A Year and a Day

by Isabelle Broom

  Pigeons lined the low walls on either side of the vast stone structure, playing a game of copycat with the many statues dotted along beside them. Megan had her camera up to her face and was grinning behind the lens as she snapped away. Ollie walked just behind Sophie, his eyes on her rather than the scenery, almost as if he feared she might keel over at any moment.

  ‘I’m feeling much better now,’ she told him, trying to scatter a sprinkle of truth in amongst her words. The tea had mercifully stayed down, and the three sugars she’d heaped into it were beginning to take effect. Her hands had stopped shaking now, but she still felt unsteady. It was as if the ground below her feet were nothing more than the closed mouth of a terrifying monster, content to go hungry for now, but always ready to open its jaws and swallow her whole.

  She stepped out of the way just in time to avoid being clouted by yet another selfie stick and crashed into Ollie, who had come to a standstill right behind her. Megan, it seemed, had found something exciting on the wall of the bridge and was beckoning for them both to join her.

  ‘Is this what Hope was telling us about?’ she asked them, as soon as they were in range. Sophie looked down to where Megan’s gloved hand was resting, the brushed gold of the two-armed cross dulled by the pale early evening light.

  ‘I think it must be.’ Ollie had answered before Sophie had a chance, so instead she stood nodding her agreement, watching as Megan whipped off her glove and ran her fingers over each of the five golden stars in turn.

  ‘What are you going to wish for?’ asked Ollie. He sounded almost hopeful.

  Megan paused, then closed her eyes, her lips moving soundlessly, her bare fingers still touching the cross.

  ‘There.’ She smiled as she opened her eyes. ‘All done.’

  ‘Come on, then!’ Ollie urged. ‘Don’t keep us in suspense.’

  ‘I can’t tell you what I wished for.’ Megan was aghast. ‘If you tell people your wishes, then they don’t ever come true – everyone knows that.’

  They both turned to Sophie, but she couldn’t reply. Her legs had suddenly turned to tissue paper beneath her, and she crumpled on to the cobbles like a dry autumn leaf.

  ‘Jesus!’ Ollie caught her just before she went right over, and Megan rushed across and knelt beside them.

  ‘I think we need to find you a doctor,’ she said, her face creased with worry. ‘Someone at the hotel will know how to get hold of one.’

  Sophie shook her head weakly from side to side.

  ‘No. I’m fine.’

  ‘Come on.’ Ollie ignored her protestations and hoisted her up. Handing his rucksack to Megan, he crouched down and instructed Sophie to clamber on to his back.

  ‘I’ll piggyback you to the hotel,’ he told her. ‘It’s the most sensible idea. You can have a nap, then if you still feel ill this evening, we’ll help you find a doctor. Deal?’

  Sophie could see that she had very little choice in the matter, so she climbed on, her stomach groaning in protest as Ollie shuffled her up into a more comfortable position.

  ‘I might stay here and take a few more photos,’ Megan said, patting Sophie gently in the small of her back. ‘Shall I meet you in that bar, Don Pisto’s, in half an hour or so?’

  Ollie agreed, and Sophie watched from her perch up on his back as he picked up Megan’s hand and gave it another squeeze. She knew people were turning to look at her, but she didn’t care. It felt nice to be up here, shielded from the world by the bulk of Ollie’s six-foot frame. She wanted to thank him, tell him how grateful she was, how she felt protected and secure, but her nausea was so acute that she didn’t dare even open her mouth.

  As Ollie bounded off along the Charles Bridge, his fingers laced together across his front to stop her legs from slipping, Sophie thought how nice it would be if she could simply close her eyes right now and sleep, just like a child. Then she could wake and it would be the next day – the day that Robin would come back to her.

  31

  Megan watched until Ollie and Sophie vanished from view before turning her attention back to the swooping gaggle of seagulls above her head. Adjusting the shutter speed on her camera, she tried a series of shots in auto mode, before switching over to manual. She wanted to capture the kinetic frenzy of the birds’ beating wings as they jostled for position in mid-air, and for once she wanted the sound to translate into the image, too – all the squawks and cries and shouts from those throwing seed and bread up into the air.

