An Impossible Thing Called Love

by Belinda Missen

  ‘Open your eyes,’ he whispered.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I have something for you.’

  ‘Not your pool noodle?’

  ‘Pfft. No,’ he mocked. ‘Look, I mean, if you want that, too, I’m sure I can look the other way. Would be terribly awkward and uncomfortable for me, but I’m willing to take one for the team.’

  I pushed my face into the pillow and laughed loudly. ‘You’re incredible.’

  ‘Let’s not get too excited,’ he chortled. ‘I’ve still got my pants on.’

  When I opened my eyes, he presented me with an oversized cupcake. Complete with greasy wrapper, it was piled high with pink buttercream icing and an edible image of a rainbow.

  ‘This isn’t one of those edibles you get down near Camden Market, is it?’ I asked, sitting up next to him and crossing my legs. I had to admit, he did look naturally comfortable in my bed, and it kicked my heart up a notch. Already, this early in the morning?

  ‘How the fuck do you know about them?’ William laughed disbelievingly. ‘Of all people.’

  ‘I know about them. I get around.’ I licked the strawberry flavoured icing from my fingers and offered the cake back to him. ‘You want some? This is really good.’

  ‘No, what’s really good is that shirt.’

  ‘This?’ I looked down at the white business shirt I’d been wearing. I’d picked it up twelve months earlier in the clearance bin of a men’s store. For five dollars, it was way too big, but had been the most comfortable sleeping gear I’d ever owned. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘It’s, you know, it’s a bit of a turn on.’

  ‘This?’ I tugged at the hem again.

  ‘You should wear it today.’

  ‘I can’t do that, I’ve slept in it all night. It’s crumpled, and it probably smells.’ I scrambled off the bed, did the sniff test, and looked for a pair of jeans to throw on. ‘I’ve got something that fits a bit better. Close your eyes while I change, will you? I’d ask you to leave, but I’m assuming you’ve seen plenty of backs in your time.’

  ‘Guess where we’re going?’ he asked, his gaze following me about the room as I tidied up and tried to make it look as though my life these past few weeks hadn’t been an utter mess.

  ‘Camden Market?’ I cleared away a damp towel and old pyjamas, tossing them into a makeshift washing basket in the corner. ‘Don’t say home decorating. You don’t have enough friendship tokens for that.’

  The last time I’d volunteered to help him decorate, on one of our Saturday adventures, he’d started a charge of kids across the tops of beds in IKEA and got us kicked out.

  ‘No.’ William took my hand and pulled me back onto the bed, close to him. There it was, that unmistakable burst in my chest and tingle in my toes. ‘You’ll need an overnight bag. Think of it as our weekend excursion, just on a grander scale.’

  ‘Really?’ I reached out and laced my fingers through his hair. If he was surprised by my sudden urge to touch him, he didn’t let on.

  ‘We’ve both not had a great time of it lately, so I figure we could do with some cheering up. Also, I’m quite sure I have some birthdays to make up for, so here we are.’

  ‘Just one night?’ I slipped away, already missing the feeling of my hand in his, or the brush of curls between my fingers. I stuffed some clean clothes into a backpack, grabbed some essential toiletries, and turned to face him. He was so unfairly beautiful, even as he clumsily pulled his pants back on.

  ‘Just the one.’ He peered up from his hunched over position.

  ‘No hints?’ I tried.

  ‘Non.’

  ‘None at all?’

  He grinned, entirely pleased with himself. ‘Are you ready? You’ve got five minutes.’

  ‘We can’t just go,’ I baulked. ‘Can we?’

  ‘Actually, we can. This is 2014, not the middle ages. Anywhere from London to Istanbul is a four-hour plane trip away. We have the whole European continent at our doorstep. But, if you don’t get your shit together, you won’t find out.’

  I narrowed my eyes at him, bag sling over my shoulder. ‘You sound like National Geographic.’

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ He clapped his hands. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘It’s Edinburgh, isn’t it?’ I asked. ‘A pokey hostel, cheap beer. Oh, God yes.’

