Page 38 of The Love of Our Lives
A shadow crosses his face again.
‘Now, he says, ‘would you kindly bugger off and let an old man sleep, or die – either one will do.’
And with that, he takes the box inside, and slams the door in my face.
‘Don’t take it personally,’ Adam says a couple of minutes later, as he drops me at my door. ‘I’ve tried with William before, but he was having none of it. Maybe it’s too hard to change sometimes, after a certain point.’
But as we say our goodbyes, our eyes lingering briefly on each other as we do, I can’t help wondering if that’s really true. And I also can’t help thinking about what I saw as we came in.
ATo Letsign hanging outside the card shop beneath us.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘Happy Birthday, E!’
I’m just taking a sip of my post-run coffee a week later when I hear the words blasting down the phone. I’d answered Fran’s call immediately before I saw it was still only seven in the morning.
‘Sorry?’ I say. ‘Happy what?’
‘Oh, for god’s sake,’ Fran says, ‘have you actually forgotten your own birthday now?’
My heart thuds lightly in my chest. It’s not like I feel I have to pretend to Fran really; there’s something oddly natural about the flow of us, regardless of the situation. But forgetting my birthday? Well, that is just plain weird.
‘No,’ I say slowly, ‘it’s just, I wasn’t really planning to make a big deal of it this year.’
‘No change from any other year then,’ Fran says. ‘How can you be so good at celebrating other people’s stuff but so absolutely crap at celebrating your own?’
I think back to my last birthday, how incredibly pressurised I found the whole thing, just the notion of everyone having to focus on me for the day, hoping I would make it to the next one. Mum fussed over me at every moment and I had to pretend to love the sugarless cake she’d made me.
‘Well, anyway,’ Fran continues, ‘I knew you’d try and avoid it, which is why something is arriving for you this morning to help it along.’
‘Oh?’
‘You canOhall you like, but you’ll have to wait and see.’
I smile. ‘Well, thank you in advance, that’s ridiculously nice of you and I’ll look out for it. And on the note of celebrations,’ I continue, ‘are you and Toby happy to confirm the honeymoon itinerary I put together for you?’
‘Yes, I’ll confirm the luxury resort tour,’ she says in a mocking tone, and I frown. Doesn’t she want to go? A trilling noise comes down the phone. ‘Hang on, door,’ she says.
While she’s away, I think about how Fran’s wedding prep had not got past the actual day itself, and suddenly I found myself in a place I was always so comfortable with – brainstorming ideas for where other people could go together. I’d been using Adam’s laptop for anything I needed before, but as I became more involved in helping Fran, I finally gave in and got a cheap one of my own. At least I know I’m not just going to sit behind it anymore, and as I got to work on the sofa, I realised how long it’s been since I actually sat down to create adventures for other people. I’ve just been so busy doing my own stuff recently, running, taking photos, hanging out with Adam, cooking, eating and exploring – having my own little adventures. I paused for a moment on the Royal Mile the other day though, when I saw the sign for Dunbar’s Close. And even though my heart started beating a little faster at the sight of it, none of those strange feelings I’d had in the speakeasy came back again. I decided I’d maybe never need to know why Emily was looking for it, and carried on my way through the city. Because I have to assume that these strange memories are fragments from Emily’s life. Nothing to do with Stella, or thatTo Letsign below.
I don’t know why I’m thinking about my heart donor again – there are places to let all around the city after all – it’s just in all the chaos of what’s happened, I sort of forgot about the letter I’d received, and her. But that sign has got her back into my mind again. And I even wondered for an earth-shattering moment if I might be back inherlife, which set my pulse racing – given thatI know she dies. But my name is Emily, not Stella, and she lived above a bakery, not a card shop.
Pushing the troubling thoughts away again, I hear Fran faintly in the background speaking to someone, and I think again about her upcoming trip – how envious I secretly am. Her and Toby’s budget was pretty punchy, so I booked them into a couple of impressive resorts in the Maldives, which Toby had apparently always wanted to try. I felt a little bad for Fran though, given I knew what she really wanted to do was go seafaring in the Galápagos Islands; search for some of the world’s rarest creatures. Though if she jokes about finding the blue-footed booby one more time, I’ll kill her. Her and Toby seem to have quite different tastes, I’ve sometimes noticed – what type of holidays they like, what they want to do with their weekends (he likes reading the newspaper in bed, she likes to get up and go on adventures) – which is fine if it works, I guess. But I just hope she’s not putting her own dreams on hold for him too often.
Dear Fran – because that’s how I’ve started thinking about her – this warm, reassuring voice I can call at any moment, whenever I’m homesick for Jess or Mum or Dad.
And, not for the first time, I get this genuine sense that I’ve known her a lot longer, that we’ve had hundreds of drinks and dinners and drunken one-in-the-morning conversations.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ she says, coming back on the line, sounding slightly flustered. ‘It was the postie,’ she explains, ‘and on that note, I just got a text from the delivery company there. He’s asking if you can let him in.’
‘Oh,’ I say, looking towards the door with a frown, ‘my buzzer must be broken.’
‘Well, go and let him in, and then go and actually enjoy yourself for once.’
I smile. ‘All right, I will.’
Once I’ve hung up, I head across to the door, and I’m about to press the release catch on the intercom, when there’s a knock. I open it up to find the most enormous bunch of Happy Birthday balloons on the other side, and behind them, Adam in his wool sweater, smiling at me.
