Page 73 of One Night With You

Ruby

JP is silent. Sophie has invited us upstairs to her grandmother’s apartment, which feels incredibly intrusive and yet we all understand that it’s as important for the woman who has just passed away as it is for the man Sophie has only just met. It’s the kind thing to do. He looks distraught. I can’t believe that even five minutes ago we were laughing and joking and bloodyfilming.We’ve been treating this as one big story and it’s not make-believe. This is people’slives.I’m ashamed. We take the lift up to Amelie’s floor without speaking and Sophie’s mother and her husband are there, too, dressed sleek and sophisticated as if they’ve come straight from work.

‘Hello,’ the woman says, ‘I’m Brigitte, Amelie’s daughter. This is my husband, Claude.’

We shake hands, express condolences, accept offers of coffees and teas and then sit. The apartment is light and airy, with herringbone hardwood floors and ceilings that meet the walls with ornate cornicing. Modest art is on the walls. It’sa far cry from JP’s Manchester terrace in terms of style. It’s European and chic. JP’s house feels more like a home, but there’s a serenity to Amelie’s apartment. It makes me wonder what she’s like. Was like. Oh, God.

‘We’ve heard so much about you,’ Brigitte says, gently, once we’ve all got drinks and seem settled. ‘The Englishman who had her heart. I’ve known about you since I was a little girl.’

JP smiles, and it seems genuine. I think it must be a comfort to hear about her from one of the people closest to her in the world. ‘All good, I hope.’ His voice sounds translucent and thin. Tired. I suddenly have a thought – I think:I hope this doesn’t kill him.I try to shake it off.

‘It was a sort of legend in our family,’ Brigitte continues. ‘It’s impossible, I think, to imagine a life for your parents before you are born – we children are so selfish, aren’t we? – but withMaman, she was different, you know? She loved life, was so calm and at peace with herself. She had a smile, like she had a secret, and I always thought whenever she drifted off into one of her daydreams that it was to spend time with you, especially since she found out you had been looking for her. It brought her so much happiness.’

‘Did she ever talk of finding him too?’ William asks.

‘No,’ Brigitte says diplomatically. ‘She was a practical woman. To find a soldier called JP in all of England – she told me once she wasn’t even sure you were alive. I think her memories were safer. But goodness, when we found out you were alive and had been looking for her – I’ve never seen her so happy! She’s not been well for a long time, but it’s true – is it not, Claude – that when she knew you were coming, she seemed better. She stayed awake longer, started to hum her little songs like I remember as a child.’

Out of respect, we’re not filming, but our voice recorderblinks in interest as she tells us all this. It’s awful, thinking about the project when JP is so heartbroken, but it was Harry who whispered to me as we got out of the lift that whilst we are JP’s friends, we’re also here for work and the work is to document this journey for everyone who has followed us so far. I didn’t reply, but I know my silence makes me complicit in the decision to keep getting our ‘content’. That makes me feel ashamed, too.

‘There’s value in telling this part of it too,’ Harry had whispered. I don’t know what to think.

‘Would you like to see her, JP?’ Sophie asks then. ‘She’s in the bedroom. Perhaps you’d like to say hello again after all this time, before you say goodbye?’

Crikey. I didnotknow that she was still here. I don’t know what I thought. I knew she’d died in her sleep, but I thought the body had been moved already. Isn’t that what happens? I don’t have any experience with death. All my grandparents are still alive. I don’t want to have to see a dead body. The hairs on my arms stand to attention, letting me know that I really do feel unsettled.

‘She will stay here until tonight, when the rest of the family can visit to say goodbye,’ Claude explains. I wonder if anybody will sleep in the apartment with her.

‘Yes,’ says JP, after considering the question. ‘I’d like to see her.’

We give him his privacy, William helping him to the bedroom door but letting him take the last few steps alone, loitering only to make sure he gets into the chair Brigitte has put beside the bed.

‘This is a beautiful home,’ I offer, to fill the silence nobody else seems to mind. I do, though. It’s too devastating, being here mere hours too late. If we’d have come yesterday insteadof breaking up the journey, or come straight from the station on an earlier train, would she have even died at all? Would it have been enough to keep her alive, refilling her heart? Or is that too much to hope for? I don’t know if I’m being silly, or romantic. I hate myself for wishing Nic was here, but I do. I want to hug somebody, or be hugged.

‘She loves it,’ Sophie offers. ‘Loved,’ she then corrects. We exchanged wounded looks. ‘Sorry,’ she says, welling up.

‘Were you very close?’ William asks her, and she looks up gratefully, pleased he’s asked, I think.

‘Very much so,’ Sophie tells him, and they exchanged a knowing look.

‘Gramps is my world,’ William says, and Sophie nods.

‘She always moved at my speed. How do you say? We werein step.’

‘There’s a poem about that.’ William nods. ‘About how children need their grandparents because grandparents move slowly, don’t rush around as much as parents. Little people and old people have a commonality.’

‘Yes!’ Sophie agrees, gesticulating in glee at being understood. She seems to catch herself then, remembering that this is a solemn day. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I’ve just always thought this. To hear you say it brings me a lot of joy.’

William smiles at her again, and she nods.

When JP reappears we all turn to him, awaiting his guidance, and he announces, ‘I think we should give the family their privacy.’

We leave.

I feel sad for JP, and sorry for Amelie’s family, but the next morning it’s a small comfort to know that Nic is going to meet me off the train. I texted him last night, telling himwe’d just missed Amelie, and he left me a garbled voice note saying he was incredibly drunk with Jackson, but very sad to hear that news. It made me smile. He didn’t sound wasted, just a bit slur-y, and he signed off by saying,Anyway, see you tomorrow. I love you. Well. Not love you, but – you know what I mean. Shit. Okay. Bye.I did know what he meant.

We get into St Pancras and the others go across to Euston to go straight up to Manchester, but I make a right. He’s waiting right by the exit, holding a sign that says ‘RUBY’ with a heart and arrow through it drawn on.

‘Hey, you,’ he says, as I approach.

---