Page 70 of One Night With You

‘Beau and I agreed the same,’ Harry says. ‘And yes,’ he adds, noting my intrigued expression, ‘I am volunteering more information about my love life. I think I might be dangerously close to happy.’

‘Ha,’ I hoot, causing the stern waiter to shoot me a look of unbridled who-the-hell-are-these-classless-tourists disgust. ‘That could be the name of a novel.’

‘Well, my memoirs will be calledI Did A Thing, And I Regret It Already.’

I giggle. ‘Mine will beSorry, I Couldn’t Hear You Over My Internal Monologue.’

‘Overthinkers?’ Harry mock-marvels. ‘Us? Never!’

‘Overthinking about how to get the happy ending they deserve,’ I say. ‘By which I mean JP’s, not our own.’

‘Yes, let’s not jinxthat,’ Harry says, making the sign of the cross over his body. ‘Dear Lord, do not smite my happiness – by which I mean JP’s – amen.’

‘But, Lord, please do give us some great footage for our doc, thank you.’

‘Yes,’ says Harry, looking skyward. ‘We’re huge fans of your work, my Lord. We know you’ll look after us.’

‘I’m so pleased you came to talk to me that day in the atrium,’ I say, peeling open a sugar sachet and pouring it into my empty cup. ‘I think a lot about JP affecting my outlook, but it all came from your encouragement. I’m thankful for that.’

‘Awwww, Ruby!’ Harry exclaims. ‘Are you trying to make me cry?’

‘Maybe.’ I wink. ‘How close are you?’

‘I’m a bit on the edge, truth told,’ he says. ‘Seeing you so happy as well, knowing that we’re breathing the same air as Amelie right now …’

‘I know. I get impatient when my food takes too long to arrive in a restaurant. Imagine having the patience to see an old love again after all this time.’

‘I don’t even know if I could let myself get old,’ Harry says. ‘JP is the life and soul, but the salmon sandwiches and endless naps? Put a bullet in me when I’m seventy – that’s what I say.’

‘My stepdad is almost seventy and there’s life in him yet,’ I insist. ‘I think it must be nice, finally slowing down, taking stock of it all.’

‘Hmmmm.’ Harry checks the post he’s just published. ‘Lots of excited people,’ he notes, changing the subject. And then: ‘Holy shit, Ruby. Guess who is following us?’

I shake my head.

‘The pope?’ I offer.

‘Veronica Bloody Latimer,’ he says.

‘BAFTA-award-winning BBC producer?’ I say, pulling his phone from him. ‘No. No way!’

I look at the screen, and there she is.This is so cool!she has written.

‘Christ,’ I say. ‘That makes me feel … pressure. Does that make you feel pressure?’

‘Let’s just say,’ Harry laments, pulling his gloves back on and starting to stand up, ‘that it makes me want to go and check I’ve got back-up batteries and all our gear is ready to go,’ he says.

‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘We really cannot screw this up now.’

Back in the lobby, JP is wearing a bright red knitted waistcoat under his winter coat, and a tartan scarf that William has tied in a knot to keep the breeze out. He’s tapping his fingers on his knees slowly with one hand, holding on to the photo of Amelie in the other. I can feel his energy: upbeat and happy, eager and anxious.

Harry already has the camera rolling and so I ask JP how he’s feeling.

‘Ready,’ he says, with a nod, a tentative smile playing on his lips.

‘And before it all happens, let me ask you this too: what do you want people to know about love?’ I prompt. ‘Reflecting on this journey you’ve been on, what lesson have you learned that you’d like to save somebody else from learning the hard way?’

JP considers his response. ‘I think it’s very simple,’ he says after a lull. ‘Not knowing what could happen next means that anything could. Grab on to love with both hands when it appears. Don’t take it for granted. That I have a second chance to lay my eyes on Amelie puts me in the minority. Let ye be not so stupid.’ He grins. And with that we’re off.

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