A Year and a Day

by Isabelle Broom

  A gust of wind scurried down the lane, and Sophie felt it pass right through her like an errant ghost. She often thought that Prague must be haunted, given its age and bloody history, but this didn’t bother her in the slightest. On the contrary, she found it hard to imagine anyone in Prague being vengeful, whether they were spirit or still living. The city was a place of hope and of happiness; of magic and wishes and beauty. It was this that drew her and Robin back, time and time again. In all the places they’d visited around the world, none compelled them as much as Prague – and their belief in this place and its magic was one of the things they’d held on to over the years. Sophie could feel the spirit of the city creeping into her as it always did, the sense of history a comfort and the promise of dreams coming true a tonic to her melancholy.

  She stayed on Golden Lane until dusk crept up behind daylight and threw its grey shroud over the sky. By now her limbs were stiff with cold and her breath was pooling into the air like smoke. Another day almost over, another cycle of the clock complete. The golden hands of the clock on St Vitus’s Cathedral informed her that she had just a few hours until she had to meet the others as arranged.

  The rain finally started as she made her way back past the viewing platform, the fat droplets chasing a group of tourists down the hill. She looked up just in time to see a flash of untidy blond hair tucked into the collar of a coat.

  ‘Robin!’ she said, loud enough to cause several people to stop and stare. Pushing her way through them, Sophie searched desperately for the man she’d just seen, but he seemed to have vanished completely. There were woolly hats of all colours, a blond head here and a hastily opened umbrella there, but no Robin. Feeling stupid, Sophie put her chin down and hunched her shoulders, slipping off the edge of the pavement and almost losing her footing entirely as her boot landed in an icy puddle. The sudden lurch seemed to unsettle her guts, and an immediate coldness started to creep through her now-shaking legs.

  She was going to be sick again.

  Staggering into people and almost blinded by a combination of nausea and falling rain, Sophie made it to the bottom of the hill and straight through the door of the first restaurant in her path. She barely acknowledged the waitress who stepped forward to greet her, lunging instead for the sign indicating the toilet and clamping a gloved hand over her mouth.

  As she made her way unsteadily through the tables and pushed open the heavy wooden door that led to the ladies, she was vaguely aware of someone saying her name, and then she was on her knees on the cold, tiled floor again, and all she was aware of was pain.

  28

  ‘“Drink the life!”

  ‘What does that even mean?’ asked Megan, a laugh punctuating her question like a jolly exclamation mark.

  ‘What about this one?’ Ollie went on, pointing above her head. ‘“Smile when you read this”.’ The message was written in blue pen, and a smiley face had been added for good measure.

  ‘I am smiling,’ Megan said, searching the surface of the wall for more amusing graffiti. ‘Oh look – here’s one: “Wolf pack 2002. Don’t stop believing”. Believing in what, do you reckon?’

  ‘In the wolf pack, of course,’ Ollie said with a grin, glancing up to the top of the wall before turning to her and taking her hands in his.

  ‘Megan Spencer,’ he began, ‘how can I express that you are awesome?’

  For a few beats, she flushed at the close contact and the intensity in his eyes, but then she recognised the gleam of humour that was also there. Glancing up to where he had been looking, she saw the same question written above their heads in thick black letters, the yellow paint behind them making the words stand out against the brick.

  ‘I like this one,’ she told him, coughing to mask the slight wobble in her voice. Taking back her hands, she walked along the wall and pointed upwards.

  ‘“May the best of your past be the worst of your future”.’

  ‘Poetic.’ Ollie grinned at her.

  ‘I like it,’ she repeated. ‘It’s a nice notion, isn’t it? The idea that the future will be better than the past. What could be more inspirational than that?’

  Ollie nodded. ‘I still prefer the wolf pack,’ he told her. ‘You know, just for the sheer entertainment value.’

