Page 29 of The Promise of Tomorrow
Elena fixed a glazed smile on her face. His good looks, his fantastic cooking, his attentive manner… It all slid away.
‘How about the horizon?’ she said. ‘If a mountain comes into view, you’ll only see the top of it first.’
He snorted and went into a long explanation of why that proved nothing. She glanced at his clock. Half past ten. This could carry on for hours.
‘That’s why the US government killed JFK,’ he said in a confident tone. ‘Kennedy knew man could never penetrate the dome over us, in order to fly to the moon. The powers-that-be realisedhe’d never lie to the public and support the fake moon landings. Therefore the Illuminati?—’
Elena stood up and brushed down her jeans. ‘This is fascinating, Carl, thanks for sharing. But I’ve got the most godawful headache. I’m prone to them and shouldn’t have had all that wine. I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave.’ She grabbed her coat from the back of the sofa and picked up her handbag.
Carl got to his feet. ‘What? But… you can’t go, I haven’t even told you yet the reason why the truth isn’t being told to us. It’s because knowledge is power and NASA and the UN?—’
Elena pulled open the flat’s door. Thank God it wasn’t locked. Her heart pumping, she raced down the stairs, almost tripping. She yanked open the door at the bottom and hurried outside, finding herself back in the dark, cold alleyway. Elena tightened her scarf and, walking at a speedy pace, turned right towards the lights of bars.
‘That’s not the best of it!’ yelled a voice behind her. ‘Covid proves, again, how we’re being manipulated by those in power. No onefollowed the sciencewhen inflicting those lockdowns. The pandemic was just another example of?—’
A group of stag night revellers passed her, singing, thankfully drowning out Carl’s conspiracy theories. By the time she’d reached the train station and her heart had stopped racing, bubbles of laughter had replaced the adrenaline in her veins.
19
ELENA
Whilst Elena waited for thirty minutes on the train platform, her mirth morphed into something more sober. Physical goals like eating sushi and bungee jumping were do-able – emotional, romantic ones, less so. Perhaps… maybe… it had been a bit foolish, going to a stranger’s house without even knowing his surname. Still, she was determined to remain positive. Whistling ‘White Christmas’, Elena came to Tahoor’s house and, attracted by the light, spotted him sitting in his lounge, in front of the television, alone on a Saturday evening. It was almost midnight. A twinge of sadness for him, for herself, tugged inside her chest. He stood up and waved. He disappeared from view before the front door opened.
‘Had a good night, lass?’ Tahoor pulled at his beard, wearing his sandal-style slippers and striped dressing gown with a stain down the front, tied around the waist, creased Paisley pyjamas just visible underneath.
‘Don’t ask,’ she said and pulled a comical face. She folded her arms, stepping from foot to foot, the air turning white as she spoke.
‘You shouldn’t be out on your own in the dark. Shall I accompany you to your front door?’
‘It’s okay, thanks. I’ve only come from the station, which isn’t far away. I needed a brisk walk after the night I’ve had.’
‘One reason Isha loved Christmas was that she said it put everyone in a better mood.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I… I’m dreading this year’s. My first without her. I don’t want to get upset in front of the family.’
‘I’m sure they’d want to be there for you,’ Elena said, thinking back to when she was ten and worried that she might never have another Christmas with her mum, worried about Dad. She walked up to his front door. ‘They’ll be missing her too.’
‘Still… I don’t want to dampen the day. I need a practice run, to get the soppy stuff out of me in advance.’ He forced another smile. ‘Not just because I’d eat Christmas dinner every day if I could. Very traditionally English ours always was, apart from Isha’s mushroom masala stuffing balls.’
Elena reached out and patted his arm. ‘Right, I’d better get inside, run a bath and soak off my disastrous date.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh. You really aren’t interested in young Rory, then?’
‘Tahoor! How many times? We are nothing but friends.’
‘If you say so.’ His eyes twinkled.
That man was impossible!
He bid her goodnight, retreating into his house. She went to walk away but then span around.
‘Tomorrow’s the first of December. We should celebrate, right? I’m going to put up my tree. Cook a roast turkey dinner with all the trimmings. We’ll have crackers and cranberry sauce. Everything we need is already in the shops. It might be late-ishbefore we eat, but how about coming around at four in the afternoon?’
As if Christmas tree lights ran through his veins, Tahoor’s whole demeanour lit up. ‘You’re serious?’
‘Only if you dig out Isha’s recipe and make those stuffing balls.’
‘But… but what if I get… in front of you…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I have got a stiff upper lip about everything, apart from when it comes to my?—’
‘Don’t worry. Rory will be bawling when he realises the soundtrack to the day is my Christmas jazz music CD on repeat.’
