A Year and a Day

by Isabelle Broom

  ‘Come on.’ She grabbed Charlie’s arm. ‘Thanks again,’ she said over her shoulder, before hurrying back the way they’d just come.

  It didn’t take Hope long to find what she was looking for. The rectangular structure was far smaller than any of the statues, its decorative lattice made from twisted curls of bronze. In the centre was a separate, smoother section depicting the Charles Bridge and St John Nepomuk in the water below, his eyes closed and the five stars in a halo around his head. In front of this, set into the stone of the bridge, was a gold cross with an extra branch through its centre, and on the end of each branch was a star.

  ‘This must be it!’ Hope clapped her hands in delight. ‘It feels magical; don’t you think?’

  Charlie pulled a face. ‘I’m not really into all this hocus-pocus stuff.’

  Hope felt herself deflate. For the first time since they’d met, he had just reminded her exactly of Dave, and it wasn’t a pleasant realisation. She had thought that Charlie was Dave’s opposite in pretty much every way, but perhaps she had been mistaken.

  ‘But what if it is true?’ she persisted. ‘It’s got to be worth a try.’

  Charlie shrugged again. ‘I already have everything I could ever wish for; I don’t need anything else.’

  ‘You’re very sweet,’ she said, reaching up a hand to stroke his cheek.

  As he leaned down to kiss her, his warm body so solid against her own, Hope slid her other hand behind her and made a silent wish in her head.

  15

  Prague felt smaller today.

  Perhaps it was because there was barely a corner of it that she and Robin had not explored, or maybe it was just that overwhelming sense of familiarity. Sophie felt the same way when she stood at her bedroom window back at the farm and looked out towards the distant hills. She knew exactly how many miles there were between herself and the horizon, how many acres of green and brown patchwork land lay stretched from the edge of the farmland to the bottom of those faraway clouds, but she still felt as though she could gather it all up into her arms.

  Hope and Charlie had asked her if she wanted to head to the Charles Bridge with them, which was very sweet, but Sophie had politely declined. She’d already made up her mind that she wanted to come up here, to Letna Park, where she could enjoy a view of the whole city without having to jostle for space beside the tourists.

  Letna Park was situated in the north of Prague, just above where the Vltava River curved its way around the city’s Jewish Quarter, and it was largely uncluttered by foreign visitors – especially at this time of year, when last week’s leftover snow still lay in thick drifts on the grass. Holidaymakers were also put off by the number of steps you were required to climb to reach the top, and even now Sophie could feel the muscles in her legs tingling with fatigue.

  She’d crossed the road at the base of the hill and taken the steps leading up to the right of the park, which would bring her out not far from the large red and black metronome sculpture where all the paths converged. Sophie didn’t care much for the structure itself, thinking it too industrial in style, but she did have a special reason for coming up here. The last time she and Robin had visited Prague during the summer, over two years ago now, they’d headed up to Letna Park on a Sunday afternoon to take advantage of the large beer garden over on the eastern side. They had taken the same route as Sophie had today, and upon reaching the summit they’d come across a group of young Czechs tossing their trainers high up in the air, where they snagged and hung on a thin strip of rope that had been strung from the metronome to a nearby tree.

  Robin had laughed his head off as they watched pair after pair being flung into the air, only to come crashing back down to the ground, narrowly missing the heads of their exuberant owners. Someone had brought a radio up with them and the atmosphere was one of such frivolity that it was impossible not to get caught up in it. In true Czech style, it wasn’t long before one of the teenagers approached Sophie and Robin and beckoned them to join the party.

  ‘I think we should add our shoes,’ Robin said, grabbing her hands. ‘Come on! It’ll be fun.’

  ‘You’re mad,’ Sophie told him, pointing down at her trainers. ‘I only brought one pair with me. I can’t really spend the next four days wandering around in my socks.’

  ‘You can buy some more.’

  ‘We’re on a budget as it is, you wally. And anyway, these are brand-new Converse – there’s no way I’m tossing them up on that rope for anyone. Not even for you,’ she added, as she saw him start to make that ridiculous face that he always pulled when he wanted to get his own way.

