But she couldn’t ask him here. Not with all these people around. She decided to wait until they were out of the church, maybe having lunch, and then she would ask him.
Watching Sam made her realise that she didn’t have anyone to light a candle for. As far as she knew her mother was still alive. Her Aunt Sylvia and her Uncle Martin were too. No one had any idea who her father was. Grandparents? She had no recollection. So Emily had no need to make such a beautiful acknowledgement. It made her feel a little rootless, not knowing more about her mother and her family. As if a part of her was missing. That she was somehow incomplete. It was why she had fought so hard to save her marriage. She couldn’t lose Sam, too. She would feel so lost.
They continued to look around, then eventually emerged outside, walking back around to the front steps and looking out over the city.
‘It was so peaceful in there, wasn’t it?’ he asked.
Emily nodded. ‘It was. Very.’ She looked at his face for a moment, wondering whether now would be a good time to ask about the candle, but she saw a shadow cross his face and decided against it. Not yet. There would be a time and place soon, though.
‘Where do you think we should go next?’
‘I’m not sure. Should we go back and grab the mopeds? Ride around?’
She nodded. The bikes would be good. Sam’s mood had changed in the basilica, and she wanted to see the joyful Sam she had witnessed that morning. This was meant to be fun, and yet they had descended into a sombre mood.
They walked back through the square, enjoying the wide expanses of grass and the flowers, the singing of the birds in the trees, until they got back to their mopeds and donned their helmets.
Their engines roared into life and they set off into the small, winding streets, looking for treasures.
*
It came suddenly and without warning. Sam was riding his moped, following Emily. He’d been watching the traffic, enjoying the sight of his wife’s hair billowing behind her, and the memory came from nowhere.
Emily striding away from him in a hospital corridor, anger pouring from every part of her body. Stiff shoulders. Purposeful.
He called her name in exasperation. ‘Emily!’
She stopped walking. Turned and her face was full of tears. Her eyes red and streaming…
Sam blinked and a car sounded its horn at him as he wavered slightly. Straightening his bike, he raised his hand in apology to the driver.
What the hell had that been?
The hospital corridor had been at the Monterey. He’d recognised it. It had been the corridor leading to Emily’s office, because there’d been that picture on the wall. The watercolour of a pixie gazing at her reflection in a pool. Em had picked it out from an exhibition she’d seen.
In the memory his wife had been upset. Vastly upset. With him. At him?
What had happened next?
He cursed to himself, angry that the memory had been fleeting and brief. But then, strangely, his heart began to pound as he realised another memory had returned! Bad as it had been—again—a memory had returned!
Was this going to be it? Were they about to start coming back?
Should he mention it to Emily?
He pondered over that. If he told her he’d experienced another flash of memory she’d want to know what it was, and if he told her… Well, she might not want another bad memory being dragged up. Not here. Not on this holiday. She’d wanted them to enjoy this place. They were both hoping this trip to Paris would bring them closer again.
But hadn’t she been the one to suggest that Paris would be the place for him to regain his memories?
This was what they were here for, after all. And, even though it was a bad memory, perhaps it seemed worse than it really was? Perhaps it was something that could be easily explained and Emily would laugh about it and tell him it was nothing?
Sam was desperate to get his memories back, and the fleeting one he’d just experienced enticed him to believe that others were there, waiting for him to claim them. If he explored this memory with Emily then it might cause others to come through.
He had to take that chance.
After they’d been driving around for a while Emily pointed over at what looked like a vast marketplace but was in fact a square, full of artists and portraitists, all sitting beneath large red umbrellas to protect themselves and their work from the sun or occasional inclement weather. The square was filled with laughter and French voices. Tourists and locals milled around, taking photographs or sitting for paintings beneath an avenue of leafy green trees.
Ahead of him, Emily removed her helmet, shaking out her hair, and slipped on her sunglasses. ‘This looks great, Sam! Shall we get our picture painted?’
He loved her enthusiasm. Loved her smile. He didn’t want to lose that. He decided to tell her about the memory later—perhaps when they were sitting for the picture.
‘Okay.’
They locked up their mopeds, pocketing the keys, and headed into the bustling square.
There were some amazing artists there, using a vast array of techniques—acrylics, watercolour, pencil, paste, chalk. If there was a way of putting a picture onto paper or canvas, then it was here. And he knew Emily loved art.
They took their time looking about, trying to find someone they thought might capture the two of them perfectly, and stopped when they saw a caricaturist.
‘Oh, this will be fun, Sam. Let’s ask this one.’
Thankfully the artist spoke English, and they negotiated a price before they sat down together and smiled at the artist who soon set to work.
‘You are here on holiday?’ the artist asked.
Emily smiled at him. ‘Sort of a second honeymoon. It’s a long story,’ she explained.
‘Ah, voyage de noces. La lune de miel.’
‘That sounds beautiful.’
The artist smiled. ‘It is meant to be. C’est romantique!’
Emily and Sam shared an odd smile. The painter obviously saw them as a couple, very much in love, and only they knew the real truth.
As the artist worked, concentrating on his drawing whilst occasionally peering around his easel at the two of them, Sam decided to let Emily know what had happened.
