A Year and a Day

by Isabelle Broom

  ‘Not more bloody steps,’ Ollie groaned humorously, patting her on the back as she finally caught up with him. She was panting with the effort, but she felt good. She loved being outside, sucking clean air into her lungs and taking in all the natural beauty around them.

  ‘Look at this.’ Ollie was beckoning to her, and as she reached him he pointed to the bottom of the thin metal handrail that was attached to the stairway wall.

  The red padlock was so small that they could easily have missed it, and Megan bent down for a closer look.

  ‘It’s got something written on it,’ she said. ‘Hang on.’

  ‘Do you think it’s like the ones on that bridge in Paris?’ Ollie asked. ‘People in love write their names on them and attach them there for luck.’

  ‘It says R & S,’ she told him. ‘And there’s a heart drawn around the letters.’

  ‘R & S?’ Ollie thought for a moment. ‘Hang on – didn’t that Sophie girl say that her boyfriend’s name was Robin?’

  ‘I think she did.’ Megan stood up again. ‘Do you think it could be theirs? I’m sure she said that they’d been coming here for years.’

  ‘Doubt it.’ Ollie bent over to take a look for himself. ‘There must be loads of couples in the world whose names start with R and S.’

  ‘It would be nice if it was them, though, wouldn’t it?’ she said, crouching down once again so she could snap a few frames.

  ‘It would,’ he allowed, and Megan thought for a moment that he sounded almost wistful. Was he just pretending not to be the big soppy romantic that she suspected he was? He never made any complaints when she insisted they watch PS I Love You for the third hungover Sunday in a row. Hell, she’d even caught him having a little cry over it the first time, even though he’d claimed there was something in his eye. No, she was pretty convinced that Ollie was exactly the type of person to leave a love padlock in a remote location and believe that it meant something. Had her initial rejection all those months ago made him feel like he couldn’t be his true self? Megan really hoped it hadn’t.

  ‘Come on,’ Ollie said as she stood up. ‘At this rate all the snow will have melted by the time we reach the tower.’

  He turned and put one wet trainer on the first step, only to have it promptly slide right back off again.

  ‘Here’s hoping,’ she quipped, following him unsteadily upwards.

  From a distance, the Observation Tower looked much larger than it actually was when you were standing right underneath it, although, as Megan pointed out to Ollie, that was probably just because it looked exactly like the top part of the Eiffel Tower, and that thing was absolutely monstrous in comparison to this.

  They paid their ninety Czech korunas each, which was about three British pounds, and made their slow – and in Megan’s case, weary – way up the endless winding metal stairs to the top. Ollie must have thought the view had left her lost for words, but in reality she couldn’t speak at first because she was so knackered.

  ‘See! Totally worth all those stairs,’ Ollie said triumphantly, pointing excitedly to all the landmarks he recognised in the city below them. ‘That’s the Charles Bridge, look. You can just make out all the statues. And there’s that weird TV tower again, the one with all the babies, and look at that church.’

  ‘Jesus, boy – I thought the climb up here was exhausting, but it’s got nothing on you.’

  Ollie pouted. ‘I’m just excited.’

  Megan took her camera out of its bag and started fiddling, selecting the right lens from the three in her pouch. While Ollie was nattering away to an old couple that had just emerged from the stairwell looking far less exhausted than Megan had been a few minutes ago, she slyly took a few more photos of his profile. With this lens in, she could see the pores of his skin and the pink indent that his glasses left on his nose. He was smiling at something the old man had just said, and she watched through the viewfinder as laughter lines popped up around his eyes and in the creases of his mouth. She didn’t even realise that she was still taking photos until her lens abruptly stuck mid-rotation, causing her to swear under her breath.

  ‘Now, now.’ Ollie had popped up behind her. ‘The air up here is blue enough from the cold without you adding to it.’

  ‘Got it,’ she said, breathing a sigh of relief as her camera sprang obediently back to life.

  ‘So, after this, how do you fancy going to a hall of mirrors?’

  Megan hated mirrors possibly more than she hated selfie sticks, which was a lot.

  ‘I don’t fancy that at all.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Little Miss Misery. The old couple over there have just been and they told me it was a hoot. They actually used the word “hoot”, too, so it must be pretty special.’

  He looked like a child on Christmas morning.

  ‘It’s going to cost you.’

  ‘What? Anything!’

  ‘Dinner tonight,’ she told him, giving in to a wry grin as he started nodding wildly like a mad pigeon. ‘And I mean a proper dinner, not a couple of those sausages from the market.’

  He saluted. ‘Whatever you want – although those sausages are really good. You’ll be missing out.’

  ‘I’ll have to take your word for it,’ she said, lifting her camera up to her face and turning her back on him.

  Time spent in Ollie’s company was so easy, she reflected, watching with fondness as he went back to join the elderly couple again, leaning down so he could point something out to them in their guidebook. The woman had taken off her gloves in order to flick through the pages, and the skin on her hands was translucent against her knuckles. Through the lens of her camera, Megan could make out the spidery purple lines of veins as they chased around liver spots and knotted ligaments worn with age. Megan knew that a lot of her friends were paranoid about getting old. Hell, some of them had even started having Botox, although none would admit it, which was ridiculous. Ageing was just a part of life, Megan would tell them, and to her eye, there was just as much beauty in decay as there was in youth.

  She thought about this as she continued to press the shutter and capture a visual narrative of her train of thought. Prague was the perfect example of something that was definitely old, but all the more beautiful for it. If only humans were able to embrace the fascinating tale behind the lines on someone’s face as much as they could stare up in awe at a centuries-old monument. The world would be so much happier if they could all just stop and think a bit more, and a bit harder – appreciate the visage and think about the life that had gone before, rather than the road ahead.