  ‘Maybe.’ William pulled my bedroom door shut behind us. ‘Maybe not.’

  * * *

  William powered on ahead through St Pancras station. His backpack clanged around behind him, while I dawdled up the rear. I was sure I’d never been here before (how?) and wanted to stop and admire the iron beam and red brick architecture. It had been a mad rush from King’s Cross, through underground walkways, avoiding suitcases and bypassing queues of tourists clambering to work out the Oyster machines. I felt a strange sense of pride, knowing I’d almost be considered a local now.

  ‘Come on, quick.’ He yanked on my hand and pulled me back into the here and now, the overwhelming, snaking queue of people shuffling their way through turnstiles. ‘We can Fortnum & Mason to our heart’s content when we get back.’

  ‘We can what?’

  ‘We’re going to be late.’ With a hand pressed against my back, he ushered me further along toward customs. ‘We can stop and look at all this when we get home. I promise. I’ll buy you anything you want.’

  William steadfastly refused to use the ticketing machine until I swore to turn away and not peek over his shoulder. I was sure I looked like some weedy little bodyguard, ready to be snapped like a twig as I stood about listening to him mumble booking numbers and tapping the touch screen. The only thing I was privy to was the mechanical whir as the tickets spat forth from the machine. Oh, and the overhead screens, which gave me the options of Paris, Lyon, Brussels, or Belgium. I was completely okay with any of them. Except for one slight problem: I did not have my passport.

  ‘Okay.’ He stuffed the tickets face down in his passport. ‘Let’s go.’

  While some people revolt at the idea of elaborate surprises, I was not so secretly loving the shit out of it. Nobody had ever gone to this much effort for my birthday, post the oversized toddler birthday parties. As we progressed in the queue, William refused to budge on the destination, right up to and including the moment he spoke to the customs officials in perfectly enunciated French. When he slid my passport across the counter I did a double-take.

  ‘How did you get that?’ I shrieked.

  ‘Last night at dinner.’ He looked as if it had been the easiest play in the world. He shifted feet and leant against the counter with his hip out. ‘Also, since when do you have a British passport?’

  ‘Since when do you have my passport?’ I looked at him horrified. Not only was he master of the mystical art of medicine, he was apparently also a champion sleight of hand.

  ‘Heather gave it to me last night while you were on one of your seventy-eight toilet trips.’

  And since when did Heather even know where the hell I kept that?

  ‘I don’t wee that much,’ I baulked. The customs officer barely raised a brow at our discussion, though William managed to oblige with answers between taunting me.

  ‘You do, and you were bound to go at some point. Get a bit of vino in you, and you become the Trevi Fountain.’ He grinned as we were handed our passports back. ‘So, whose fault is the passport? How long have you had that?’

  ‘Since birth.’ We shuffled through baggage check and into the waiting area. I watched as William checked the overhead monitors and took hold of his hand as he drew me towards a quiet corner.

  ‘You never told me that.’

  A tiny laugh burst forth. ‘You never asked.’

  ‘If I had known that at Heathrow, I might’ve asked you to stay.’

  I laughed loudly. ‘You would not have!’

  William shook his head, eyes blazing bright blue. ‘You don’t know that.’

  * * *

  On the train, he was three steps ahead of me, see
king out seats and tossing backpacks in the luggage rack by the door of the carriage. I squeezed past the nesters taking off jumpers and settling in like it was a long-haul flight.

  ‘Window seat for mademoiselle.’

  ‘You’re too kind.’ I slipped past him and into my seat.

  Until now, this had all felt like something that could have been pulled from under me – that this had all been a huge practical joke. Customs might turn us away, or William might tell me it was all just an elaborate ruse to get me to McDonalds for breakfast. But, as the train hummed to life beneath us and pulled out of the terminal, it began to feel a little more real. My tummy fizzed like I’d swallowed a handful of pop rocks and litre of cola. It was a sweet moment of excitement, and a feeling to savour.

  The overhead screens lit up and, as they did, gave away our mystery destination. Safety instructions flashed up in dual languages, French and English, along with an expected arrival time.

