A Year and a Day

by Isabelle Broom

  She continued uphill through the snow, pausing only when she was high enough to see the bed of the city spread out beneath her. Even the vast, six-storey buildings along the banks of the Vltava looked tiny from up here, and Megan was reminded of the time she and Ollie had played Monopoly one Saturday night. They’d shared a bottle of bubbly as she systematically took him to the cleaners, buying up everything of value and refusing to budge an inch when he landed on one of her properties. Unlike Megan, Ollie wasn’t in the slightest bit competitive – a trait that she found both endearing and frustrating in equal measure. Beating someone who didn’t care about winning was no fun, she’d pointed out to him, and his response had been to blow her a playful kiss across the board.

  By the time she reached Prague Castle, the city’s many clocks were striking the hour, and Megan knew she must head back to the hotel. It wasn’t fair to ruin what was left of this trip by freaking out. And freaking out was exactly what she was doing. Instead, she’d try to act as if nothing was wrong, then talk to Ollie properly when they were back in London.

  Sex with Ollie had been a one-off; something that they should and would be able to put behind them – a bit of holiday fun. Their friendship was the most important thing at stake here – at least it was for Megan. It would be tricky at first, sure – the hairy mammoth in the room with them until some time had passed – but she believed in the power of their united will to be in each other’s lives. She knew she would hate to lose Ollie, and felt pretty confident that he wouldn’t want to cut her out of his life either. Then again, if Ollie’s feelings for her had moved past friendship, he might not be so keen to pretend that nothing had happened. There was only one way to really know for certain how Ollie was feeling about the whole mess, and that was to face up to him.

  He’d always been so lovely to her, and such a supportive friend. Megan couldn’t imagine him turning on her now. But then why, she asked herself, as she came to a nervous halt on the corner of the street leading down to the hotel, was she feeling so utterly terrified that he might?

  35

  Hope woke with the light, as she so often did, letting her eyes adjust at their own pace as she squinted into the half-darkness. She was lying on her side, facing away from Charlie’s side of the bed. It was the same position she’d adopted before falling asleep, the troubling nature of the evening’s events sitting like a boulder on the sheets between them.

  After dinner, Hope had suggested they get an early night. She was exhausted, but she also wanted to check if Sophie was in the bar waiting for them. When Charlie had returned to the table after his pretend trip to the gents, his phone clutched in his hand, Hope had decided not to mention it. She felt like she’d learned a lot about her boyfriend over the past few days, the main thing being that he didn’t like it when she accused him of keeping secrets. He had never been married, unlike her, and hadn’t had a serious relationship for years, so being entirely open with another person must seem like a strange concept. She understood that, sympathised with it even, but his secretiveness still rankled.

  They got as far as the street leading down towards the hotel before Charlie stopped and turned to her, his eyes black under the gleam of a nearby street light and his breath visible in the freezing air.

  ‘I want you to know that I love you,’ he said, catching her by surprise. ‘It’s important to me that you know how I feel.’

  ‘Oh, Charlie.’ She reached for him. ‘I never thought you didn’t. I …’ She stopped, unsure of how to continue.

  ‘It’s okay.’ He cupped her face with a gloved hand. ‘I don’t need you to say anything to me, I just wanted to tell you.’

  Trepidation crept through Hope’s stomach like a prowling cat.

  ‘Charlie, are you okay?’ she asked, hearing the fear in her own voice. ‘You’re not, you know, ill or something?’

  He shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Do you promise?’

  The thought of this big, strong, loving man being poorly, of suffering in any way at all, was unbearable.

  ‘I promise. Now, please will you let me take you back to the hotel?’

  She nodded. ‘Of course.’

  They’d made the rest of the journey in silence, and Hope was ashamed to find herself relieved when a glimpse into the bar revealed no sign of Sophie. Much as she wanted to check on her, she sensed that Charlie needed her more.