  As she worked, Megan thought about Sophie. There was something going on with her that left a nagging trail of worry in her wake. She was so fragile, like a tiny origami bird, and Megan was proud of Ollie for stepping in and playing the hero, even if she had felt a smear of jealousy stain her mood as she’d watched the small girl wrap her arms and legs around him.

  She remembered Ollie’s comment in the Mirror Maze about meeting someone. It had felt like odd timing, because her mum had asked her just a few days ago how she’d feel if she saw Ollie with another woman. Ever since Megan had introduced the two of them that summer, her mum had been waging a not-so-subtle campaign to get them together. When her gentle hints had no effect, she started resorting to actual begging. Then, when even that failed to dent the resolve Megan had put up like scaffolding, she had turned to sly little remarks like this one, presumably under the impression that her daughter had somehow reached the age of thirty without recognising a blatant attempt at reverse psychology when she heard it.

  The idea of Ollie taking up with someone else had felt unimaginable to her then, but the image had stayed with her and now it was becoming impossible to ignore. Could she really be that girl? Someone who didn’t want a man, but didn’t want anyone else to have him either?

  Megan curled her nose up in self-disgust. It wasn’t a nice trait, jealousy, and selfishness was an even worse one, but there it was. She didn’t want anyone else to have Ollie, but she knew that eventually someone would. He was far too good a man to be passed up by anyone with even the slightest bit of sense.

  Megan couldn’t ignore the way she had been feeling today, the tingles when he played with her fingers across the table, and that constant, almost burning need she had to kiss him. She knew she was veering into very dangerous and very selfish territory indeed, but her loins were beginning to win the battle with her common sense – and it would only take a few helpings of Dutch courage for lust to be crowned overall champion.

  She reached the end of the Charles Bridge and strolled out under the soaring Gothic arch of the Old Town Bridge Tower. The slush covering the cobbles had frozen throughout the afternoon, and Megan relished the crunching sound it made as she stamped over it in her boots. Arriving at the road, she pressed the button and watched as the illuminated sign opposite counted down from thirteen to zero, a cacophony of clicks sounding to let her know it was safe to cross. She loved how the roads here were laced together with tram tracks, the light catching the polished silver as it peeked out from between buildings and statues.

  She had been told once by a walking tour guide in London that you always saw the best of a city by looking upwards as you explored. Even somewhere as outwardly dull and modern as Oxford Street could be transformed if you lifted your eyes above the shop fronts to the often stunning buildings above. Megan loved looking at old photos of London from the years before chain stores took over, vomiting their trashy modern lights and signs up and down the high streets. Her favourites were always the photos of small businesses, such as the local grocery shop or fishmonger’s, with the shopkeeper, his staff and their families lined up outside. Children with grubby cheeks and bright eyes, harassed-looking mothers with a baby balanced on one hip, an old-fashioned wicker basket in their hand, and the men with their trousers hoisted up by vast leather braces, a hat balanced at a jaunty angle on their head and a pipe hanging out from their smiling mouth. Each of those characters had their own story, and Megan could spend hours gazing into their faces, trying to work out what those tales might be.

 
She’d been walking without really paying attention to the direction she was heading, and now realised that she’d missed the turning that took her back to the Old Town, and was instead heading east to Wenceslas Square. Shrugging, she carried on, thinking that it would be just as easy to loop around in a circle as it would be to turn back. And anyway, she was enjoying having the city all to herself for a while. She was free to stop and gaze at how the yellow leaves of a distant tree stood out against the slate-grey of the building behind it. A burst of colour, like one of nature’s very own fireworks, so beautiful that it made her heart beat faster inside her chest. She lifted her camera again and again, pausing to check on her progress and shaking her head when she found it lacking.

  How could anyone ever find this endearing? she thought. She annoyed even herself when she stumbled around over a shot like this, so it must be borderline infuriating for anyone else in the vicinity. It was one of the reasons she knew it was better for her to be single – then she could do whatever she wanted without feeling guilty.