  We were going to Paris!

  I turned in my seat so quickly I thought I might have my own Linda Blair moment. William laughed to himself, completely proud of his efforts.

  ‘Paris?’ I asked. ‘Really?’

  ‘Oui.’ He nodded. ‘We are going to Paris.’

  I squeaked.

  ‘Unless that’s a problem for you.’ He cast a sideways glance my way.

  I shook my head wildly, mouth Sahara dry. ‘No, no, no, not a problem at all.’

  ‘If it is, we can always get off the train, and I can take you for a fancy lunch at your local Costa or Greggs,’ he teased. ‘I’m easy. We may even be able to find a few of yesterday’s sandwiches left at St Pancras.’

  ‘No!’ I clutched his hand excitedly as he stood up. ‘Paris is perfect.’

  ‘You sure about that?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘I’m not entirely convinced. I should get our bags.’

  I yanked him back down into his seat. ‘It’s incredibly thoughtful.’

  ‘It is?’

  ‘Yes. A thousand times, yes.’

  I settled back into the seat beside him, flipped the armrest up, down, and up again. The complimentary magazine stuffed into the seat pocket proved to be the most interesting thing I could find to read, what with its restaurant and shopping recommendations. Galeries Lafayette? Sign me up! That, and the drinks menu. In the end, it was more entertaining to get William to read the French articles aloud, and then translate them. I didn’t even have a book stashed somewhere in my bag. But it didn’t matter, there was too much happening outside the windows that was otherwise claiming my attention.

  Unknown backyards, graffitied walls, and industrial complexes zipped past in a haze of concrete walls and red bricks. When the city became the country, and grey was replaced with green, wind farms and tiny brick cottages became more prominent, which ended abruptly with darkness.

  ‘We should go to Dover for a weekend.’

  I turned to my right, surprised to be hearing anything at all. For an hour, he’d had his eyes closed, and arms folded across his chest. After the dozenth time that I’d laughed at his French, he’d decided he’d had enough of reading the magazine to me and announced his plans to sleep. ‘The cliffs are fantastic, and there’s a great boat cruise you can do around the harbour.’

  ‘Have you been?’ I watched him in the relative darkness of the cabin, eyelashes spread across cheeks, and hair everywhere, and the finest hint of five o’clock shadow. A ridge set between his eyebrows, as if trying to sleep required maximum concentration. I loved his crumpled white T-shirt; it only served to highlight how colourful he was.

  ‘I took my sister for her birthday a few years ago. Mum and Dad came across on the ferry, and we spent a weekend down on the coast.’

  ‘That sounds like a beautiful weekend.’

  ‘It was lovely to spend time together, just the four of us.’

  ‘No wife?’

  ‘She was “working”,’ he said, finger quotation marks in full effect.

  As darkness became light, and green grass melded into the cityscape, I settled in and watched the French countryside zoom past our windows. When we pulled to a slow stop at the Gare du Nord. I peered out the windows at the arched ironwork, bulbous lights and graffiti covered walls by the train’s entrance. So much to see in such a short space, and I wasn’t even in the city yet. Uncertain excitement was blooming like a flower in the morning sun.

  I leaned into William’s side. ‘Where are we going first?’

  ‘Where do you want to go first?’ he asked, shifting just enough to look me in the eyes.

  ‘I don’t know.’ There were a thousand places I missed last time, and just as many that I wanted to revisit. The boulangeries, the riverside cafés, and the Eiffel Tour was a must.

  William checked his watch. ‘Good thing I do.’

  ‘What have you planned?’

  ‘A few things,’ he said.

  ‘But you’re not going to tell me, right?’ I asked, a slow smile spreading.

  ‘You’re a fast learner.’ William stood, and stretched up to touch the roof of the carriage. I peered over the top of the seats, waiting for the crowd to disperse. ‘Ready spaghetti?’

  I was ready – for anything.

  Chapter 26

  Paris is synonymous with romance, more than any other city in the world. Look it up in the dictionary, and there’ll be a wobbly little pencil drawings of the Eiffel Tower and kissing couples, rich foods, and bubbling champagne.

