between us again. I’m getting the impression that it’s got nothing to do with the city and its romantic vibe and everything to do with the man standing in front of me. It’s as if I’m looking at him for the first time and really seeing him.

  I can’t believe that I’ve never noticed the way his hazel eyes twinkle in the light, or the way his messy waves of hair sprout off in such different directions. He’s got an air of Patrick Dempsey about him and for the first time I see him as my own McDreamy.

  Oh, McDreamy – RIP.

  I want to reach up and run my hand over his stubbly cheek and pull his face into mine. And I want more than anything to kiss him. I take a deep breath and wonder if I’m brave enough, but before I get the chance we’re interrupted by his mobile ringing.

  The moment is gone and I look away as he scrambles around in his bag for it.

  ‘It’s Tammy,’ he says looking at the caller ID.

  He answers the phone and walks away towards the river as I watch him go.

  I feel foolish. There was me about to kiss someone who has a girlfriend. I shake my head. I may be in the most romantic city in the world, but I have to remember I’m with someone else’s boyfriend.

  And not only that, I’m here to win back my ex-boyfriend. The man who’s supposed to be the love of my life. This is no time to be distracted just because there’s a cute guy here in front of me.

  I sigh and look up at the building once more and suddenly remember the story of the u
nrequited love of Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre-Dame. It’s an omen of doomed love if ever I saw one, and a reminder that things with Ben are not meant to be.

  I look at my watch. I’ve got just under ten hours to spend in Paris with Ben, and I’m going to have to keep my emerging feelings under wraps and remind myself that Joseph’s the man I want to be with, not Ben.

  As he strolls towards me, I try and compose myself, putting on the best smile I can muster.

  ‘So,’ I say, ‘ready for the Champs-Élysées.’

  Nothing kills romance like shopping.

  ‘On y va,’ says Ben.

  He doesn’t explain his conversation with Tammy and I don’t ask. I don’t want to know. He has a girlfriend and I’m hopefully soon going to have my boyfriend back, that’s all I need to remember, as I try and block out whatever romantic fantasies this city is making me have.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Still one week, four days until the abseil, but I’ve got one other Tower of Terror to conquer first.

  All day I’ve been surprised at how small the Eiffel Tower looks on the skyline of Paris. Wherever we’ve been in the city, it’s being poking out from behind buildings, but not towering over them like I expected. But now that I’m standing underneath it, it seems flipping enormous.

  ‘Well, here we are,’ says Ben.

  ‘Here we are indeed.’

  Paris has done a pretty good job of distracting me with its fancy boutiques, delicious patisseries and beautiful buildings. But now, as the sun is setting, it’s finally time for us to go up the tower.

  ‘Hopefully it should just be dark by the time we get up the top.’

  I don’t know why but that makes me feel worse. I desperately want to chicken out, but I don’t feel like I can because Ben’s already reserved and paid for the tickets.

  I look up at the lattice of ironwork and I can see all the way up through the gaps. It’s doing little to calm my racing heart.

  ‘Are you sure it’s safe? I mean, wasn’t it built as a temporary structure for a fair?’

  ‘It’s one of the world’s most iconic, and probably most visited, attractions. I’m pretty sure that they’ve made sure it’s safe.’

  I glance back up. I’m still not convinced. My stomach’s churning with nerves and I feel sick.

  ‘Come on, Abi. It’ll be good training for your Spinnaker challenge.’

  My muscles go rigid with fear. I’ve been trying to banish thoughts of that abseil from my mind, but now, standing next to this tower, it’s starting to seem a whole lot more real.

  ‘Is this taller than the Spinnaker?’ I ask, not knowing what would make a more comforting answer.

  ‘Yeah. But don’t worry, we don’t have to go up that high if you don’t want to. We can stop at one of the lower floors. The views are better the higher you go, but the point of us going up there is to tick it off your list, so don’t feel like you have to go up high. And if you really don’t want to go up, you don’t have to. I mean we’re at the Eiffel Tower, and we’ve done the rest of Paris pretty much in a day. Joseph was never specific about what had to be done.’

  ‘I know,’ I say, thinking that it would be so easy not to bother. I could take a photo right here beneath the arches and be done with it. But there’s a part of me that wants to go up. To prove to myself that I can do this. My fear of heights has held me back for so long and if I’m going to stand any sort of chance of going down the Spinnaker Tower in less than two weeks’ time, then I’ve got to at least try and get a head for heights.

  I take a deep breath and look Ben in the eye. ‘Let’s do this,’ I say determinedly.

  Ben smiles. ‘OK then.’

  He turns and walks towards the queue for pre-booked tickets, and before I know it we’re shuffling along in a throng of tourists waiting impatiently for the lift.

  ‘It’s not too late,’ whispers Ben as we finally board the lift.

  I smile half-heartedly. He’s so supportive, I couldn’t have picked anyone nicer to have done this with.

  The lift creaks into action and whizzes us God knows how many metres above the ground. Too many to think about. There’s no turning back now.

  We decided to give the first floor a miss, not only would it mean walking up stairs when my legs are already aching from all of today’s sightseeing, but it would also mean I’d almost certainly chicken out of going up any higher.

