by Sadie Mills
'Don't ever leave me,' she breathed. 'I think I'd die if you did.'
Joshua's eyes blinked open.
He held her back by the shoulders. She swayed giddily on the worktop, thick black lashes drawn shut. Cheeks flushed, lipstick long disappeared; thick blonde hair all over the place. He searched her face, fingertips running down her soft cheeks, resting on her chin; gently tilting it upward.
'Did I hurt you? Are you OK?'
He glanced down at her ripped dress then at the floor, stepping back and running his hands through his hair.
'No, I liked that,' he heard her say.
Josh glanced up at her; met with her wicked blue eyes. To his astonishment, she was laughing.
'Oh, you did, did you?'
'Uh-huh!' she nodded, bursting into a grin, wrapping her pale, slender arms around him again, planting a kiss on his lips.
'Promise me you'll be careful though,' she said quietly; seriously. 'I worry about you so much.'
She reached forward and stroked his tanned face, running her fingers through his damp, curly hair; smiling sadly.
'I really do love you, you know.'
Joshua stared back at her, eyes glinting like emeralds in the afternoon sun.
'I'm always careful,' he smirked. 'Careful is my middle name.'
'No it isn't. It's Archibald—'
'Right, that's it!'
Before she had chance to say anymore, one arm gripped her back, the other the crook of her knees. He swung her up in the air.
Lucy threw her head back and laughed as the ceiling changed from the kitchen to the living room; from the hallway to the boudoir. Joshua grinned down at her. Lucy giggled. She squealed as he threw her down on the bed.
Just popped to the shops - we're out of coffee.
See you in a bit baby X
Lucy held the crumpled piece of paper in her fingertips, frowning at the black swirly writing, glancing at the dent in the pillow where his head had been.
She felt her gut clench.
Oh God, not again...
She only just made it to the bathroom, for the umpteenth time.
The frog's legs were heavenly the first time around: not so much the second. She spat out the last traces, flushing the toilet, heaving herself from the black and white tiles to her wobbly legs. She brushed her teeth voraciously. Lucy stood under the shower, shrinking back from the ice cold blast with a whimper, before surrendering herself to the soothing stream of warm water.
She'd seen a green cross on the main street as they arrived back in the taxi, just outside the little courtyard. Lucy blasted her hair with the scalding drier, scrunching it in her fingers. She wasn't straightening it again anytime soon.
She dressed quickly, yanking on her faded blue jeans and a white camisole, pulling on her dusky rose merino cardigan. She thrust her bare feet into her trainers. She'd seen a key hanging from a hook in the kitchen. She tried it in the front door; it fit.
'Bonjour,' said the old man behind the counter, looking up at her over his spectacles.
'Bonjour,' said Lucy, quickly scanning the shelves.
She knew exactly what she was looking for: a little pink bottle. She balked. This most definitely was not the right aisle.
'Vous cherchez quelque chose en particulier?"
Lucy's head turned; she flinched. The little pharmacist was standing right behind her.
'I'm sorry,' she said embarrassedly, looking at him, then a Trojan condom display, then down at the floor. 'I... I don't understand.'
The little Frenchman's smile crinkled around his blue-grey eyes.
'Zat's OK,' he said quietly. 'I can speak English.'
Lucy's gaze bounced back up.
Oh thank God!
Her stomach was still grumbling away. She wasn't sure how long she had left.
The little Frenchman smiled up at her kindly.
'How can I help you, Mademoiselle?'
'Do you sell Pepto Bismol?' she asked hopefully.
His brow crumpled.
'I'm afraid not,' he said, smoothing the sparse silver strands across his shiny pink scalp.
'To be honest wiz you,' he shrugged with a chuckle, palms facing skyward, 'I don't even know what it is.'
Lucy's heart sank.
'Don't worry, Mademoiselle,' he told her, wagging a finger. 'Just come wiz me and explain the problem. I'm sure we can find just the ‘sing for you, if not just as good, then better perhaps.'