  Megan thought about the gloomier moments of her own past, and how every single second since she’d made the decision to walk away from Andre had been a better one. There had been times with him, especially in the early days of their relationship, when she’d genuinely believed that she was happier than she ever had been – or ever could be. How ludicrous that seemed now. If she’d stayed with Andre, she realised, she might never have found her way to Prague. Or to Ollie, for that matter. The idea of a life with no Ollie in it was a horrible one, and Megan felt her cheeks heat up as the realisation took hold of her.

  They’d reached the centre of the long, high wall now, where a black and white painting of John Lennon’s face peered out at them from among the surrounding graffiti. He had no hair, chin or visible cheeks, but it was still undeniably the Beatles star. Megan knew she would recognise those kind, wise eyes behind the tell-tale round-rimmed glasses anywhere, and she immediately lifted her camera.

  ‘Over here,’ Ollie called a few minutes later. He’d found another poetic quote scrawled on the concrete in permanent marker, and he read it out to her as she crouched down beside him to get a better angle.

  ‘“Don’t tell me the sky’s the limit, when there are footprints on the moon”. Now that is deep.’

  ‘I thought you’d love all this stuff,’ Megan said, genuinely surprised at the irony in his tone. ‘You’re all about the positivity usually.’

  ‘I still am.’ Ollie was indignant. ‘Maybe I’ve just seen too many inspirational quotes on Instagram.’

  ‘Oh God, I know exactly what you mean,’ she agreed. ‘But I prefer reading them here on this wall to off an app on my phone. They seem less cheesy somehow. Less try-hard and in your face.’

  ‘If there’s anyone I know who would leave footprints on the moon, it’s you,’ Ollie told her, turning from the wall and fixing her with one of his serious-teacher expressions.

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ She batted away the compliment with a flick of her wrist.

  ‘I mean it,’ he said, taking a step towards her and reaching out a gloved hand to touch her cheek. ‘You’re the most determined woman I’ve ever met, Megs. This whole exhibition you have planned is just incredible – even more so now that I know how much you’ve had to overcome to get to this point. Honestly, you’re an inspiration.’

  ‘Oh shush!’ Megan was blushing so much now that she no longer even felt cold.

  ‘Seriously.’ There was that look again. Ollie hadn’t taken his hand away from the side of her face, but Megan found she enjoyed the feel of it there, so firm but still gentle. ‘I’d be tempted to ask you into the school to speak to the kids about all your achievements, but I’m not sure if I can trust you not to swear.’

  ‘Bloody cheek!’ She laughed.

  Ollie removed his hand at last. ‘I rest my case.’

  Any awkwardness that might have been churning in the air between them was interrupted by a gust of wind so cold that it actually caused Megan to shiver from head to toe like a jelly on a bulldozer. Rubbing her hands over the tops of her arms and stamping her feet, she turned her attention back to the wall.

  ‘Oh, this is cute,’ she said a minute later, lowering the camera so Ollie could read it over her head. ‘“Bob loves Bug – now and forever”.’

  ‘Very sweet,’ he agreed. ‘Bob and Bug sound like they could be cartoon characters. I’m pretty sure there’s a children’s storybook with a character called Bug, who oddly isn’t an insect. In fact, I think he’s a dog. Honestly, kids’ books are weird.’

  He took a few steps back and watched Megan as she continued to snap away, the mechanical clicking of her camera holding a metaphorical hand up to the silence. There was a lot of wall to cover, and she didn’t wa
nt to miss any of it. Each of these drawings and scribbles had their own story, their own individual meaning, and she wanted to capture as many as she possibly could for her exhibition.

  The people who had come here and made their mark on the John Lennon Wall had done so with a wish in their heart, a sense of hope that their words would make a difference. Megan could feel the emotions radiating out from the cold stone, the colours intermingling in an untidy mess of love, desire, anger and pain. There was a rawness to the place that she loved, but there was also a sense of constraint. This was a place where it was permitted and even encouraged to make a statement, and as such there was an unbroken promise that whatever you put here would remain. Layer upon layer of words and images and feelings – it was almost overwhelming.