  Having looked at the diagram of the different stages at the bottom, I’d decided I’m not brave enough for the top of the tower – the thought of both the height and the glass elevator that takes you up to it reduced my legs to jelly.

  When we reach our floor I let the others get off first, before I slowly make my way out of the lift. I get about a foot or two outside before stopping.

  I’m hit first by the wind that whistles round my ears. It feels so much colder up here. Maybe it’s psychological. Or maybe it’s simply that dusk has given way to nightfall while we were queuing to get up here.

  The whole of Paris is coated in a blanket of darkness with twinkling lights that look like giant strings of fairy lights. It’s breathtaking. For a minute I’m so mesmerised by the view that it takes me a while to get a sense of how high up we are. When I do, I start to stagger backwards, getting as far away from the edge as I can.

  ‘Are you OK?’ asks Ben. He instinctively grabs my arm and I cling on to him with both hands and pull him towards me.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I whisper, a slight stammer to my voice, my fear clearly evident.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ says Ben looking round.

  I know my hands are clammy and sweaty and my nails are probably digging into Ben’s arms, but I can’t move them. He’s like my safety blanket. I feel OK as long as I’m clinging onto him for dear life.

  ‘Shall I take your photo?’ he asks.

  ‘I can’t let go,’ I say, suddenly terrified that he’s going to move.

  He pulls his camera out and slips his other arm round my waist before spinning me round gently. He lifts his arm out and takes another selfie of us.

  ‘It’s not like we’re going to see anything anyway,’ he says, laughing. ‘It’ll just come out black behind us.’

  ‘So we could have taken a photo anywhere and pretended.’

  ‘I did give you the option.’

  ‘I know. But I’m actually OK.’

  ‘I think my arm would say otherwise.’

  I automatically release my grip but stay huddled into him.

  ‘I’ll keep you safe,’ he says. ‘It’s a bit easier like this than with you threatening to break my skin with your nails.’

  He’s smiling and I know he’s not serious. For one thing the hoodie he’s wearing is way too thick for me to be able to break the skin under it, but having someone holding him in a Chinese burn can’t have been the most comfortable thing.

  ‘Do you want to see the rest of the views?’ asks Ben.

  ‘I don’t think I can go any higher,’ I say honestly.

  ‘I meant walking round the outside.’

  He drops his arm but before I can panic he takes my hand and gently leads me round the platform.

  ‘Now don’t squeeze too hard, I can’t ride a bike with one hand.’

  I giggle and try to loosen my grip.

  ‘Can’t you ride a bike one-handed? I’m sure I can.’

  ‘Abi, the bike-riding expert.’

  I mentally try and picture myself riding one-handed and I think back to the cycling proficiency I had to take at school.

  ‘What about when you need to signal?’

  Ben laughs and leans down closer to my ear. ‘I’ll let you into a secret. I can ride no-handed. But still please don’t bugger up my hand.’

  ‘Wow, no-handed. You’re my hero,’ I say, joking and tilting my head playfully.

  Ben turns towards me and his hand gravitates to my free one and we suddenly find ourselves facing one another with our hands swinging in the breeze.

  If ever there
was a perfect moment for a first kiss, then this would be it. It’s so cheesily romantic and perfect that I almost want to laugh at the irony that I’m here in this position with Ben. But I don’t. I keep my head tilted and look straight into his eyes.

  Blimey, the pheromones that this city is pumping must be emanating from here as it feels as if they’ve been kicked up a notch.

  ‘Do you two want your photo taken?’ asks an American woman as she walks past us, smiling. ‘Y’all look so cute up here.’

  I smile and feel my cheeks blush.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ says Ben. ‘Might be nice to have a photo of us where I don’t have some sort of mutant arm in the picture.’

  ‘Go back against the railings,’ says the woman, taking Ben’s camera from him.

  I’m about to protest about moving from the safety of the inside of the tower, but Ben starts gently leading me back. I dread to think how close to the edge we are. I start to shake, but he pulls me in close and puts both of his arms around me.

  ‘Say cheese,’ says the woman.

  I barely mumble something, too unsure as to whether I’m nervous about being near the edge or being so close to Ben.

  The woman snaps away and finally content she hands the camera back to us.

  ‘Y’all are such a photogenic couple. Have a great rest of your trip,’ she says before shuffling off.

  I try and mutter that we’re not a couple, but I can’t quite get the words out.

  ‘Do you think Joseph will be suitably jealous of your trip now?’ asks Ben, releasing me from the bear hug and leading me back towards the safety of the wall.

  For a minute I realise that I haven’t even been thinking about Joseph since we got up here, and it breaks the spell I’m under as it hits me that nothing romantic is going to happen with Ben. He’s got Tammy and I’m hopefully going to get Joseph back. Whatever I’m feeling isn’t real, it’s just the city getting under my skin. It’s all those cheesy rom-coms I’ve watched and books I’ve read.

  ‘I’ve had enough,’ I say. ‘Can we go back down?’

  I’ve got to get away from this romantic setting. We’re due back at the station soon for our train home, and right now the dingy railway station with its grime and shifty-looking characters is exactly what I need to purge these thoughts of Ben from my brain.