‘I’m Robin,’ was what he said next, offering her a hand encased in a stripy glove to match his hat.
‘Sophie.’ She took it and squeezed, feeling the warmth of his skin through the layers of knitted wool.
They stood there in the snow chatting for what felt to Sophie like forever, all about where they had already been and where they were going. She was thrilled to learn that his planned path around Europe was almost identical to her own, and that they had both been drawn to the same cities on the route.
‘I want to see Venice, but I’m not as bothered about Florence,’ he said. ‘I like the more magical places, and I reckon Venice has that in abundance.’
He was right, of course, as they would both discover a few weeks later.
‘I think every city has its magical parts,’ she told him. ‘You just have to be willing to go looking for them.’
‘You’re probably right,’ he shrugged, never taking his eyes off her. ‘It’s a good thing I found you so early on in my trip. Now you can enlighten me at every step.’
He was being forward and cheeky and presumptuous and he knew it, but Sophie felt herself swell with happiness and excitement. This boy really wanted to spend time with her, and she found that she couldn’t get enough of him. She was already wishing that she could turn back time somehow and meet him years before. They’d known each other for all of half an hour, but she already felt as if she’d been cheated out of potential time they could have spent together. If she could have pressed a button right then and there that would have taken them both back to infancy together, she would have done so without hesitation. She also knew full well that these thoughts were utterly ludicrous, but she felt giddy with the promise of him. Of them together.
‘Shall we go and get a drink?’ he asked eventually.
The bridge had become all but deserted as the snow had continued to fall, and it was now barely possible to see the river below them, let alone the surrounding landscape.
Sophie laughed as she realised what they must look like, standing there on the bridge as if they were the only people in the world, snow piling up on top of their hats and on their shoulders. It had been a good twenty minutes since she had been able to feel any of her fingers or toes, but she’d never felt so alert in her life, so aware of her body and of her own movements. It was as if Robin had flicked a switch inside her that had never been pressed before, and now she was coming alive, really alive, for the very first time.
They shuffled through the snow slowly, both aware that the slippery, uneven ground could claim them at any step, and Robin told her about his love of surfing.
‘I should have guessed you were a surfer from your hair,’ she told him when they reached a cosy-looking Irish pub and he pulled off his snow-drenched hat.
‘And I guess that makes you a leprechaun, then, right?’ he joked. ‘Small and ginger!’
‘Oi!’ She aimed a playful swipe in his direction. Sophie had been lucky enough to attend a school where being ginger didn’t automatically mean relentless teasing from the age of five to fifteen, but she was still slightly self-conscious of her fiery hair. There was no hiding when you were a redhead, no vanishing into the crowds as a brunette so easily could, and Sophie had reluctantly grown used to being looked at wherever she went.
‘I’d rather be a merry little Irish fellow than someone who could have been in the cast of Home and Away in 1992.’
He laughed at that, and it was a lovely, proper belly laugh.
‘Touché, Little Miss Sophie.’ He nudged her with a casual arm. ‘I’ll let you win that one, but I’ll warn you now, I’ll be ready for the next one. I’m going to think up lots of clever retorts right now and keep them stored in my brain, just in case.’
‘Do your worst!’ she dared him, giving him the benefit of an amused side-eye.
Their huge tankards of beer arrived, a frothy head the size of a small country on the top of each, and they clinked their glasses together in celebration of having met one another.
‘I feel like I’ve known you for years,’ Robin told her an hour later. They were sitting side by side at the bar, and his thigh was pressed warmly against her own. ‘Does that sound mad? It does, doesn’t it? I’m not a crazy stalker, I promise.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ she giggled. ‘You don’t sound mad at all. In fact, I was just thinking the exact same thing myself. Does that make me some sort of mad bunny-boiler?’
‘Yes,’ he joked, lurching sideways to avoid another jab.
Sophie glared at him in mock outrage and reached for her beer. It was her third, and with every sip she was growing braver. All she wanted to do was climb across her own stool and on to his lap, wrap her legs around his waist and order him to kiss her right now. But of course she didn’t.
She’d read about being undressed by someone’s eyes in books before, but she’d never experienced it. Robin was looking at her with a hunger that was almost primal, but rather than feel intimidated, she felt content, as if this exact moment was the entire reason she had been born in the first place. She would try to describe it to him months later, when they lay, clammy limbs entwined, on the single mattress of a top bunk in a hostel in Athens. He would listen intently and nod along, tell her that he knew what she meant: being with her had always felt right. He felt like he was home.
Robin was a gentleman that first night and walked her back to her hostel before heading off to his own. Sophie couldn’t help herself; she grabbed his hand as he made to turn away, suddenly fearful at the thought of never seeing him again. She was afraid that she’d wake up and discover that he had been nothing but a dream.
Robin looked down at his own hand clasped in both of hers and smiled. The snow had finally stopped, but the air around them had retained a frozen stillness that under usual circumstances would have left them both shivering from head to toe. Sophie found that she was shivering, but it was nothing to do with the temperature.
‘Have breakfast with me tomorrow,’ he said at last, raising her hand up towards his mouth as he did so and slowly easing off her glove with his fingers.