  She couldn’t be sure how long she’d been taking photos, but when she finally took a step back and looked again for Ollie, he was holding two steaming cups in his hands.

  ‘I went to get tea,’ he told her. ‘It’s bloody freezing standing here, watching you be all Rankin.’

  She opened her mouth to retort, but he cut across her.

  ‘Not that I’m complaining. You know I love watching you work. It’s mesmerising, fascinating and, well, it’s pretty awesome.’

  ‘Oh, stop that,’ she told him, but her smile was making her face ache.

  Something was different between the two of them today. At times when she was with Ollie, Megan felt unsure of how to be – the reminder of that first night when she’d put a halt to the romantic progression of their relationship always lingering in the background, like a nervous toddler behind the legs of its mother. But today, and actually on every day since they’d arrived in Prague, she didn’t feel that same sense of pressure or confusion. What she did feel was content, but it was more than that. She was starting to feel drawn to Ollie in a way that felt like more than the gentle pull of friendship, and increasingly she found herself aware of exactly where he was – of how close he might be to her, how easy it would be for her to reach out and touch him. Their relationship had always been seasoned with mutual banter and teasing, but today they were both being far more mellow with each other – almost tender at times – and far from feeling unnatural or uncomfortable, Megan sensed a part of herself thawing. It may be below freezing in this city, but her insides were bubbling away like a milk frother.

  ‘Did Charlie say anything to you last night?’ she asked him now, accepting her cup of tea with a grateful smile. It was lemon and honey, and smelled delicious.

  ‘About what?’ he asked, casually rearranging the strap of her camera which had twisted on her neck.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, wriggling to free her trapped strands of hair. ‘I mean about that phone call, which he seemed so keen to keep a secret.’

  ‘He didn’t mention it, and I didn’t like to ask,’ Ollie told her, nudging her in the ribs as a particularly overenthusiastic Segway driver almost came a cropper in front of John Lennon’s face.

  ‘Hope didn’t really say anything to us, either,’ Megan said, blowing on her tea to cool it down. ‘She seemed upset, though.’

  ‘Charlie too,’ Ollie said, pausing to take a sip. ‘He did tell me how much he loved Hope, though, and how much he wanted to take care of her. It’s obvious that he’s besotted.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Megan said, but she frowned as she remembered the look on the older woman’s face the night before when she’d been urging Megan to follow her heart, and telling her that she must put herself first. Was Hope starting to have doubts about Charlie?

  ‘Why do relationships always end up being so complicated?’ Ollie asked now. ‘Charlie and Hope clearly love each other, so why can’t that just be enough? Why are they falling out over nothing?’

  ‘Maybe it’s not nothing to her,’ Megan pointed out, remembering the stricken look on Hope’s face when she realised Charlie had slipped away to make that phone call. ‘And I think it’s all well and good to hold love up as some sort of medal, but that’s just the beginning of making something work, surely? Love is at its best when it’s uncomplicated.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Ollie pressed. He’d brought his cup of tea up to his mouth, and the steam coming off the top had turned the lenses of his glasses white in the cold.

  She sighed, suddenly reluctant to be in this territory with him. ‘I just mean that you can love someone all you want, but sometimes that isn’t enough.’

  ‘It should be,’ Ollie said simply.

  ‘Perhaps.’ She shrugged again and looked up at him. His lips were beginning to chap in the cold, and she reached into her bag for the tin of salve she carried everywhere and offered it to him. ‘But look at Romeo and Juliet, Rose and Jack on the Titantic, Ross and Rachel from Friends – they all loved each other, but there were other factors to consider.’

  ‘You do realise those are all fictional characters?’ Ollie was looking at her with ill-disguised bemusement as he dug a finger into her proffered tin.

  ‘Durr.’ She swiped an arm at him. ‘Of course I do. But I’m just using those as examples. You only have to look at poetry and literature from across the ages to understand that the concept of love has been puzzling people since the dawn of time.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Ollie took her empty cup from her hands and looked around them for a bin. ‘But it’s not much of a comfort.’

