An Impossible Thing Called Love

by Belinda Missen

  ‘Funny you should say that.’ He looked at me, impressed by my observation. ‘I might have moonlighted a bit to pay for university.’

  ‘You did not!’ I laughed. ‘You never told me that.’

  ‘I think you’ll find I did,’ he said. ‘On both accounts.’

  ‘You didn’t.’ I shook my head. ‘I promise you didn’t.’

  ‘Okay.’ He held a hand up to stop me. ‘Because we’ve agreed to not rehash the how’s and whys, let’s just take it that I may have run walking tours. I got paid, like, £30 a night to walk about for three hours. What’s that in your money?’

  ‘Maybe $60? Close enough.’

  ‘So, do you want to?’ he asked.

  One final tinny call for the water taxi echoed loudly through a speaker behind our heads and pushed us further along the walkway, past worn out, meandering crowds.

  ‘Yes.’ I smiled. ‘I do.’

  ‘You really didn’t do this last time?’ he asked disbelievingly. ‘I mean, it’s only one of the greatest structures in London.’

  ‘Wait.’ I pulled him to a stop. ‘You really did walking tours?’

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded, eyes wide. ‘I really did walking tours.’

  ‘How many other girls did you pick up?’

  He made a circle with his thumb and finger. ‘Zero.’

  ‘Liar.’ I pointed at his cheeks. ‘Pink, pink cheeks everywhere.’

  ‘No lies.’ He swatted my hand away. ‘Between school, family, you, and picking up work wherever I could to pay for things, I didn’t have a lot of time.’ He stopped. ‘Anyway, let’s climb this bridge.’

  I huffed and puffed my way up the stairs towards the bridge pylon, past moss-tinged concrete, stopping to read plaques and notices as I went. William leapt ahead in bounds, that type of fitness reserved for someone who’d lived in London long enough to know better. Couples posed for selfies in time to capture iconic red buses as they rolled past, while families of tourists swapped cameras to ensure they had at least one photo that included everyone. William watched me watching them.

  He leant in to my side. ‘Do you want one?’

  ‘One what?’ I asked. ‘A family? No thanks, I already have one. That’s enough for now.’

  He sighed, eyes rolling skyward. ‘A photo. Do you want me to take a photo of you on the bridge?’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘No. That’s quite okay.’

  We slipped through the crowd and into a quickly moving queue, before being shunted like cattle into the aforementioned elevator, William raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘Look, see? Nothing to worry about’. I elbowed him and shuffled in closer as the small space filled with bodies. As we were pushed closer together, I turned to face him.

  ‘Better not be any climbing.’

  ‘Why? Worried we can all see up your dress?’

  I stifled a laugh and tapped his chest. ‘You wish.’

  The lift shuddered to a quiet stop and, as I stepped out into the theatre, I felt a guiding hand on my back. Not a heavy hand, but a gentle hover that pushed me in the right direction. Our silence was comfortable without explanation and continued through the short film and out into the first walkway where I wandered about and tried to make sense of the London skyline.

  I followed William, who strolled along as casual as if he’d been here a thousand times before. ‘You know, I am fascinated with the whole tour guide business. It’s a completely different side of William I didn’t know existed.’

  He threw me an over the shoulder cover model look. ‘I’m a regular dodecahedron, Emmy.’

  ‘What else can you tell me?’

  ‘Okay.’ William guided me by the shoulders towards a point along the window. ‘I can tell you over there at St Mary Axe, colloquially known as The Gherkin, they make some fantastic cocktails in the bar on street level. A lot of these old buildings that butt right up against the waterline were warehouses. Flush with the river for easy trade carriage up and down the Thames.’

  ‘And?’

  He leant into my shoulder, a fistful of white knuckles gripping the handrail as he continued pointing. ‘“The Walkie Talkie” over there is just about to open up some restaurants and what’s called Sky Garden. Naturally, we’ll be going, because I’m adding it to your Death List.’

  ‘London List.’

  ‘Whatever. We’re going to go there and drink and eat, and I’m trying to convince Brian we need a special team meet up away from the local.’