'An upset stomach, you say?'
Lucy squirmed in the plastic chair.
'Yes.'
'What do you mean exactly by zis?' he asked, peering over his glasses again.
Lucy gaped at him.
Jesus, don't make me spell it out...
'...Vomiting? Diarrhoea?' he probed, waving his hands in the air.
'Yes, yes,' she nodded quickly, evading his gaze. 'Both... And heartburn.'
'Heartburn?'
'Heartburn.'
'And how long have you had zese symptoms?'
He stared at her, head cocked, like a bird listening for worms.
'I don't know... a day or so? It started on the ferry ride over.'
'And is zer any pain?' he asked her.
'Well, no, not after...'
Lucy suddenly realised what she was saying.
Argh, God! Could this be any more embarrassing?
'OK, OK,' he nodded. 'Zat's enough.'
He vacated the brown plastic chair opposite her; just like the ones that had scraped the floor at her high school. The pharmacist wandered over to the shelves. Lucy hesitantly followed him. He placed a little white box down on the counter.
She took her purse from her handbag.
'How much do I owe you?'
He held up his forefinger, looking distracted.
'One moment please.'
He turned away from her, bald head shining beneath the halogen lights, pink neck crinkling as he peered up, scouring the shelves again. She watched him climb up onto the grey kick-stool.
He reminded her a little bit of her old chemistry teacher, Mr Thornton. She smirked to herself, remembering his thick Yorkshire accent; the hours of torment in the classroom. Lucy was terrible when it came to periodic tables, but he was at least a nice guy. The pharmacist clambered back down, placing another couple of packets on the counter.
'Zese,' he said, pointing to the smallest of the boxes.
Lanzor.
'You take only one of zese per day. 'Zey are for ze heartburn.'
'Zese,' he said, jabbing a finger.
Zofran.
'Zese will help with ze nausea. Take two each day after breakfast.'
'And zese?' he said, patting the Immocel. 'Zese are to treat the diarrhoea. Take two in the morning, then another every time you pass a loose stool—'
'OK, OK,' Lucy said impatiently, holding her hands up.
The pharmacist looked down and smirked.
'Just don't take more than eight of zese per day,' he warned her. 'You understand?'
Lucy nodded back quickly.
'Yes!'
Her cheeks were on fire.
'Now, zer is one last question I must ask...'
Lucy's gaze bounced back to him. His grey eyes pinned her to the spot through the spectacles.
'...What's that?'
He glanced down at her left hand, then looked back up.
'Forgive my boldness, Mademoiselle, but zer is no way you might be pregnant?' he asked her gently. 'It is just zat nausea and heartburn... zese are classic symptoms.'
Lucy laughed, shaking her head.
'No,' she said flatly. 'Absolutely no way at all.'
'I'm sorry, Mademoiselle. Forgive me for asking.'
His gaze fell to the cash register. He started tapping away.
'It's just zat, if you were,' he said quietly, 'I would not recommend any of zese medicines. Zey could harm ze baby...'
He smiled up at her.
'Zat will be eleven euros and eighty seven cents please, Mademoiselle.'
Lucy paid the man and stepped out of the shop. She walked back across the cobbled street towards the apartment, the glow of relief gradually replaced by unease.
She paused as she stepped through the stone archway, glancing back at the green cross.
The pharmacist looked up in surprise as the door jingled open. Lucy grabbed a blue and white box from the shelf; stalking up to him.
'I think I'll take one of ze... these,' she said, placing it down on the counter.
'You know,' she shrugged. '...Just to make sure.'
He smiled back, nodding at her.
Lucy felt her bag vibrate as she stepped out of the shop. She swallowed, pulling out her phone.
Please don't be him... Please don't be him...
Lucy's shoulders sagged. It was Froggy.
Thank God!
Heya kiddo. Eiffel tower 4PM. Be there or be square.