  Once upstairs, they made love, but there was a sense of finality to it all that unnerved Hope, and she lay awake long after Charlie dropped to sleep beside her, worry working its way around her mind.

  Now it was morning, and they had another full day to get through. Another whole morning where she said anything but the things she needed to, another afternoon where he hid secrets from her and vanished to take mysterious calls. And what then? On Monday they would fly home, and she would still be living in his tiny flat. Annette would still be lost to her and she would still be lost in her own life, trapped in a maze of confusion, fear and discontent.

  Hope made herself sit up as these thoughts whirred around in her mind, realising as she did so that the bed beside her was empty.

  ‘Charlie?’

  No answer.

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

  ‘Charlie?’ She said it louder this time, thinking that perhaps the bathroom door had muffled her call.

  Nothing.

  Hope got up and padded over to the en suite, opening the door and blinking rapidly as the light stung her eyes. There was no sign of him, and his washbag was gone from the edge of the basin. Perhaps he’d just popped downstairs to get them some coffee, she thought. Or even buy her some flowers. She knew how fond he was of a gesture, and last night had been … Well, she wasn’t sure what it had been.

  She was further alarmed to find Charlie’s coat and hat missing and his case neatly packed, so she quickly showered and dressed, keeping half an eye on the time, then carefully applied her make-up and dried her hair. There was still no sign of Charlie, and she was beginning to feel sick with the sense of foreboding.

  Hope pottered around the room, folding up her worn clothes and hanging up last night’s discarded dress. She made the bed and opened the curtains, pausing to take in the view. The Prague skyline never failed to stop her in her tracks, and she let herself gaze at it for a few moments.

  How much longer should she wait up here? The breakfast room would be closed in half an hour. Perhaps Charlie was already down there, nursing his tenth cup of tea and wondering what the hell she was playing at. It didn’t seem very likely, but it was all she had. Decision made, Hope sat down on the bed and started pulling on her shoes, just as there was a tentative knock on the door.

  ‘Hello?’

  There was a silence, and then she heard Charlie’s voice.

  ‘Go on in,’ he was saying. ‘She’ll be so glad to see you.’

  Abandoning her other shoe and walking briskly over to the door, Hope flung it open and almost collapsed in shock.

  There in the hallway, looking tired, scared and more than a little like she was about to burst into tears, was Annette.

  36

  ‘More coffee?’

  Megan held up Ollie’s empty cup in front of him, her eyebrow raised.

  ‘Sure.’

  She pushed her chair back and headed over to the machine, letting two women go ahead of her. The atmosphere at the breakfast table was becoming unbearable, and she had no desire to rush back.

  ‘Here you go,’ she said, putting the full cup back down on his saucer with more of an enthusiastic flourish than was strictly necessary. Ollie didn’t smile.

  When she’d finally made it back to the hotel after her early-morning jaunt, Megan had found Ollie very much awake and dressed. He’d tidied away the remnants of their previous evening and opened a window, so the bedroom no longer had the tell-tale musky scent that had so freaked her out when she woke up – and he’d even gone out and got her a bunch of flowers. She’d spent the entire walk back going over w
hat she was going to say to him, about how she could make it clear that last night was a one-off, a slip-up, something that would never happen again – but none of it had been necessary. As soon as she’d gaped in ill-disguised horror at his proffered bouquet, Ollie had simply shaken his head.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he’d told her, putting the flowers down on the table and going back to his packing. ‘You don’t need to say anything. I understand.’

  She was relieved, of course, but the defeated look on his face as he’d said those words had almost brought her to her knees with distress. She didn’t think anyone could hate themselves as much as she did right at that moment. She remembered the look on his face the night before in the bar, when he’d kissed her with such a sadness. Had he known all along that she would change her mind? She hated the idea of being that predictable. But what was the alternative – that he didn’t want more than a one-night thing with her anyway, and was glad? That was even worse.

  ‘I went to check on Sophie,’ Ollie added then, changing the subject.

  Megan somehow found her voice. ‘Oh?’