  ‘I’ll sign that petition.’

  ‘You know The Shard, don’t you?’

  ‘The building, not the drug, sure.’

  ‘We like to name our buildings here, if you haven’t noticed. The pickled onion will find you the mayor’s office.’

  ‘I quite like that building. It’s squat. It looks soft.’

  ‘Some would say dump.’ He stood straight. ‘And that, Emmy, is the view from the west walkway.’

  Even with the promise of better views at other buildings, I wanted to stay. I wanted to photograph everything, so I’d never forget. I caught William mid-phone-call down the other end of the walkway, enough distance that I couldn’t hear what was said, but close enough that I could see he was flustered. His brows pinched, and fingers dragged through his hair as he paced back and forth, only barely dodging other visitors. I snapped a barely there smile as he returned.

  ‘You okay?’ I asked.

  ‘Me?’

  I made a show of peering around him and back again. ‘Yeah, you.’

  ‘I’m alright.’ He pushed his sleeve back before glancing at the overhead screen. ‘We have five minutes. Let’s go.’

  ‘Go where?’ I asked.

  When William disappeared, I followed. Out into the stairwell of fat rivets, sturdy iron, and stairs worn down through generations of use. He raced down the flights, two steps at a time, while I was busy shuffling after him. My shoes were intent on slipping off at the heel each time they so much as got wind of a bit of space around them.

  A shrill alarm sounded and, as we popped out into the stifling warmth of late afternoon, William came to a sudden halt. I crashed into his back again. He spat out far too many apologies, all the while herding me a little further along the river.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘This is the best part.’

  Almost immediately, life came to a standstill around the bridge. Traffic stopped, barriers went up, and masses of people stood engrossed in the scene unfolding.

  ‘And now,’ William leaned in, ‘the bascules raise.’

  ‘The what?’

  The roadway lifted ever so smoothly. Higher and higher, like breath being held, until a little passenger boat passed underneath, almost comical in size, with its flags waving about wildly in the breeze. Within a few minutes, it was all over. I let out a little laugh.

  ‘What?’ William’s head followed the boat along the river.

  ‘It’s just, look how small that boat is, and it brought an entire corner of the city to a complete halt.’

  ‘There’s a lesson in that, Em.’ He looked across at me, a wistful smile on his face. ‘The smallest thing can make the greatest change.’

  We watched until the sailing ship was nothing but a dot upstream and others had lost interest. The bascules had long lowered, and traffic flowed as if nothing had happened. When the sun began dipping behind the tips of skyscrapers, a chill filtered through the air. All the while, we watched the ebb and flow of the river, pedestrians, and red buses over the bridge.

  ‘William?’

  ‘Hmm?’ He straightened from where he’d been leaning against a river wall.

  ‘I’ve really enjoyed today.’

  He smiled contently. ‘Me, too.’

  ‘Can I buy you dinner to say thank you?’

  He grinned. ‘You know, I’ve never had a woman buy me dinner before.’

  ‘That’s a yes, then?’

  ‘I know this cosy little place in Bermondsey.’ His body turned in that direction. ‘Shall we?’

  W
e slipped into a side street of gentrified brownish-yellow brick buildings and public spaces. There were a handful of eligible stops along the way, tables and chairs in the sun and cool drinks at the ready, but we bypassed them all in favour of a pub with a tiled exterior and diamond-button booths.

  ‘Very fancy, Doctor Scott.’ I slipped in the door ahead of him, thrilled at his out of the way choice.

  ‘I do my best, Emmy, I do my best.’ He slipped up behind me. ‘You grab a table, I’ll get some drinks to start. What do you want?’

  ‘Please, let me pay.’

  ‘I’ll get this first round.’ He looked me straight in the eyes. ‘Please? I owe you one.’

  ‘Well, if you’re paying, I’ll let you pick.’

  He smiled broadly. ‘I can live with that.’

  I wriggled my way into the last booth in the back of the building, hidden conveniently between the toilets and the calming breeze of the open back door. William shuffled past with drinks twice, before he found me laughing behind a menu. Until that moment, he looked completely lost.