PS Love the frock ;)
Her eyes bulged.
'Fucking hell!'
In a beat, Lucy was running.
'Eiffel Tower, please!' Lucy panted, slamming the cab door shut behind her.
The driver smiled back at her in the rear view mirror.
'Ah, you are English?'
'Yes,' Lucy nodded. He flashed his teeth again, leisurely starting the engine.
'You are here on holiday?'
They crawled along the cobbles at a snail's pace. The cab radio bleeped and burbled incomprehensibly; the driver burbling back. Lucy's heart sank as she checked her watch. They only had seventeen minutes.
'Yes. Holiday, yes.
'Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I need to be there by four o'clock. Is there any way we can do it?'
She couldn't even see it now that she was down at street level, just a maze of cobbles and shops; baroque architecture.
'At 'zis time of day?' the taxi driver chortled. 'Impossible!'
'Oh God!'
Lucy clenched her fist in her hair. She couldn't miss it; she had to be there.
The driver's dark eyes caught hers in the rear view mirror as they sat at the red light.
'Put your seatbelt on.'
Lucy did as she was told. When the light turned green, they screeched away; bouncing down the cobbled street. The driver tooted his horn; her fingers gouging the black leather passenger seat in front as they swung around to the right.
They hit the smooth main road, like a bat out of hell.
'What is the emergency?' he asked her gravely.
Lucy chewed her lip for a moment.
'Can you keep a secret?' she asked him.
His sooty eyes stared back in the mirror.
'Mademoiselle, my lips are sealed.'
'It's my boyfriend. He's going to jump.'
The driver's eyes almost popped out of his head.
'Merde alors!' he boomed, head spinning to her briefly, then back again, eyes flickering across the road ahead. 'He's going to kill himself? ...We must call ze police!'
She watched in dismay as he reached for the radio controls.
'No-no!'
Lucy reached out, squeezing his stocky arm through the starched blue cotton shirt.
'He isn't going to...'
She clenched her eyes shut briefly, shaking the idea.
'BASE jumping?' she said hopefully, blue eyes flaring.
The frown made it patently clear that he didn't understand.
'...Parachuting?'
His arm relaxed in her fingers, sinking back.
'Parachuting?' he said, raising his eyebrows.
Lucy let go, knotting her fingers in her lap.
'Yes,' she nodded, glancing up at him guiltily. The driver sighed, smoothing the scant black fuzz with a chubby hand. His crown gleamed, brown as a conker.
She felt the front of the car lift; heard the engine rev louder; gripped the seat as they began weaving.
'Zen I suppose we had better hurry up.'
She squinted down at her watch. Eight minutes left.
'It is very selfish of him, no?' the driver said thoughtfully. 'I mean, forgive me for saying, but to bring a beautiful young lady like you to Paris...'
Lucy stared out of the window, barely suppressing the eye roll.
Oh, here we go...
'...Only to frighten her like 'zis?'
She watched the crinkles of his thick neck gather as he stuck his Roman nose in the air.
'It isn't right,' he asserted, shaking his head.
They were following the Seine again. Lucy stared out of the window, gazing down through the metal railings at the silver ripples. The series of bridges, the regimentally aligned autumnal trees; the spotless, perfect blue sky. Lucy's stomach turned cold. The great iron beast towered over them. They'd be there in a few minutes.
It wasn't right. She thought that weekend was supposed to be about them. It never was - it was all about him and Froggy. Joshua had been a bag of nerves for days now; she'd been getting all sorts of ideas. He must have known. It was sort of taking the piss.
She clenched her fists in rage; she wanted to kill him. She balked at the realisation. He might just beat her to it. Lucy forced herself look up as they zoomed along, the woman on the radio babbling away again. She squinted up through her fingers, shielding her eyes from the sun. The sight of it on the horizon that morning had filled her with hope. The sight of it now made her feel sick.
He must have been past security by now. Lucy shivered. She imagined him hanging from the metalwork, so high above the ground. One slip, and that would be it.