  ‘Spoilsport,’ he laughed, leaning over to kiss her before leaping to his feet. ‘You can be boring if you like, but I’m going for it.’

  And he did, too. He undid his battered old trainers and tied the laces together, frowning with concentration as he made sure the knot was secure, and then positioned himself right underneath the rope.

  ‘You reckon I can get them up there first time?’ he asked.

  Sophie nodded. ‘I have no doubt in my mind.’

  The Czech teenagers began to clap and whoop as Robin got into position, his legs stretched apart and his now-bare feet planted firmly on the stone floor.

  ‘After three!’ he yelled, and they all began to chant.

  ‘Three … Two … One … TOSS!’ screamed Sophie, totally caught up in the moment, her eyes never leaving her boyfriend’s face as he frowned, squinted, bent his knees, raised his arms and threw the shoes high into the air. For a few seconds everyone held their breath, and then there was a thunder of rapturous applause. He had done it: Robin had thrown his only pair of shoes up on to a rope – and got them to snag and catch on his first try.

  He flopped back down next to Sophie to accept his victory kiss, laughing into her mouth as one teenager after another ran over to pat him on the back.

  ‘My boyfriend, the hero,’ she said, one eyebrow firmly raised.

  ‘Never let it be said that I’m not adept at tossing,’ he quipped. ‘If the tossers of the world were to adopt a king, I think I could fulfil that role with aplomb.’

  ‘Idiot.’ Sophie poked him in the ribs, but Robin hadn’t finished.

  ‘If I don’t answer my phone, just assume that I’m off somewhere perfecting the art of tossing,’ he told her. ‘Some people are just natural-born tossers, and I am proud to call myself a tosser!’

  ‘Shut up!’ Sophie clambered on top of him and tried to stop him talking by putting her hand over his mouth, but Robin simply bit her.

  ‘Ow!’ She laughed. ‘Just promise me you’ll stop saying the word “tosser” and I’ll get off.’

  ‘But getting off is one of the aims of tossing.’ He grinned at her mischievously.

  ‘Robin Palmer, you are a very naughty boy!’ she scolded, but didn’t move from his lap. She liked having him here, clamped between her thighs, his lips at the perfect height for her to kiss them. Robin seemed to sense the slight change in mood and ran his hands around her waist, gripping the small of her back.

  ‘All this talk of tossing is making me thirsty,’ he murmured.

  ‘Me too,’ she agreed. ‘I suppose we should go to the beer garden.’

  ‘We should.’ He looked down at his shorts and then back up into her eyes. ‘If I don’t take you off my lap soon, I’m going to lose whatever I have left of my self-control, which isn’t much – and there are children present.’

  She giggled at this and shuffled backwards off his knees, averting her eyes while he rearranged his shorts and stood up.

  They waved to the group of locals still attempting to throw their shoes up on to the rope and strolled off into the depths of the park. Sliding his arm around Sophie’s shoulder, Robin leaned across and said, ‘Do you think there’s a shoe shop anywhere in this park?’

  It had been such a fun day, and after they’d collected their beers they’d spent hours sitting side by side in the grass, chatting about everything and nothing, about their futur
e plans and their past adventures. Sophie made a daisy chain and put it carefully on the top of Robin’s blond head, and he in turn made her squeal by threatening to stick his muddy big toe in her mouth. It had just been the two of them, the park and the sunshine, but it had been perfect.

  Letna Park looked very different today, the trees stripped of their leaves by the unstoppable cold fingers of winter and the grassy banks transformed by the snow. But Robin’s shoes were still there, blackened by age and exposure but unmistakably his. After all, Sophie thought with a smile as she stood staring up at them, who else would wear floral trainers and get away with it?

  She left the metronome and hanging shoes behind and took the path along to the pavilion. There was a café at the front with a terrace that overlooked the city, but there were no signs of life coming from inside as she approached. Sophie didn’t mind – in fact, she was grateful to have the view all to herself.