  ‘I’m sorry, that’s cruel.’ I watched the fear in his eyes subside as he sat down. ‘I wouldn’t run away, you know that.’

  ‘I think the fact you got on a bloody plane all those years ago is evidence that yes, yes you would.’ He pushed a frosty glass towards me. ‘You deserve this. You are an awful woman, Emmy Sumner.’

  On closer inspection, the red powder on top of the drink brought memories of Edinburgh flooding back, and I began laughing all over again. ‘You didn’t. What do they call this one? The Fighter.’

  ‘I really did.’ He was so proud of himself. ‘And yes. Though, in fairness, I did have to look up the recipe for the bar lady, but hey.’

  ‘Here.’ I raised my glass. ‘What are we toasting?’

  William shrugged. ‘Ridiculous chances and impossible things.’

  ‘You are an impossible thing.’

  ‘I do my best.’ He gave me a smug grin. ‘Now, we have some years to catch up on.’

  ‘We do.’ I blew my cheeks out.

  ‘Tell me everything. How’s your family? Are they all well? Mum, Dad, Frankie?’ He narrowed his eyes as if he wasn’t recalling entirely correctly but, as usual, he was spot on.

  ‘Everyone’s really well. Mum and Dad are doing their thing, Frankie is pregnant, Ezra is doing Ezra things, which I don’t always understand.’

  ‘What does he do for work?’

  ‘He is a graphic designer, so very good at art, lots of very nice tattoos that he’s designed.’

  ‘Oh, nice.’ William snaffled a chip. ‘Not my kind of fun, but okay.’

  ‘No, me neither, though he has offered countless times to help me out there,’ I chuckled. ‘How about you? Is your dad still teaching?’

  ‘He is!’ William’s eyes lit up. ‘I love that you remember that. He loves his job, no plans to retire. Mum loves running up and down the Champs-Élysées and drinking strong coffee and laughing with her new girlfriends. My sister Jen is working in this amazing little café, but is thinking of studying art history, so we’ll see what happens there.’

  ‘That’s wonderful. I’m glad they’re well.’

  ‘Yeah, me too. I don’t see them enough, of course, but I try.’

  Over one drink, and then two, we swapped stories and tried to match up our timelines. I ran through stories of school, of Craig and the trouble we got ourselves into. There was the holiday to New Zealand my parents paid for, and the downturn of volunteering at events, which seemed to be replaced with volunteer work in the maternity ward of the local hospital.

  ‘But the babies in the hospital.’ He pinched my cheek. ‘You love it.’

  ‘I did.’ I shrugged. ‘I really did.’

  ‘We had a lady deliver in the clinic once. You should have seen it, the poor woman. Thankfully, we managed to get her into the staff room, so there was a little bit of privacy there, but still.’

  ‘I remember that story! Everything was okay though?’

  ‘A-OK.’ He jabbed his straw into his drink. ‘Medical school?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m looking at nursing though.’

  ‘That’s good,’ he enthused. ‘Really, that’s great.’

  ‘But we’ll see.’

  Even after he disappeared with my credit card to order dinner, our conversation picked up where it had left off. After he got over his fascination of my dress with pockets, we drifted from Edinburgh, to London and back again. It was comfortable, it was stealing food from each other’s plates, finishing sentences, and finding common grooves among the plethora of topics we skirted around. As we walking to the station and found the first train heading in our direction, the thread felt like one continuous unravelling of time.

  I loved it.

  ‘I’ve gotta ask.’ William held a seat flush as I sat down.

  ‘Ask away.’ I crossed my leg over and looked around. It had been close to nine o’clock when we left the pub and, still, the train was particularly busy. A busker set up at the other end of the carriage and started playing something mellow on his accordion. By the sounds of things, we were on an underground gondola ride.

  ‘When you applied for this job…’ He scratched at his top lip. ‘Did you, like, did you look to see who worked there?’

  I shook my head, a slow smile spreading. ‘You, Red, were not on the website.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sorry to burst your bubble. You do have an ego thing, don’t you?’ I teased. ‘You weren’t listed.’