‘You know, Em… I think whilst we were riding here I remembered something.’ He glanced at her to see her reaction and noticed with alarm that she seemed to freeze, pausing for a brief millisecond as if in fear, before she let out a breath and smiled.
‘You did? What?’
He shook his head. ‘It was brief. Barely anything, really. We were at the Monterey, heading for your office, but…’
She looked curious. ‘But?’
‘You were walking away from me, and when I called your name you turned around and you were crying.’
Emily looked away from him, frowning.
Was she trying to remember the incident? Had it been a common occurrence? He knew they’d been arguing.
‘I see.’
‘What was that about?’
Em shook her head. ‘It’s not important.’
‘It is,’ he pressed on. ‘I need to understand what was going on if we’re to make this work.’
She looked down at the ground. ‘If it’s the argument I remember, then I’d tried to track you down at work because you hadn’t been home that night. I wanted to know where you’d been.’
He stared at her, afraid of her answer. ‘And?’
‘You’d been out wining and dining clients, and I was annoyed because you were spending so much time wooing other people that you never had time for me.’
‘I see.’
‘I wasn’t being selfish, Sam. I hadn’t seen you for what felt like days! I’d been worried about you. Worried about us. I’d spent hours huddled on the couch, afraid of what might have happened, and then I learnt that you’d been out having a good time.’
He looked away. ‘Oh.’
‘So I was hurt and angry and I stormed away from you.’
> Sam almost didn’t want to believe it. But he could imagine himself doing that. Avoiding the main argument and throwing himself into something else instead, hoping that if he just never talked about the thing that bothered him then it wouldn’t bother anyone else. It was what he had been taught to do.
‘So your memories are starting to come back?’
He gazed at her and he could see that she was sad. But there was something else in her eyes that he couldn’t fathom. What was it? She was looking at him as if…as if she was afraid.
No. That couldn’t be true. Why would Emily be afraid of his memories returning? She wanted them to. It couldn’t be fear. There was no need for it. She’d already told him how bad it had become between them. For that he was grateful. It would have been so easy for her to say that they’d been getting on fine. He had to be wrong—it couldn’t have been fear that he’d seen.
Shaking his head, he decided to forget about it. The artist obviously thought they were happy, because when he showed them the picture—the two of them beneath a backdrop of the Eiffel Tower—he had drawn red hearts blossoming all around them.
Sam wondered briefly how the artist might have painted them if he’d known the truth? Would they have had blindfolds over their eyes? Hands clamped over their mouths?
He solemnly wished their lives were truly like the caricature.
*
They decided to walk through some of the streets, snapping pictures of things they found interesting. They found a very pretty vineyard—which seemed an odd thing to find amongst a bustling mass of streets—then a street of nineteenth-century villas and gardens which were in full bloom, and in another a windmill.
Montmartre was a place of contrasts, it seemed, and they could understand why it had once been the place to be seen if you were an artist or a painter.
‘We ought to get something to eat,’ Emily said, rubbing at her stomach. ‘I’m getting very hungry with all this exploring.’
‘What do you fancy?’
‘Something quick.’
They found a small stall selling pitta pockets stuffed with a choice of chicken, beef or vegetables, served with plantains, avocado or black beans. They both chose a chicken pitta with plantain chips and two cold limeades.
‘Oh, my goodness, that’s delightful,’ Emily said, savouring her sandwich and using her fingers to capture a piece of chicken.
‘Something new for you?’
She nodded, smiling, her mouth full.
Sam smiled back. The food was indeed delicious, and he realised that he was loving today. Loving making these new memories with Em after the regret of knowing he had missed so much and that some of what he had missed had been awful. But he was determined to be positive and to look forward. He had a business that by all accounts was doing well, a gorgeous, wonderful wife whom he loved with his entire heart, and they were trying their best to tackle their problems the best they knew how.
And he was going to be a father.
That in itself was a scary thing to admit to himself, and he’d tried to put it in the ‘positive’ category but he couldn’t. It was not something that he could escape from. He had to face it. Head-on. No matter if he had doubts.
Em took a thoughtful nibble of her pitta. ‘This morning, Sam…back in the basilica…you lit a candle.’
He glanced at her, acknowledging her statement with a nod.
‘Who was it for?’
So she definitely didn’t know, then. He obviously hadn’t told her about Serena. He supposed he knew why. He’d always kept that part of himself hidden. Had shared it with no one. And when Emily had brought up the idea of having a baby in the past he must have dug his heels in even more.
Was this the root of all their problems? His refusal to talk about his deepest, darkest secret? Had it been his fault all along? Hurting Emily by pushing her away? Causing her grief by refusing even to discuss something that was so important? It must have made her feel tiny. Belittled. She was his wife and he wouldn’t even talk to her about what ailed him.
But did he want her to find out about it here? When they were trying to make new happy memories for themselves?
‘It was for us. A candle to show the way.’
She smiled, relieved, and laid her head upon his shoulder. ‘That’s so sweet. For us? Thank you, Sam.’