  Megan heard the sound of excited yelps carrying on the breeze and followed her ears to a small open square. A man was standing amid a large group of young children, all of whom were abuzz with excitement as they watched him dip his long rope into a bucket at his feet. He paused for effect, laughing as some of the children began jumping up and down on the spot with anticipation, then he swung up his arm with a flourish and spun around, the giant bubble trailing out behind him from the loop of twine.

  Megan lifted up her camera, feeling the freezing air hit her gums as she smiled behind it. The children had charged forward to try and burst the bubble, and the man was already following it with another, and then a cluster of smaller bubbles. She edged closer, taking a photo of one stray orb just before it burst over the front of her lens, and giggling as the manic kids ran around her legs. They were only marginally less frantic than the birds back on the bridge, and far noisier, but their joy was infectious. Megan wished Ollie had been here to see them, realising as she thought of him that she was probably going to be late to meet him. It was hard to tear herself away, though, and she could still hear the children’s shrieks and cackles long after she turned and headed in the opposite direction.

  Ollie was sitting up at the bar when she arrived, his long legs wrapped untidily around the wooden limbs of a stool and two pints of dark Czech beer in front of him. He hadn’t heard her come in, and she took advantage of the fact to stand and watch him for a time. His floppy brown hair had been turned slightly static by the combination of his ridiculous hat and the tropical central heating in Don Pisto’s, and a few strands were swaying drunkenly up in the air away from the rest. His trainers were stained and looked soggy from the wet ground outside, and one of the sleeves of his coat had turned inside out when he took it off.

  For some reason, that final small detail suddenly and inexplicably made up Megan’s mind, and she walked straight over to the bar, pulled Ollie’s arm until he swung around to face her, and kissed him full and hard on the mouth.

  There was a beat as Ollie registered what was happening, then he kissed her back with a keen urgency that made her grip the bar to stay upright. Pulling off her hat, he ran his hands into her tangle of hair, his fingers massaging her scalp as his tongue tasted first the inside of her top lip, then the fleshy part of her bottom lip. One of her hands was still on his arm, but she lifted the other one off the bar and used it to pull his body against hers, slipping between his legs and feeling the rigid edge of the stool against her stomach.

  Around them, music played and people continued to chat, their own world totally unaffected by the two people kissing at the bar beside them. Megan heard herself gasp with pleasure, letting her head droop backwards and feeling Ollie’s lips on her throat, behind her ear, on her flushed cheeks. She kissed the lobe of his ear, keeping her eyes closed and feeling her way across his face until she found his glasses, slipping them off so she could push her face even closer to his. Their breath was becoming ragged, and as he pulled her further forward against him, Megan could immediately feel how much he wanted her. She, too, was aware of an intense throbbing between her legs, that sensation of wanting him, of needing him.

  ‘Shall we go back to the hotel?’ Ollie’s breath was hot against her neck.

  ‘Yes!’ her body screamed, but she slowly shook her head.

  ‘Not yet.’

  Ollie nodded, resting his forehead against hers and waiting while his heart rate returned to normal. Megan leaned in and kissed him again, lightly this time, her smile tickling his cheek. She could already feel the light burn on her face where his faint stubble had made contact, and she shivered with happiness. Ollie pulled back a fraction and kissed the top of her head, her eyelids, and her brows, before stopping to stare at her.

  ‘Megan, I don’t …’ he began, but hesitated when he saw the look on her face.

  ‘Can we not talk about it?’ she begged, her voice small. ‘Please.’

  He frowned momentarily but didn’t say anything else; instead picking up his pint and taking a long, deep, gulp.

  The temptation to pull him back towards her was palpable, but Megan forced herself to stare at the floor until her heart stopped its incessant clattering. This was new territory for both of them, and she had no idea what to say to him.

  ‘How was Sophie when you left her?’ she asked at last, steering the conversation firmly on to neutral ground. She’d shrugged her own coat off now and was busy unravelling her scarf from where Ollie had yanked it down out of the way. Their kiss had left her flushed and sweaty with exertion, and she gratefully reached for her beer as she clambered up on to the stool next to him.

  ‘She was very quiet.’ Ollie hesitated for a moment and then put his free hand on her thigh. ‘I bought her a bottle of Prague’s finest cola from the bar. I thought she should have some sugar.’