  The weather wasn’t the greatest today, with thick grey and white clouds blocking out the sun and a persistent drizzle making everything smell damp and musty. Very little could distract from the beauty of this view, however, and Sophie stood for a time just letting her eyes devour every little detail. There was the Charles Bridge, so distinct from the five others she could see, with its statues silhouetted like chess pieces against the grey sky. She could see the castle from here, as well as the Observation Tower on the top of Petrin Hill. To the east she could make out the futuristic outline of the Zizkov TV Tower, so unusual yet somehow so at home, and on the opposite side of the Vltava River, right in front of her, the various towers looming out of the Old Town Square. Again she had that feeling, that impression of the city shrinking in around her.

  It didn’t make sense to feel suffocated up here on the hill, with so much space around, but as she looked out at the familiar landmarks, Sophie felt a heaviness on her chest. It was as if someone had reached inside her and was gripping her heart, and she closed her eyes, gulping in mouthfuls of air until she heard her heart begin to slow down. Not caring about the wet ground, Sophie allowed her knees to buckle and sat on the concrete floor, her head resting against the metal bars of the terrace and black spots dancing in her eyes. Her brain was suddenly a lava lamp, her heart a shattered stone. It should have been frightening, but Sophie felt oddly calm. She concentrated on her breathing, counting to four with each breath and watching drips of melted snow fall from the branches of the trees on to the ground.

  ‘Just a few more days,’ she whispered. ‘Not long now.’

  She could feel the snow seeping through her jeans and forced herself to stand, her legs shaking as she walked slowly away from the view and back down the steps into the park.

  16

  ‘Remind me again why we didn’t take the funicular?’

  Megan sighed. ‘Because, unlike the name suggests, they aren’t very fun.’

  Ollie rolled his eyes. ‘How do you know? You’ve never been on one.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been on the Docklands Light Railway, and that’s no fun at all,’ she told him. ‘And anyway, I thought your hangover could use a walk.’

  ‘And?’ Ollie had stopped walking and she turned to face him.

  ‘And what?’

  ‘There’s always another “and” with you, Ms Spencer. Out with it.’

  ‘Okay, okay – and I want to take photos for my exhibition. Happy now?’

  ‘Yes. But my feet are still cold. And I think one of my shoes must have a hole in it.’

  Megan looked down at Ollie’s waterlogged trainers and laughed. ‘Why didn’t you bring some proper boots, you idiot? I told you it had been snowing over here.’

  ‘But there isn’t any snow down in the city bit,’ Ollie grumbled, looking around them at the snow-covered grass of Petrin Hill. ‘I didn’t know you were going to make me wade through it.’

  Megan, who was feeling very smug with her feet cosily laced up in a pair of fur-lined boots, jumped from the path on to the grass and kicked a big lump of snow in Ollie’s direction.’

  ‘Very mature,’ he said drily, wiping the end of his nose on his glove and removing his glasses. ‘You do know what you’ve done now, though, don’t you?’

  Megan laughed and skipped through the snow some more, bringing her leg back as if to kick another clump at him, but then stopping at the last minute, just as Ollie flinched and raised his hands up to shield his face.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she taunted. ‘Afraid of a bit of snow, Mr Morris?’

  Ollie didn’t move for a second or two, just stood there giving her a look that she was pretty sure he usually reserved for the naughtiest children in his classroom, and then suddenly lurched forward and grabbed two huge handfuls of snow. Before she could really register what was happening, he’d pulled down the back of her coat and her scarf and rammed the whole lot down her back.

  ‘AARGH!’ she screamed, dancing around in circles. ‘It’s in my knickers!’ She raised her fist but missed him completely. Ollie was resting both his hands on his knees and roaring with laughter, his cheeks pink with mirth.

  ‘I’m going to kill you!’ she raged, grabbing up her own snowball and tearing after him down the path. Unfortunately, she didn’t see the big patch of black ice, and the next second she was lying on her back, the wind knocked out of her lungs and the snowball she’d been carrying to hurl at Ollie plastered all over her own face.

  ‘Shit!’ Ollie came running back and knelt down beside her. ‘Are you okay, Megs?’