  Ollie frowned. ‘She wasn’t in her room. Well, if she was, she wasn’t answering. I couldn’t find her downstairs, either.’

  Megan took her phone out of her pocket. ‘Well, it is getting on a bit,’ she said. ‘She’s probably just headed out for the day.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Ollie didn’t look convinced.

  He’d waited in the bedroom while she showered and dressed again in the bathroom, feeling a fresh stab of guilt as she discovered the tiny bruises on her neck and chest where Ollie had nibbled and sucked at her. In just a few hours, that closeness between them had evaporated, and now they were trapped in a more uncomfortable place than they had been before coming to Prague – she full of guilt and he muted by resentment. It wasn’t a great combination.

  Megan sipped her own coffee and toyed with the remains of her breakfast. The guidebook was open on the table between them, and she picked it up and flicked to the section covering Nove Mesto – the New Town.

  ‘Shall we go and see this Dancing House?’ she asked, pointing down at the building on the page.

  Ollie’s glasses slid down his nose a fraction as he bent his head to look.

  ‘Sure. Whatever you want.’

  It was as she had feared: he was angry with her. And who could blame him? What she had allowed to happen was so selfish, so stupid, so misguided …

  ‘Megan?’

  She glanced up at him, hopeful. ‘Yes?’

  He scrutinised her for a few seconds. ‘You’ve got egg on your chin.’

  She laughed and reached for a napkin, smiling at him as relief walloped through her. ‘Thank you for telling me,’ she said, dipping the edge of the material into her water glass and dabbing it over her face. ‘You didn’t have to.’

  ‘No.’ Ollie pulled his lips into a thin line. ‘I didn’t. And I was tempted not to.’

  ‘I wouldn’t blame you.’ She sighed, aware that she was straying dangerously close to the subject she didn’t want to discuss. ‘It’s what I deserve, after all.’

  Ollie didn’t say anything to that, just picked up his coffee and continued to stare at her until she looked away.

  Why? She cursed herself. Why had she let this happen? She knew why, though, of course – it was because she had wanted it to happen. She had yearned for it a bit more with every passing hour they’d spent in Prague. But now she’d gone and ruined everything – it was all such a mess.

  They lingered in the breakfast room until the staff began to clear up around them, Megan half-hoping that they’d see Charlie and Hope so she could apologise for failing to meet them the night before. She suspected that Ollie was waiting there in case Sophie showed her face, but there was no sign of anyone else.

  Outside the sun had risen to a middle point in the sky, and the two of them automatically brought their hands up to shield their eyes.

  ‘Wow,’ Ollie remarked, pulling his hat on. ‘Look at that sun. You’ll get some amazing photos today.’

  Little did he realise how much those words stung. If she wasn’t so obsessed with her work, with this exhibition that she’d foolishly gone and booked, then perhaps she wouldn’t be so emotionally crippled. She knew what had happened with Andre had made her wary, but she also knew Ollie was a better man than him. She trusted him not to hurt or betray her, so what the hell was her problem?

  ‘I’ll try my best,’ she muttered, digging around in her bag for her sunglasses.

  They walked in silence for a while, gazing upwards to where the city’s multi-coloured rooftops and dark church spires sat framed against the blue. The sunshine had brought out the tourists, but the temperature prevented anyone from lingering too long in one place. Megan took a few token photos – a tiny dog picking its way over the frozen cobbles with dainty paws, an elderly couple strolling hand in hand through a hidden square among the back streets, their noses bright pink as they took it in turns to point things out to one another – but her heart failed to flutter with inspiration. Beside her, Ollie was quiet, thoughtful and calm – his playful mood of the past few days clearly packed away with the worn socks and pants he’d stowed in his suitcase that morning.