  ‘Good thinking.’ Megan smiled at him over the top of her glass, slipping her foot across so it rested on the wooden rung between his feet. She could still feel the imprint of his kisses on her throat, and put up an instinctive hand to touch herself. Had it really just happened? Had she really just walked in here and kissed Ollie?

  ‘I hope she’s okay,’ Megan went on, pressing her knee against his leg. ‘It was crazy the way she just keeled over like that on the bridge.’

  ‘Do you think she might have an eating disorder or something?’ Ollie asked. He hadn’t put his glasses back on yet, and Megan studied his eyes as he spoke. She must have looked into them hundreds of times, but today they looked more vibrant than ever. In the dim light of the bar, their hazel colour had been turned so dark that it could almost be mistaken for black, and the lashes framing them were short and thick.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Megan frowned. ‘I thought she might be pregnant, but she laughed at me when I suggested it.’

  ‘Do you think it’s weird that she’s here on her own?’ Ollie asked, reaching up and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. She knew she should really go to the bathroom and brush it, but she was worried that leaving Ollie, even for a few minutes, would pop the nice bubble they were floating in.

  ‘I don’t think she planned it that way,’ Megan replied, turning her head so that her lips brushed against his fingers. ‘From what I gather, they were supposed to come here together, her and her bloke, but he then got held up at home.’

  ‘I’m not convinced he’ll even show up.’ Ollie looked concerned as he said it, as if the idea had only just occurred to him. ‘Why would he wait so long?’

  Megan resisted the temptation to pull him off his stool and back into her arms. ‘This isn’t like you, Mr Morris,’ she said quietly. ‘What happened to love conquering all? Isn’t that what you usually say?’

  She couldn’t stop staring at his lips, wishing that he would kiss her again.

  ‘That was the old me,’ he said, one eyebrow arching upwards, mocking her. ‘I’m not sure I’m brave enough to believe that any more.’

  ‘Wel
l,’ she told him, ‘we’ll find out soon, won’t we? Sophie told Hope and me that Robin’s flight gets in tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘I hope he comes,’ Ollie said, stepping down from his stool and finally pulling her gently forward into his arms. ‘She’s such a sweet girl – she deserves to be happy.’

  Megan closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of his chest against her cheek. She could hear his heart beating through his thick jumper – a slow, steady, comforting rhythm – and wrapped her hands around so she could slip them into the back pockets of his jeans. For a tall man, Ollie had a pleasingly round bottom, and she squeezed it appreciatively.

  ‘Now, now,’ Ollie whispered. ‘Any more of that and I’ll be piggybacking you to the hotel, too.’

  ‘It’s your fault for being so damn sexy,’ she murmured, digging her nails in a fraction harder.

  In all the time that they’d been friends, Megan had never paid Ollie a compliment – certainly not one like this. He was forever telling her how talented she was, how much he admired her work, how much she made him laugh. Then today he’d told her that she was beautiful, and she’d actually believed him. Andre had never commented on her looks, and the more time she spent with him, the more she hid herself away under baggy clothes. When she looked at herself in the mirror now and saw her ribbons of golden hair, her mother’s bright eyes and the neat way her lips were tucked under her small nose, she wasn’t appalled, but she wasn’t totally satisfied either. To Ollie, however, it seemed that she was everything. Megan had never needed a man’s approval – she hated the idea that her self-worth could be reliant on someone’s opinion – but she had to admit it felt nice to be cherished in this way.

  She listened to Ollie’s heartbeat quicken as she moved her fingers across the small of his back. They had spent so much time alone together over the past few months, sitting in the pub on a Sunday afternoon, playing beer pong on a rooftop bar in Brixton, walking up Parliament Hill and eating ice cream with the capital city spread out below them – but nothing had ever happened. He’d never reached for her hand or touched her face, as he had here in Prague, and she’d never really wanted him to. The fact that they seemed to have slipped so seamlessly and suddenly into this shared cubicle of intimacy surprised Megan as much as it delighted her. There wasn’t any awkwardness at all this time, and his kiss had felt right. Better than that, it had felt almost inevitable.