  ‘Look at Sophie and her fiancé. What’s his name again?’

  Ollie thought for a moment. ‘Robert? No, Robin!’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. Look at those two. They fell in love pretty much at first sight and haven’t looked back since. The way she talks about him, you’d think they were a single entity rather than two people living their own lives.’

  ‘It’s adorable,’ Ollie said, a smile playing on his lips as they left the wall behind and strolled back towards the river.

  ‘Perhaps.’ Megan waited a few beats before continuing. ‘But that level of devotion makes me feel uneasy. I mean, what if he cheats on her or does something unforgivable like Andre did to me? What would she do without him? She’s put so much of herself into him that I’d worry there would be nothing left for her.’

  ‘I guess she just trusts him,’ Ollie replied, but he didn’t sound as sure as he had before.

  ‘I suppose she must,’ Megan said, stepping sideways to avoid a puddle and bashing against him. Ollie’s response was to lean his body back against hers, and she felt that tingle again. She wished he would hold her hand as he had earlier, or put his arm around her to keep her warm, as Hope had done with Sophie. Shaking her head and taking a determined step away from him again, she forced her mind back to the subject they were discussing.

  ‘I just hope he feels the same way, this Robin bloke,’ she said. ‘I hardly know the girl, but for some reason the thought of Sophie being upset just kills me.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ Ollie was nodding. ‘She reminds me of this baby bird we found in the playground last spring. The kids were adamant that we nurse the poor little thing back to health, but of course it never made it through the first night. I sat up with it and tried to feed it bread soaked in warm milk, but its tiny body was just so fragile and—’ He stopped abruptly, and Megan looked up to find his eyes shining beneath his glasses.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked, finally giving in to the nagging urge in her limbs and sneaking a hand into his.

  Ollie looked down at their entwined fingers in surprise, then sniffed.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he assured her. ‘Now I don’t know about you, but I could eat a small building. Shall we wander up towards the castle and stop for a very late lunch?’

  In that moment, and as suddenly as the sharp-edged gusts of wind that kept assaulting them, Megan desperately wanted Ollie to kiss her, but instead she nodded, braving a light squeeze through the layers of gloves.

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  By the time they’d meandered slowly through the slush-splattered streets of Mala Strana and up past the impressive facade
of St Nicholas Church, Megan’s hand had grown hot with longing. Ollie hadn’t let go of her for a second, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore the need that had begun to pulse through her. She could blame the strong tea on top of a small breakfast, but in truth she knew what was happening. After all, she hadn’t put a stop to that kiss with Ollie all those months ago because she wasn’t attracted to him – it had been more complicated than that. The truth was that she was extremely attracted to him, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to keep that information to herself.

  ‘This place looks nice,’ Ollie said, his words yanking apart the thick curtains of lust that had closed up around her.

  The inside of the restaurant was pleasingly traditional, with heavy wooden furniture, giant pretzels hanging from their specially made stands in the centre of each table and a delicious smell of goulash and hot wine in the air.

  They were shown to a small table at the back, and Ollie let go of her hand as they took off their coats, hats and scarves, only to snatch it up again as soon as they sat down. Megan knew she should pull away and break the undeniable spell that had somehow been conjured up between them, but she didn’t. It felt too nice to have him touch her; she wanted to feel him, skin against skin. For once in her life, she was happy to be losing control of the situation, and a thrill trickled through her as she pictured where it could potentially end.

  ‘What are you going to get?’ Ollie asked. He was peering at her curiously, and she wondered if her expression was giving her away. She was surprised there wasn’t a line of drool connecting her bottom lip to the table.

  ‘Oh, probably goulash.’ She narrowed her eyes at his amusement. ‘What? I’m an addict, okay? What’s wrong with a girl liking a bit of meat every once in a while?’

  ‘Oh.’ Ollie licked his lips as he looked at her, his eyes wide with the cheeky sense of humour she’d loved so much when they first met. ‘There’s definitely nothing wrong with that. In fact— Hang on – is that Sophie? Sophie!’