  They made it to the banks of the Vltava, the sunshine casting impressive shadows as it streamed through the neat gaps in the stone wall that ran along the edge of the river. Megan lifted her camera and captured the gulls perched on the wooden struts of the dam, and the ducks bobbing merrily on the surface of the water below. To the right she could see the impressive arches of the Charles Bridge, its statues merely silhouettes in the bright light of the day, and above the bridge, clustered against the side of the hill, Mala Strana stretched upwards to Hradcany and Prague Castle. Black and green spires jostled for space among the textured red rooftops, the riot of colour broken in places by the yellow wash of a building or the curling dance of chimney smoke. Everything was bathed in the strange, slanting sunlight, and right at the top of the hill, St Vitus’s Cathedral loomed, dark and bold and reeking of history. It was a few minutes before Megan realised that she was looking at the scene through the lens of her camera, and she felt a tear of silent jubilation slide down her cheek.

  ‘Hello there.’

  Megan turned at the sound of Ollie’s voice, but he wasn’t talking to her. A pigeon had landed on the wall in front of them, shuffling from side to side on its scrawny pink claws and staring at them through bright beady eyes. Very slowly, Ollie reached out a hand towards it. The pigeon didn’t move, just cocked its smooth head a fraction and considered him. Then, just as Ollie’s hand was about to make contact, it lifted its wings and flew up on to his shoulder.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Megan squealed, her camera slipping in her haste to capture the moment.

  She waited for Ollie to say something cheeky about being irresistible to birds, but he didn’t. He seemed mesmerised by his feathery new friend, and Megan was able to snap away for ages. There was a similar photo of a young Megan framed in her parents’ hallway back home. She was standing in the middle of Trafalgar Square in London with her arms outstretched, covered from hand to hand with pigeons. There was even one on the top of her head. She remembered being dismayed when she’d heard that they were getting rid of those pigeons – what harm could a load of birds really do? Well, now she knew where to bring her children for their own pigeon encounter. If she ever had any children …

  ‘You’re clearly a bird magnet,’ she said, when it became apparent that Ollie wasn’t going to bother making the joke himself.

  ‘Clearly.’

  He wasn’t going to bite. Megan took a deep breath and forced herself to smile. They just had to get through today. Just a few more hours until they’d be on their way home, and could put this trip behind them.

  The pigeon took one last look at Ollie, then launched itself untidily off his shoulder back down to the wall, before taking off to join its friends by the water below. Megan followed it with her camera, feeling exhilarated as
she saw the wind rustle its outstretched feathers. Even pigeons could look majestic when they were mid-flight.

  ‘It left me a little gift,’ muttered Ollie, peering at a white stain that had appeared on the shoulder of his coat.

  Megan burst out laughing, letting her camera drop back on its strap and rummaging in her bag for a tissue.

  ‘It’s supposed to be lucky,’ she told him, standing on tiptoes and gingerly attempting to wipe away the poo.

  ‘The only people that say that are people who haven’t been shat on,’ Ollie replied. He wasn’t laughing, but Megan thought she could see the hint of a smile beginning in the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Oh, come on.’ She nudged him as hard as she dared. ‘You have to admit, it’s pretty funny.’

  ‘Birds shitting on me is the story of my life,’ he muttered, then almost immediately threw her an apologetic glance. ‘Sorry.’

  Megan finished wiping and dropped her grubby tissues into a nearby bin, taking a deep breath before she answered.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she told him, a smile cracking her set jaw. ‘It’s no more than I deserve.’

  Ollie opened his mouth to argue, but then shut it again. After all, he knew just as well as she did that what she’d said was right – she did deserve his resentment. She’d rejected him once, and now she was doing it all over again. No wonder he could hardly bear to look at her.

  ‘Come on,’ he said instead, starting to walk away from the view. ‘Let’s go and find this weird dancing house you’re so keen to see.’

  37

  ‘Mum?’

  Hope stood frozen on the threshold of the room, gazing at her daughter. Could she really be here? Was she still dreaming?

  ‘How?’ she finally managed, gripping the wooden door frame for support.

  Annette fought down her tears, taking a large gulp before she spoke.