Page 45 of The Promise of Tomorrow
‘You aren’t laughing?’ he said, and a bemused grin spread across his face. ‘Wait until Gary finds out. He’ll never be able to call me a nerd again.’
‘But this is great, Rory. Doesn’t surprise me. True style is about uniqueness, right? I’ve always seen that in you. Of course you were going to be spotted in Paris.’
‘It’s bonkers! I’m Rory Bunker, the solid statistics guy, the common sense Mancunian through and through.’
‘Exactly. These models can earn thousands. What could be more common sense than enjoying the ride for a few years and building up savings? Aren’t you in the least bit tempted?’
‘I have a career.’
‘One you could always come back to.’
‘No. It’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t even know how to walk.’ He stood up and strutted up and down, as if the cobblestone path was a runway and the tombs the audience. He had no idea how natural, how sexy he looked, oozing pure confidence. ‘In any event, the show is on the twenty-first of December and I have a prior, very important, engagement.’
‘It’s only a birthday party.’
‘It’s much more than that,’ he said, and those chestnut eyes looked firmly at her. ‘And I don’t know if modelling would make me feel as valued and inspired as my job in marketing.’
‘Nicole was nice. You should keep in touch with her, at least. You two looked good together.’
Rory stared at her with an unfathomable expression that disappeared quickly. ‘She was pretty cool. Smart too, she spokebrilliant English. I suppose it’s not that far, to hop over the Channel, if I want to take her out for dinner. I did scoot over to Calais for kitesurfing once.’
Elena forced a smile. Thank God she hadn’t made a move on Rory. He had clearly been immediately taken with the stylish French woman.
28
RORY
Rory lay on his bed in Elena’s spare room and yawned. They’d got back a couple of hours ago, after an uneventful flight from Paris – unless you counted a baby in a Santa Claus baby grow projectile vomiting onto the flight attendant. Elena had stared intently at her lap during the take-off and landing, but no one else would have noticed the nervousness. How different from the flight yesterday. She’d hurried into the lounge to check on Brandy and Snap as soon as they walked through the front door. She couldn’t stop laughing as Rory gently pushed her away, to get their full attention himself, as he talked about being scouted by a modelling agency. The stick insects remained suitably unimpressed. She bolted the front door after locking it, something she hadn’t done in a while, then said goodnight to Rory, giving him a kiss on the cheek and thanking him for going to Paris with her.
Having just cleaned his teeth, Rory leant against the bed’s headboard and swigged back a mouthful of water. He hadn’t sung ‘Ocean Eyes’ tonight. His heart wasn’t in it. Not after Elena had encouraged him to text Nicole as soon as they sat down inthe lounge. They’d put the heating on high. Over the weekend, the temperatures had plummeted in Manchester, and the road outside was already icy. In front of the Christmas tree lights, they’d enjoyed mugs of gingerbread hot chocolate, with festive jazz playing in the background – a cosy, romantic scene for sure, if Elena hadn’t been matchmaking him with someone else. A futile mission because the black of Nicole’s eyes, whilst striking, was empty and lifeless compared to the enigmatic, vibrant blue of Elena’s. Yet he’d played along and promised to contact the French woman. He was partly to blame for Elena thinking the two of them well-suited. He’d put on an act when talking to Nicole in the cemetery, pretending he was super happy and interested, because he didn’t want Elena to guess his true feelings, not after he’d leaned in and almost kissed her. How lucky that Nicole had interrupted right at that moment, otherwise he’d have made a right fool of himself.
He stared at the ceiling and ran his hand over his cheek, where Elena had kissed it. The trip to Paris had been fun. He’d eaten great food, seen fabulous sights and been enormously flattered by Nicole’s attention. More importantly, he’d admitted his true feelings for Elena, to himself at least, and respected the fact that she didn’t feel the same. All in all, it had been a successful trip. He gave a deep sigh. Then why did his insides burn and twist, as if they’d somehow simultaneously been stirred with a hot rod and screwed into a tight ball?