  My memory of it is full of glittering lights and golden historic bridges, classic tourist moments, antique buildings and funny photos outside La Louvre. However, while this was all true, it was also suddenly terrifying to someone who barely spoke a lick of French beyond merci and s’il vous plaît.

  Even if I had been here before, a quick dash through the City of Lights on a tour bus at nineteen felt like it didn’t really count for much anymore. We got as far as a coffee shop inside the terminus, when feelings of inadequacy began to taunt me. I listened to William order coffee and ask for directions as if it were second nature. God, I loved his brain. It was so full of ridiculous titbits, factoids and, sometimes kind of important, ability to save a life kind of information.

  ‘Alright.’ He handed over a warm paper cup. ‘What’s on the agenda today?’

  I popped the lid and let the rich aroma of coffee hug me gently. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘What do you want to do? It’s your birthday weekend, so you tell me where we’re going.’

  ‘You mean you haven’t planned anything?’ I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Oh, I have, but we’ll fit your things around that,’ he said.

  Sure, I’d had a few hours to think about it, along with all the other leftover thoughts from last night, but was I supposed to be able to condense what I wanted into 280 characters or less?

  ‘Uh, food, I guess? I’m quite hungry. The Eiffel Tower? I don’t especially want to climb it. I mean, we can, because yay, but I’d really just like to sit in the park underneath for a while and just be?’

  ‘And?’ He gestured for me to continue.

  ‘Can we just wander the streets and make it up as we go along?’

  He gave a sharp nod. ‘Sounds like a design for life. I like it.’

  ‘Alright,’ I said. ‘Did you bring Steve?’

  ‘Steve?’

  ‘Your shark.’

  ‘Oh!’ His eyes widened. ‘No. I have something better this time.’

  ‘You do?’

  He waggled his hand at me. ‘My hand.’

  I looked at it waiting there in hope and peered up at him.

  ‘Come on.’ He twinkled his fingers. ‘I’ve lost you in a foreign city once before. I don’t want it to happen again.’

  Without thought, my fingers slipped perfectly between his, as if they’d been searching out each other all along. I looked at our hands clasped together for a moment. Over the weekends we’d spent in the city, and random other outings, he’d taken my hand before, but not like this. Last
night, this morning and, now, this. It was different, a step in another direction. I adored how one small act seemed to have a finality to it that wasn’t there earlier.

  ‘So, we’re going to get the Metro into the city and go from there.’

  ‘The tower?’ I let him pull me through the station towards another set of turnstiles.

  ‘We’ll get there, I promise.’ He handed me a tiny card stub. ‘Did you use the trains here last time?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Really easy. Little ticket in, through the gates, onto train.’ He grinned. ‘Want to follow me down the rabbit hole?’

  ‘Too late for that,’ I teased, squeezing my way through to the platform in time for a rickety train to come hurtling towards us.

  I was a little grateful that the carriage was so full. After sitting for the last few hours it was a good chance to stretch my legs. With a white-knuckle grip on a stanchion, I watched as another world whizzed by in a cacophony of noise and brake dust. The tiny nuances that made Paris feel like a world away, from signage to etiquette, were spectacular and altogether beautiful. For William, though, it seemed like a run of the mill afternoon; something he’d seen a thousand times before. Social media kept him entertained until we arrived at our station.

  We climbed the stairs to street level, and the sight before me made the hairs on my arm stand up. It was hard to decide what to gawp at first – the Pont de Bir-Hakeim, with its dark arches and multiple levels, or the Eiffel Tower. As always, the tower stood proud and stoic, overlooking all corners of the city. I came to a slow stop as I peered up at the iron giant, a pedestrian bumping me out of the way with an annoyed grumble. I reached out absentmindedly for William. He slipped his hand into mine in what was beginning to feel like a purely perfect thing.

  ‘So, I think what we should do is check into the hotel first. Then the afternoon is yours.’

  ‘Where’s the hotel?’ I asked.

  A lanky finger made like E.T. phoning home. ‘Right here.’