  ‘Am I really not there?’ His phone was out and on before he’d so much as got the sentence out. ‘I’m not on there. They told me I’d be there months ago.’

  ‘Told you.’

  ‘Would you have applied had I been listed?’

  My mouth dried. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you would have run a mile.’

  I pinched at his leg. ‘I would’ve made like the Von Trapps, over the hills and far away.’

  ‘Yeah.’ William tipped his head back against the window. ‘Thought as much.’

  Chapter 12

  Craig pushed the cereal box across the table, eyes seemingly focused on a spot in the back of his mind. When the box gave off a hollow rattle, I opted for toast instead. I poured another coffee, sat back at the table and looked him, face pinched up and studying his bowl intently. Heather and Josh were already out for the day, and their absence only added to the heaviness in the room.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I tried to lean into his line of sight, although he avoided my direct gaze like a stargazer at an eclipse. ‘Craig?’

  ‘Hey?’ He lifted his eyes to meet mine. Finally. ‘What?’

  ‘Is everything alright? You seem a bit out of it.’

  ‘No, yes. I mean, I’m fine.’ He waved a hand about his head. ‘Just thinking about something at work. Just having some trouble with one of the new accounts.’

  ‘Everything okay?’ I asked.

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘How about you? Good night?’

  After getting off the train last night, William and I had walked home the long way. Despite assurances I could get around on my own, he wanted to introduce me to the idiosyncrasies of our borough. It added another hour to our night, and I heard about the crazy cat lady three houses down from him, who had more money than God, and possibly more years under her belt. Of the three Chinese shops we passed, he rated them out of five, using taste, price, and suspected MSG content on a sliding scale as a comparison system, and the laundromat was to be avoided at all costs. Better to go up to the next borough for that one, he said.

  When we’d finally reached my apartment, we stood about in awkward silence before farewelling each other with curt waves and embarrassed smiles. I bounced up the stairs feeling a little light on my feet, as if a little piece of the Emmy puzzle has snapped back into place. But, when I got to bed and Craig rolled as far away as he could, that elation turned to confusion, which lingered as I watched him opposite me.

&n
bsp; My brows pinched together, and I was sure a light sweat broke out. ‘You’re not upset that I went out yesterday?’

  ‘What? No.’ He shook his head adamantly. ‘No. Like I said, I’m thrilled that you’re making friends. Where did you go? Talk to me.’

  ‘Tower Bridge and then out for dinner.’

  ‘Oh, I went there the other week. It’s pretty impressive isn’t it?’

  ‘I got to see the bascules raise.’ I made the hand motions of a bridge rising. ‘I think that’s what they’re called?’

  ‘Bastilles?’ He rubbed his face. ‘Yeah, I don’t know.’

  ‘How’s work for you?’ I asked. ‘Did yesterday go as planned?’

  For all the medical things I could do, there were just as many accountancy things that I couldn’t make heads or tails of. So, listening to Craig talk about capital surplus, job costings, and amortization kind of slid over my head. Thankfully, his first week had been more about settling in at the office, meeting new clients, and familiarising himself with their accounts.

  ‘… and then the network was down most of the morning. IT had no idea what was going on, I had a client waiting on paperwork, so that was a great look to close out week one. The boss was on the phone screaming blue murder about it last night. He seems to forget that I’m an accountant, not an IT specialist. It’s going great, Emmy.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I reached for his hand and brushed a thumb across his knuckles. ‘Small steps, right? In a few weeks, you’ll look back and laugh because everything will suddenly be going smoothly.’

  ‘You’re right.’ He collected our dishes and placed them in the sink. ‘Oh, and Heather asked me to talk to you about leaving your washing in the machine yesterday. She said please don’t do that, please empty it when you’re done.’ With a defeated sigh, he shuffled off to the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

  From the highs of last night, to the reality of life in a shared house. It reminded me of the time I got in trouble for using Frankie’s make-up. I was fourteen, and denied it to the back teeth, even though I still had lipstick smears across my cheek where I’d tried rubbing it off. In my haste to get out and about with William, I’d forgotten my friends. Duly noted.