‘Of course,’ she murmured, watching her bare skin emerge and feeling her eyes widen and her legs tremble as he brought the tips of her fingers up to his lips. For a second he just breathed on them to warm them, making sure she could feel every tiny sensation, and then, so briefly she would later wonder if he had even done it at all, he kissed them.
‘I know a place that does a mean apple strudel,’ he said, dropping her limp hand and taking a step backwards. ‘See you back here at nine?’
‘I’ll be here,’ she managed, watching as he smiled at her one final time and turned to walk away. It was the last time they spent a night apart for months.
Sophie looked down to find that her fingers were gripping the edge of the bridge, the nails white against the cold stone. They had been back here so many times now, herself and Robin. The first time they’d returned he had even crouched down and kissed the ground, thanking it for being the place that he’d found her, that they’d found each other. Sophie remembered it now and laughed. He could be a livewire sometimes, but his exuberance was one of the many things she loved so much about him.
The clocks around the city were taking it in turns to strike the hour, but for the first time she didn’t find their chiming a comfort. Shaking her head in an attempt to refocus her senses, Sophie found her eyes drawn upwards, towards the cluttered horizon that was dominated by Prague Castle. She never failed to be moved by the architecture here. She decided to buy herself a mulled wine and take a stroll through the streets of the Little Quarter.
Buoyed by her plan and with her spirits lifted by so many happy memories, she made her way along the cobbled pathway of the bridge and vanished into the crowds beyond.
6
‘That is the biggest sausage I’ve ever seen in my life!’
‘Wow. You really know how to make a man feel inadequate.’
Hope laughed and jabbed Charlie in the ribs. Hope
fully the man selling the sausages didn’t speak any English, but Hope noticed a glimmer in his eye and feared that he probably did.
‘You know I wasn’t referring to … to that,’ she scolded, grinning as he put an arm around her waist. He’d barely let go of her since they’d arrived, and Hope had needed all her powers of persuasion to get him out of their hotel room.
‘We could just stay here all day?’ he’d suggested, sitting down on the edge of the bed in just his towel and beckoning for her to join him. Hope continued to be impressed by his energy – he was forty-eight and she was fifty, for crying out loud – but then she’d also been pleasantly surprised by her own sexual appetite being reawakened. She’d thought those years were long behind her, but she had been wrong.
‘We could,’ she told him, resisting the temptation to step into his embrace. ‘But we are in a beautiful city, love. And I really want to see the Christmas Market. Megan, the girl I just met downstairs, she told me it’s world famous.’
‘Well, if it’s a famous market …’ Charlie grinned, getting to his feet. Hope watched him with affection as he strolled into the bathroom and closed the door.
Their trip over to Prague had all been so last-minute that Hope hadn’t found time to read up on it, but skimming through the guidebook she’d picked up at the airport, she’d found the location of their hotel on the pull-out map inside and knew that they were only a few streets away from the famous Old Town Square.
‘There’s a clock in the square that was made in 1410,’ she told Charlie as they stopped just inside the hotel entrance so he could button up his coat against the cold. ‘So it’s around the same age as me.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ He bent down and kissed her affectionately. ‘You’re in the prime of your life – just like me.’
She let him take her hand and they made their way along the icy pavement, Hope gazing upwards at the surrounding buildings. It was all she could do to stop her mouth dropping open in awe. She knew from her guidebook that the architecture in Prague spanned over a thousand years, and represented every era from Gothic to Renaissance to Baroque to Art Nouveau. It reeked of history at every turn, and she was immediately captivated by the tall, proud houses, with their curved, ornamental balconies. There was a hint of music in the air, indistinguishable but undeniable, and Hope strained to pick out the individual notes.
As they rounded a corner and entered the Old Town Square, they were confronted by a riot of colour, not just from the lively Christmas Market sprawled across its centre, but from the far buildings, which were cream, red, pink and blue. The frost was not yet thick enough to mask the vibrant deep orange of the rooftops, and Hope felt her eyes widen as she spun around to take it all in.
‘Oh, Charlie,’ she mumbled, leaning against him. ‘It’s so beautiful.’
‘Isn’t it?’ He looked proud. ‘And this is just the start of it – there’s lots more to explore. Do you really like it?’
He sounded almost nervous, and Hope wrapped her arms around his waist before answering. ‘I love it.’
‘Right then,’ he said, rearranging his woolly hat. ‘Now, I don’t know about you, but I can smell mulled wine. Fancy one?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, please.’
As they entered the market, however, Hope felt her euphoric mood begin to sag. Annette would absolutely love it here, and she felt suddenly guilty that she was here seeing it all without her daughter. In the past, they had done everything together: shopping, trips to the races, girly nights out. Now, however, Annette could barely stand to look at her.
They stopped beside a stall selling Christmas decorations and Hope picked up an angel. It had been carved from wood and was dressed in a beautiful white and gold tunic, its smiling features painted carefully into place. Picking up another one and holding them side by side, Hope realised that each face was different, each angel unique, and for some reason that made her want to cry.