She'd seen someone do it on YouTube. A French guy, with a lot of experience. He'd since been killed in a wingsuit accident. Josh had done all twelve of his BASE jumps from a bridge somewhere in San Diego: easy jumps; safe jumps. As safe as any jump can be without a reserve, anyway.
But the Eiffel Tower? That was advanced, even Lucy knew that. He only had three seconds to get his parachute out. What the hell was he thinking? What was Froggy playing at encouraging him?
'Don't worry, Mademoiselle,' the driver coaxed her gently. 'I'm sure your crazy boyfriend will be fine.'
Lucy managed a smile.
She folded her arms around her stomach, taking a deep breath; blinking around the car as if coming out of a stupor. Crazy was right. Skydiving was one thing, she could just about get her head around that. It was his job, he was good at it. But BASE jumping? They'd only really talked about it in abstract. She hadn't signed up for any of this.
Any which way you look at it, the attitude of a BASE jumper towards death is considered by most to be somewhat blasé. They don't stop, not unless something makes them. They just keep pushing their luck over and over - no matter about the people around them.
Lucy glanced down at the paper bag of potions sliding across the black leather.
What if the chemist was right?
'This isn't it! We're too far away!'
Lucy's brow crumpled as the cab lurched to a halt. They were close; so frustratingly close. She yanked back the sleeve of her cardigan. Barely three minutes left.
'Mademoiselle, you see 'zis piece of grass over here?' said the driver, jabbing his finger. 'I have seen 'zem before. Zis is where zey always land.'
Her hands shook as she rummaged in her purse. She thrust the note into his palm, unclipping her safety belt; grabbing the medicine.
'One moment, please. Your change—'
'Keep it!' she said, flinging the door open.
Froggy was renowned for his ruthless punctuality. Lucy was already running.
She streaked towards the rectangle of grass, her trainers skidding across the beige gravel. Arms flailing as she manoeuvred around the tourists, her Italian leather handbag swinging from one hand, the package of potions clutched in the other.
'Postcarten, Mademoiselle? Speicher?'
'No thank you!' she shouted, only just managing to dodge the hawker; narrowly avoiding slipping on her arse. Fleetingly wondering quite why it was that foreigners always presumed she was German until she opened her m
outh.
Her foot touched down on grass. Lucy froze. She could hear sirens: the gendarmerie. She looked up at the tower, breathing in sharply, eyes flaring. Lucy's stomach turned over.
It all seemed to go in slow motion. Lucy sank to her knees, dropping her bags on the grass. Clasping her hands together; biting her index finger as saw the little black speck fall from the top of the tower.
He threw the parachute out behind him immediately. He was all the way down to the second stage before it opened up. She heard the flap of the canopy; the flurry of excitement around her. She blinked up at the black Flik 266.
That wasn't Joshua's rig.
The sirens were getting louder. Was it the gendarmerie?
Her stomach turned in an icy knot.
Was it something else?
Lucy clenched her hair in her hands, almost tearing it from her scalp, staggering up to her feet.
'No!'
A hundred heads turned in unison. Suddenly, they were all staring at her.
A little blonde boy stood holding a red balloon. He couldn't have been more than four. He stared up at her, big green eyes full of concern. She watched him thrust out his chubby little hand, holding his balloon out to her.
A simple act of kindness from a child who wanted to make it all better. She smiled down at him, tears searing her eyes. Lucy let go of her hair, wrapping her arms around her stomach.
'There you are!'
Her gaze bounced up.
'I've been looking for you everywhere. Where have you been?'
'What's the matter?' Josh frowned.
Her face was ashen.
'What's happened?'
She just stared at him.
He grasped her shoulders; she finally blinked.
'Lucy?'
She snorted, bursting into a blinding white grin. She jumped up, hugging him.
Josh gripped her behind so she wouldn't slip as she kissed his bemused face again and again.