  ‘No,’ she snapped, but she couldn’t help but laugh, which wasn’t easy without any air left to laugh with.

  ‘You went down like a sack of sh—’

  ‘Don’t say it,’ she growled at him. ‘Pick me up.’

  He did as he was told and hauled her to her feet, letting go of her hand a fraction later than was strictly necessary.

  ‘Here.’ He scooped up a handful of snow. ‘I’ll let you get me back with this. Go on, right down the pants – I won’t even fight you.’

  ‘What’s the fun in that?’ she muttered, but took the snow anyway and dumped the lot on his head.

  ‘And to think I was worried about one cold, wet foot,’ Ollie said, blinking as part-melted snow dripped down his face and over his glasses.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Megan groaned, rubbing her back and sending up a silent prayer of thanks that Ollie had offered to carry her camera bag up the hill. If she’d come down on her back and destroyed that … It didn’t bear thinking about. ‘I think we should have taken the bloody funicular.’

  Ollie pulled a face. ‘Don’t be like that,’ he said, unzipping her bag. ‘Here, take some photos – it always cheers you up.’

  As usual, he was absolutely right, and he even leapt around in the snow making various stupid faces to make her laugh.

  ‘These are all NFF, by the way,’ he warned, poking his head out from behind a tree and grimacing at her like a gargoyle.

  ‘NF what?’ Megan asked, zooming right in for an extreme close-up.

  ‘NFF: Not for Facebook. It’s what all the cool kids are saying.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure cool kids don’t use Facebook,’ she informed him. She knew this to be true because she used it all the time, and she was probably the least trendy person on the planet.

  ‘That Eiffel Tower place still looks miles away,’ Ollie said, changing the subject and peering up through the twisted mesh of branches to where the Observation Tower loomed over the crest of the hill.

  ‘It is pretty steep,’ Megan agreed. Her legs were on fire and her back still ached from where she’d taken a tumble, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Ollie, who had barely broken a sweat since they set out that morning.

  They carried on along a gently sloping path for a while, and occasionally Megan would hang back to take photos. It was such a treat to be in real snow. It hadn’t snowed in London for what felt like years, and she loved the way it gave everything such a fresh canvas. Bland, brown forests were instantly transformed into magic
al fairylands, leaking roof gutters dripped into sparkling icicles and the sky was washed white and clean, as if someone had thrown a dust sheet over the sun.

  Not all the photos she took were of her surroundings, though – she was also taking lots of photos of Ollie that he wasn’t posing for. He looked far better when he was bent over examining an abandoned water fountain, or a submerged patch of flowers, than he did when he was doing his best Golem impression. In some of her photos, he looked really handsome, not that she would ever tell him that.

  After a time, they reached a very long and very steep set of stone steps, all covered in a frozen layer of snow that looked dangerously slippery. Megan and Ollie exchanged a look.

  ‘Do you think this is the only way up?’ he asked, peering at the little brown sign which clearly indicated that the Observation Tower was indeed at the top of this death trap.

  ‘Well …’ Megan considered the question. ‘We could go back down and pick up the funicular after all, but it might take ages.’

  ‘Nah.’ Ollie shook his head. ‘This will be fine. There’s a handrail. You go up first, then if you fall again I can catch you.’

  ‘My hero,’ she drawled, blowing a kiss at him.

  They set off determinedly up the hill, their concentration disintegrating quickly into shared giggles as they skated around on the ice like a couple of drunks. Halfway up, the steps gave way and became a smooth, steep slope, and Ollie and Megan had to stop just to laugh as a young Italian couple slid past them on their bottoms, both hysterically cackling as they held hands and tried to stop each other from careering right off the path.

  ‘It’s even harder to balance when you’re laughing,’ Ollie called, turning to see Megan flail helplessly into a tree. ‘I see now why this is more fun than the funicular.’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh!’ she yelled back, creasing up as Ollie’s right leg zoomed out from under him so he was forced to do a mini-jig on the ice to stay upright. Megan’s legs and arms had turned wobbly from laughing and she was on the verge of going down on to her hands and knees and crawling up the hill that way when they reached another set of steps.