Page 33 of The Promise of Tomorrow
Rory shot Tahoor a helpless look as Elena reached into one of the deep red pockets that had attracted her to the dress in the first place. She waved a yellow card in the air.
‘You made them!’ said Tahoor in a delighted tone. ‘It’s as if I’ve got my family living next door. Right, Rory lad, you and I need to discuss Wednesday’s match. It’s against Newcastle United. Those magpies are a canny lot and…’
Tahoor kept in high spirits and, throughout the meal, didn’t suggest Elena watch how much she ate when she went for seconds of roast potatoes, like he had once when she’d gone around to check on him and he’d asked her to stay for tea and biscuits. He also turned a blind eye when she knocked back a second glass of Bailey’s, after dessert. Elena had seen his signs of grief this last year – the stained, un-ironed clothes, the shadows under his eyes, the lonely glances out of his lounge window – but she’d been so wrapped up in herself that she’d let the friendship slip, telling herself he’d, no doubt, rather be on his own. She was about to draw out the second yellow card when the meal was over as he suggested to Rory that they watch television untilElena had finished clearing up. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. Elena had pretended not to notice, but she’d seen Tahoor dab his eyes with his reindeer paper napkin as soon as one of Isha’s stuffing balls went in his mouth.
‘Stuff the washing. We’ll tidy up later,’ she announced. ‘Let’s chill for half an hour before playing cards.’ Fingers crossed he didn’t suggest playing Old Maid. She and Rory sat on the sofa, Tahoor in a nearby armchair. With the help of black coffee, they eventually found enough energy to play, then took another break. Elena passed around a box of chocolates. She told Tahoor about the bungee jump and Rory reminisced about one he’d done in France, from a cable car in a ski resort.
‘Ah, la belle France,’ mumbled Tahoor. ‘I surprised Isha once with a weekend in Paris. I chose a family run hotel in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, a beautiful area where famous artists and bookish types used to meet and live. I’ve never forgotten its name – Hôtel Madame Chic – or our room’s old-style French furniture, highly carved, with upholstered chairs. Isha loved the floral designs and cosy colours – said she felt like royalty staying there. Paris is a clichéd romantic destination, but she’d always wanted to go. And it turns out, you really haven’t lived unless you’ve climbed up the steps to the Sacré Coeur and looked down at the Parisian skyline.’
‘Never been,’ said Rory.
‘Me neither,’ said Elena.
Tahoor clapped his hands. ‘You should go together! It’s safer for a woman to go with a man. The underground there is…’
Elena’s fingers itched to slide into her pocket for the yellow card as he carried on talking.
‘It must be wonderful at Christmas,’ he continued, ‘the City of Lights especially sparkly, so full of life.’
Full of life. Elena needed to cram as much as she could into the next three weeks, in case…
Paris? Why not?
‘Let’s do it, Rory!’ Her eyes were sparkly now. ‘How about next weekend? A city break to do Christmas shopping.’
He laughed. ‘Nice one. Imagine the scramble to get flights and hotels at this late notice, at this time of year. As for you, flying… Have you thought this through?’
‘Yes! It’s about time I did it. I’m not joking about this trip!’
‘Have you even got a passport?’
‘I had to get one for my last job, but never needed to use it.’ Or rather she’d avoided trips to the head office in Seattle. A little white lie about an ear infection got her out of the last one.
‘Go on, lad! You won’t regret it,’ said Tahoor, and he stood up, went next door, and came back out of breath and shivering from the cold, grasping a small photo album. Elena turned the pages, filled with photos of roadside portrait painters, beautiful Haussmann-style buildings, passersby wearing cool sunglasses, plates of mussels and crêpes. Elena hummed ‘April in Paris’.
‘Please, Rory. I need to do this,’ she murmured. More than he could ever imagine.
Tahoor couldn’t have looked happier as he left to let them get on with searching for flights and hotel rooms. He gave Elena a hug by the front door, whilst Rory set up his laptop.
‘Thanks for a lovely evening,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t as bad as I expected.’ But with those words, he looked down at the album he was holding and his face crumpled. A sob escaped his lips. His arms curled around his body as he went to leave.
‘Tahoor! Come back in,’ she said.
Vehemently, Tahoor shook his head. ‘Mustn’t let another man – shouldn’t let anyone – see me crying.’ He gulped.
Elena paused, delved into her pocket and passed him a red card. He sniffed and with a puzzled look on his face, took it.
‘You get the cards for sexist comments, right? Well, that comment is sexist towards men. There’s nothing wrong with you crying, Tahoor, and don’t you forget it.’
‘I miss her so very much,’ he croaked. ‘I dream about her too. The pain when I wake up and find she’s not there…’ He gave another muffled sob. ‘It’s more than I can bear, and I’m worried this sense of helplessness will never go away.’ The shudders that ripped through his body eventually slowed. Elena held his hand tightly. ‘Sorry, lass – making a show of myself.’
‘Don’t you apologise. It will get better, I promise,’ she whispered. ‘The death of a loved one is traumatic. As a child, I suffered a trauma. Time doesn’t make you forget but it gives you coping mechanisms.’
Tahoor wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his coat. ‘You must think me a right… What’s that word my granddaughter, Sharnaz, uses…? Wuss.’
Elena leant forwards and gave him a hug. She stepped back and placed a hand on one of his shoulders. ‘Quite the opposite. It takes an incredibly brave person to share their tears… to share their inner fears,’ she said. ‘Come round again this week.’
‘For the football on Wednesday?’ he said, and his face lit up. ‘Snacks on me.’