‘Are you all right?’ Charlie asked, full of concern. He looked from her face to the ornaments in her hands. ‘We can buy those, if you like?’
‘It’s not that.’ She put them down. ‘I was just thinking how much Annette would love it here …’ She trailed off. Of course he knew, she knew he did – but what could he do about it?
‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,’ she told him quickly. ‘It’s just a mum thing. I’m just being stupid.’
‘You could never be stupid.’ He put a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘Why don’t we go and get that drink, and then, when you’re feeling better, maybe we can come back and buy one of these angels for Annette? She might like it.’
Hope thought privately that the hand-carved angels were far too beautiful to risk Annette throwing them hard against the nearest wall, but she nodded regardless. Charlie was doing everything he could to make her happy, so she really should try to cheer up.
They carried on through the market, finding the stall selling the huge sausages and crunching across the frosty cobbles past wooden carts selling all manner of trinkets and treats. Hope found her eyes drawn repeatedly to the huge Christmas tree in the middle of the square. It was festooned in blue and white lights, and the branches sagged under the weight of hundreds of glass baubles.
‘We’ll have to come back after dark,’ she told Charlie as they made their way towards the smell of mulled wine. ‘I bet it looks amazing around here with all these lights.’
‘Anything you want,’ he said, grabbing her arm and spinning her around in a clumsy pirouette.
‘Steady on!’ she gasped, narrowly avoiding a group of Japanese tourists.
‘Let’s dance!’ he declared, holding out his hand.
She folded her arms.
Charlie’s energy and sense of fun were two of the things she loved most about him. It was his get-up-and-go attitude that made him so different to Dave. Hope couldn’t remember ever seeing her ex-husband dance except at their wedding, and that had been under duress. She used to love how grown-up he was, how he’d rather cuddle up with her on the sofa than join his mates down the pub, but over time it had begun to frustrate her. Once Annette had turned eighteen and gained some independence, Hope had wanted to start going out more, to visit their friends or have them over for dinner, but Dave wasn’t interested.
She reached the mulled wine stall first and ordered two cups, smiling at the rosy-cheeked man on the other side of the counter as she handed over her Czech korunas. Everyone here was so friendly, so ready to spring into action, as if nothing would be too much trouble. It made all the difference to the place.
‘Are you okay?’
Charlie had caught up with her, concern etched all over his lovely face. She felt horrible now for refusing to dance.
‘I promise I’ll dance with you later,’ she told him.
He took a large sip of his drink and smiled.
Hope had realised over the past few months that she had been asleep when she met Charlie. Not literally, of course – that would have been absurd, given that he was giving her a driving lesson at the time – but in every other sense. She felt no desire, she experienced little joy and all the fight had long since gone out of her. For years she had battled to find the right flint that would put the spark back into her marriage, until eventually she wondered if there had ever been one. There was just routine and habit and mutual comfort. It felt to Hope as if it was enough for Dave to know she was there. Sometimes in the night he would even reach out for her, his ever-expanding gut pressing into the small of her back as he snaked an arm around her waist. How awful it had been to be that woman. A woman whose own husband could only bear to touch her when he was more or less unconscious. She didn’t know who was more to blame, she only knew that there was no way back.
When everything had fallen apart and she’d been forced to tell Dave that she was leaving, he hadn’t even looked that surprised. Perhaps he was relieved to see the back of her? There was no way of knowing, given that he wouldn’t talk about it. Dave had always been a quiet soul, a
s closed to the world as a clam stuck fast to the side of a rock, and apparently no amount of her screaming and yelling could dislodge him. It was Annette she worried about now, not Dave.
Charlie had been reading the guidebook as she stared off into space, and he was now peering over her head as if trying to locate something.
‘What are you looking for?’ she asked, her voice coming out croaky from all the suppressed emotions.
‘That clock you mentioned earlier,’ he said, squinting into the distance. ‘It says here that the best time to take a look is on the hour, and it’s nearing that now. Shall we?’
‘Yes!’ she exclaimed, with far more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. Anything to get her mind off her failed marriage.
She put her empty cup into a nearby bin and grabbed Charlie’s hand.
‘Come on, then, you gorgeous man – let’s dance there.’
7
‘There are giant babies crawling up the side of that tower.’
‘What?’ Ollie peered into the viewfinder of Megan’s camera and laughed.
‘So there are. That’s weird.’
They were at the very top of the Old Town Hall Tower, which was situated in the corner of the square. Megan had reached the summit first because she refused to walk all the way up the steeply sloping walkway with Ollie, who was now panting and sweating beside her. Megan, being sensible and, if she was completely honest, a bit lazy, had determinedly taken the lift up instead.
The odd structure they were now gazing at looked from a distance like some sort of shuttle launcher. Three circular towers thrust upwards, punctuated not only by the rather sinister crawling babies, but also by sporadic pod-like floors. It was very futuristic in style and looked at odds with the centuries-old churches and monasteries which were jostling for space along the skyline.
‘It’s called the Zizkov TV Tower,’ Megan said, letting her precious camera rest by its strap against her chest as she fingered through the pages of the guidebook.
A Year and a Day Page 4