Love.
Dad spoke once about how he’d never regretted meeting Mum, never regretted how losing her made the following years difficult to get through, especially Christmases, because the love he’d had when they were together made the suffering worth it. Rory saw now that he’d shied away from deep and meaningful relationships because he was afraid of goingthrough the suffering Dad had endured. It was years before his dad had dated again and only recently that he’d formed a close, long-lasting, satisfying bond with another woman. But now Rory understood. That hurt was the price you paid for experiencing feelings and longings that would create the biggest drug cartel in the world, if they could just be bottled and marketed.
When Elena had kissed him on the cheek and called him matey, sitting on that bench in the cemetery, that ‘m’ word had sliced through his heart, leaving a raw, painful gash behind. How alive he’d felt at the touch of her lips on his skin, a rush that no future skydive could ever replicate. A wry smile crossed his face. Jacques had known the truth and collared Rory before he left, when they’d picked up their bags. Elena had gone to use the bathroom and Jacques patted Rory on the shoulder.
‘Love is everything,mon ami. No one lies on their deathbed wishing they’d spent more hours at their computer. The most important thing is to be true to yourself and that means opening your eyes to thepeopleyou want to spend your life with. A great job, fancy clothes, a sports car, exotic holidays… None of it really matters. All that’s on the surface.’ Jacques had thumped his chest. ‘What matters is what’s inside this body that we discard on death, because that spirit, that emotion, is who we really are; it’s what lasts forever.’
Under any other circumstances, Rory would have then and there declared his love for Elena and risked rejection. But he couldn’t burden her with anything that might distract from their investigations. She’d lightened up since telling him about the fortune teller and seemed more relaxed than she ever had in the year he’d known her. It was wonderful to see. Rory mustn’t jeopardise that.
He reached for his journal.
Sunday 8th December
I’ve sat here for 10 minutes, doodling sprigs of holly, but the numbers and facts won’t come about the weekend in Paris. I’ve always found it strange, over the years, when people talk about diaries as if they were friends. However, now I get it. You are my confidante and my only option for sharing my truth.
I’ve never fallen in love before. Izzy is fun, clever, good company, but I don’t feel anything deeper and it’s obvious she only sees me as a good-time pal. It’s an arrangement that’s worked well and I’ve always thought a connection like that would be enough. The closest I’ve got to one of those relationships that I see amongst friends, or in movies, was with Antonia, three years ago. I met her family. She met Dad. We talked tentatively about the next steps… Moving in together, saving for a mortgage deposit. However, I always changed the subject when marriage came up. Antonia wasn’t one for waiting around, so one night, in a restaurant, a big grin on her face, she knelt down, in front of the staff and customers, and asked me to marry her. She’d even bought a ring studded with emeralds, my favourite stone.
The humiliated expression on her face when I said no… I’ll never forget it, along with her embarrassment as diners hastily turned away. Outside, in the street, she shouted, called me a classic male commitment-phobe and accused me of wasting her time. She wasn’t wrong, but not for the reasons she believed. I wasn’t afraid of marriage and kids, of signing a certificate to promise myself to one woman for the rest of my life, to look after her and let her look after me, to be part of a forever team… No, I was afraid of having all of that taken away from me, by an illness or accident, knowing the pain my dad had suffered. Guess I was a coward. Yet saying no was theright thing to do. The way I love Elena has proved that and gives me a strength I’ve never felt before. Antonia had so many attractive qualities but I didn’t miss her on my sports trips abroad, didn’t rush home from the office to be with her. Not in the way, before moving in with Elena, I’d jump out of bed and hurry into work, keen to see Elena roll those blue eyes at my pickle jar; to see her admire my latest outfit, or fire off marketing ideas; to chat to her about breaking news items.
It’s a cruel blow that, now I’ve finally found true, compelling love and am ready to risk what Dad suffered, I can’t say anything.
29
ELENA