Pressing down against the guilt he felt at lying to her, he kissed the side of her face, and he was just about to take another bite of his sandwich when something happened that seemed almost to occur in slow motion.
He looked out across the street and spotted an old man, looking for a place to cross. The road wasn’t too busy, but there was a steady stream of traffic coming both ways. The side where the old man stood was clear, and he began to amble across. But halfway he spotted a motorbike, tried to hurry, then tripped—just before the motorbike collided with him.
Sam dropped his pitta pocket as the motorcyclist was thrown through the air and the old man crashed to the ground, spinning round from the impact.
His hands, frantically trying to control the steering wheel…
‘Oh, my God, Sam!’ Emily gripped his arm.
He was up. Dashing across the road, calling out, ‘Call an ambulance! Appelez une ambulance!’
The rest of the traffic drew to a halt, drivers and passengers getting out to look at the crash.
The motorcyclist had been thrown clear and had rolled across the road. He was struggling to get up.
Sam ran to the old man first, who was lying motionless on the ground, with a wound on his head, bleeding profusely, his elbows and arms torn, his leg at a painful angle.
But he was breathing.
‘Lie still! Don’t move.’ The man’s eyes fluttered open as he came back to consciousness. ‘Stop—arretez—don’t move,’ Sam ordered, holding the man’s neck still to maintain his c-spine control. He glanced up and over at Emily. ‘Check the other one!’
He watched as Emily hurried over to check the motorcyclist, who had now sat up and was trying to remove his helmet.
‘No—non! Keep it on!’ he heard her say.
The old man began to groan.
‘What’s your name? Comment vous appelez-vous?’
More groans, then, ‘Alain…’
‘Alain, do you speak English? Parlez-vous Anglais?’
Alain tried to nod, but Sam kept his head steady. ‘Stay still, my friend. I’m a doctor. You must keep still—you’ve been hurt.’
Sam had never felt so useless in his life. He had no medical equipment with him here. He had nothing! How could he help this man and take care of him without the back-up of his team? And he wasn’t an ER specialist. He dealt with labouring women. Not elderly men hurt in road traffic accidents.
Emily came running over. ‘The motorcyclist is all right. His leathers and his helmet protected him, and he wasn’t going fast.’
It was a pity the same could not be said for Alain. The old man was very thin and very frail. He’d probably broken a lot of bones.
‘Hold his head for me. That’s it. Alain? This is my wife, Emily. Lie still for her and I’m going to check you over.’
He grabbed at his own shirt and tore off a strip, folding it and pressing it tightly against Alain’s bleeding head.
Sam started checking Alain for breaks. His collarbone seemed fractured, maybe a rib or two. His right arm probably. His pelvis? To be on the safe side Sam removed his leather belt and fed it under Alain’s waist, looping it over and pulling it tight to secure the pelvic basin just in case. A bleed from a break there could be disastrous. His lower leg was certainly fractured.
‘Alain? Where does it hurt?’
‘Partout…’
Everywhere. He wasn’t surprised. He’d been hit by a motorbike. How fast had it been travelling? Forty kilometres per hour? Maybe a little less? It was hard to tell.
In the distance he could hear sirens approaching. ‘Help’s coming, Alain. Do you have any health conditions I should know about? Any aller
gies?’
‘Non…’
‘Okay, c’est bon. Anyone we can call for you? Your wife? Family?’
‘Ma femme… Celine…’
‘Okay, what’s her number?’
Sam listened and wrote down the telephone number Alain gave. He could hand all this information over to the ambulance crew.
‘You’re doing well, Alain. A few broken bones and a head wound, but I think you’re going to be okay. The ambulance is coming.’
‘Merci…’
Sam looked at the motorcyclist. He did indeed appear to be okay, which was good news, but he would still need to be checked over in hospital. He stood behind them, a stream of French words falling steadily from his mouth. Sam couldn’t catch it all, but he thought the man was trying to say he had not seen Alain until the last minute.
Well, that was something for the police to sort out.
He felt a moment of fear. Had this happened at their accident site? Had people got out of their cars and stood watching as assistance was given? Had people gazed at his injured head, too?
Sam needed to keep Alain stable. The main thing was that he was conscious and breathing.
An ambulance fought its way through the traffic and pulled to a halt a few yards from them. It didn’t take too long for Sam to feed back to the crew what he’d seen happen and his assessment of Alain.
He stood back as they took over, fitting a proper brace to Alain’s pelvis and returning Sam’s belt, giving their patient oxygen, fitting a neck brace and loading him into the ambulance.
As they drove away Sam stood on the path looking after them, his arm around Emily. ‘You okay, Em?’
‘I’m fine. Are you? You look terrible…your poor shirt…’
‘It’s nothing. It’s Alain I feel sorry for. Poor guy, lying on the road like that.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Made me think about what happened to us…’
She swallowed hard. ‘We survived. So will Alain.’
‘I hope so. I gave the crew my number. They promised they would ring with an update when they could.’
‘You did all you could have done.’
He shook his head. ‘It happened so fast…and yet I could see it about to happen, like it was in slow motion, like it triggered—’ He stopped talking. Went silent.
Reunited by Their Pregnancy Surprise Page 9