Page 52 of Never Too Late
‘I never moved on from you. Anyone I ever met was always a poor imitation of you so it never worked out.’
I took a step back. ‘Don’t you dare blame me for your failed relationships!’
He shook his head. ‘Merde!No, I didn’t… I am not explaining this well.’ He checked his watch. ‘We have to be back at the bar shortly.’
‘I think that’s probably for the best.’ I pulled my coat around me and belted it tightly as I walked towards the door. Behind me, the gallery once more fell back into the low light it had been bathed in, except for the artfully lit window display.
We stepped back onto the pavement, still shiny with the earlier rain. Thankfully, it had now stopped and there was no need to cram together under the umbrella as we began the short walk back to the hotel.
Eventually, Tomas spoke. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t like it.’
‘It’s not that. The paintings are incredible. You always were so talented. But it’s…’ I turned and stopped. ‘It’s so many things, Tomas! The last person I expected to run into tonight, or ever, was you! I’d packed away all those memories and then at the gallery, they all came tumbling out again.’
‘They aren’t good memories?’
‘Of course they’re good memories, you idiot! That’s why it’s so hard!’ I punctuated the word ‘idiot’ with a punch to the biceps, causing Tomas to wince, which had been oddly satisfying. For some reason, Tomas was bringing out the worst in me.
‘I’d forgotten what a good left hook you have.’
‘And I’d forgotten what a pain in the arse you are!’
We stood there staring at each other for a moment, my breathing short and shallow with annoyance and a whole host of other emotions I’d shut the door on and wasn’t ready to open back up yet – if ever. And then, out of nowhere, laughter bubbled up inside of me and burst out. Tomas looked as surprised as I felt. A hesitant smile, shot through with a clear streak of confusion, crept onto his lips.
‘Is… everything OK?’ He reached out and laid the briefest touch on my cheek with the back of his hand, light as a butterfly, before withdrawing. ‘Perhaps we should get you to a hospital. You obviously took quite a fall.’ His eyes scanned my face, lingering on the worst area of bruising. ‘Head injuries can be more serious than at first thought.’
‘Oh, Tomas! I’m not deranged.’
‘No, of course I didn’t mean…’ He stopped under the scrutiny of my focus then tipped his head back to the light-polluted sky and let out a sigh. ‘I have replayed this scenario in my head so many, many times over the years and not once has it been even half as disastrous as tonight has been.’
‘You have?’
He pulled his eyes from the cloud-obscured heavens. The pain in his eyes told me more than words ever could.
‘Tomas, I?—’
A rumble of thunder jolted us back to the present, away from the thoughts of times past and what might have been. Tomas opened the umbrella once more as the clouds unleashed another downpour. Without thinking, I hooked my arm around his and he wrapped his other arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer under the brolly, and to him, as we hurried back towards the hotel. The ornate glass doors to the foyer were opened in anticipation as we dashed through and Tomas handed back the borrowed umbrella with thanks.
‘You’re OK?’ he asked. I caught sight of my reflection in a nearby gilt-edged mirror and winced, the pain of which made me wince again.
‘I’ll have to do.’ I heard the forced buoyancy of my tone as I took in the reflection before me. My hair, tonged into loose curls earlier in a vain attempt to distract people from the bruising, now hung straight and limp. My make-up, remastered by Gabby earlier, hadn’t fared too badly but seeing the painting earlier when I’d looked so vibrant and happy, it was hard to dredge up anything other than disappointment at the rest.
‘Whatever it is that you are thinking, it’s not true.’ Tomas’s voice was deep and mellow beside me.
He always had been able to read me like a book. It was only when I’d left Paris that I’d been determined to close that book for good. To let people think what I wanted them to think, not the real feelings hidden below.
‘The painting of Gabby, that was recent?’
‘Last summer.’
‘And she looks so alive, so vibrant still. And she is! It’s obvious immediately to anyone who meets her.’
‘And that’s not how you feel?’
I shook my head. ‘Not even close.’
‘Why?’
I turned to face him instead of our reflections. ‘So many reasons, Tomas.’