  She had talked about this idea with her ex, once. Andre had sniffed in that infuriating way that he always did, dismissing her observations as if she was a stray cat begging for a morsel. He was a photographer, too, but he didn’t see beauty in the same way as Megan always had. To Andre, true beauty could only be achieved through perfection, and his work was a continuing example of this. He wasn’t interested in the story behind each face at all, just the way it looked on his canvas.

  Megan gave an audible sigh and let her camera rest against her chest. The wind was playing a game of chase around the top of the tower, nipping its icy fingers through the open gaps every now and then to pinch her exposed cheeks. She could hear it if she concentrated, a low whistle that carried with it a multitude of other sounds – the clattering of a tram against its tracks, the cry of a lone bird, a distant strain of music and, of course, Ollie’s voice. The wind was carrying that back around the tower to her, too, and she felt her insides warm in response.

  His friendship had become so important to her, but more than that, she craved his company. She’d grown accustomed to the smell, sight and sound of him, and the way she felt about herself when he was around, so different to the way she’d felt with Andre. With her ex, she had always been wary of saying the wrong thing, of upsetting the fragile shelf upon which their strange little relationship was precariously balanced. But with Ollie she could say anything, be completely herself, and he wou
ld like her all the same. And he did care about her, didn’t he? He’d said as much.

  Even now the thought of those silly drunken words made Megan itch with unease. It was totally okay for him to love her as a friend, she knew that, but for some reason the weight of those words felt to Megan like a metaphorical rucksack packed with stones. Friendship carried less expectation than love, it was more flexible, and it wouldn’t betray you as love had so cruelly betrayed her once before. Despite all this, though, Megan found her legs moving her around the top of the tower until she was standing beside Ollie. He was apparently lost in thought, his eyes on the horizon and a contented smile just lifting one corner of his mouth. Very slowly, Megan took a small step forward and rested her head gently against his shoulder.

  17

  Of all the toilets in Prague, of course she had chosen the one with no loo roll. Hope supposed she ought to be thankful that she’d only come in here for a cry, but that didn’t really help her runny nose situation.

  Annette had replied to her text at last. Hope glanced down at the phone in her hand, even though she knew it would only unleash another torrent.

  I don’t want to speak to you

  ever again. Leave me alone.

  It was so cold, so unlike anything that her bubbly, loving daughter would ever say, and every time she read it, Hope felt another part of her heart break off and turn to mush inside her chest. She knew she should reply, but for the first time since giving birth to her daughter over twenty-five years ago, she had no idea what to say. The misery was clogging her up, making it hard to think straight. She’d never known a pain like this, not ever.

  And then there was Charlie, who was being so sweet to her, and who had brought her out here to this magical place. She felt wretched at the idea of ruining their trip with her tears, but what ate away at her even more was not being honest with him. She should be able to let him comfort her, but for some reason, she couldn’t.

  When she finally emerged, Charlie was just as attentive as she had come to expect over the past few weeks.

  ‘You’ve been in there for ages. I was getting worried.’

  ‘Oh, you know.’ She waved a vague arm around. ‘There was a queue, and then I had to do my make-up.’

  ‘We’re the only people in here,’ he pointed out gently. It was true. Aside from one girl behind the bar who seemed to be the hostess, waitress, barmaid and chef, they really were the only people.

  ‘Is it Annette?’ he guessed, pulling her towards him as her face crumpled.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said through her tears. ‘I just got a message from her and it—’

  ‘There, there.’ Charlie patted her head until she could speak again.

  ‘It said that she doesn’t ever want to see me again. She told me to leave her alone – but how can I? I’m her mum.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ he soothed, nodding reassuringly at the waitress as she hovered uncertainly by their table. They’d stumbled across this place quite by accident as they explored the narrow street that wrapped around the church in the Old Town Square. Drawn to the doorway by the faint sounds of jazz music and the aroma of hot wine, they’d discovered a quaint little café full of mismatched cushions, neat little tables made from old wooden doors, and an array of different-sized mirrors fixed to the walls and parts of the ceiling. When Hope had found that she could order a cup of English breakfast tea in a proper teacup and have it arrive with a matching saucer, she’d been enchanted.

  ‘What am I going to do?’ she mumbled, catching sight of her blotchy face in one of the mirrors and recoiling in horror.

  ‘She’ll come around eventually,’ Charlie said, sounding less confident than his words suggested. ‘You two are so close.’

  ‘That’s why this hurts so much,’ she wailed.

  The waitress stepped forward and slid a plate across the table towards them.

  ‘This is honey cake,’ she told Hope. ‘You will feel better, I think.’

  This act of kindness only set Hope off again, but Charlie was full of thanks.

  ‘The people here are so nice,’ he marvelled, breaking off a corner of the cake and holding it up to her mouth. ‘Try it. It might make you feel better.’

  Hope did as she was told, smiling as the warm, sticky cake sent her taste buds into a frenzy.

  ‘It’s really nice,’ she said when she’d swallowed. ‘Have some.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ Charlie gave the waitress a thumbs up.

  ‘I’m sorry to be so wet,’ Hope said, sitting up properly and breaking off another piece of the cake. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Charlie soothed. ‘You never have to be sorry for being sad, but please tell me if you’re upset. Don’t go into the toilet to cry all by yourself. You don’t need to face these things on your own any more; you have me now and I want to look after you.’

  ‘I didn’t want to ruin the trip,’ she mumbled.

  ‘You could never ruin anything,’ he told her, breaking off another sticky morsel. ‘Honestly. Hope, look at me.’

  She looked at him.

  ‘I could be in the worst place in the world, with no money, no shirt on my back and no way of escape, but as long as I had you by my side, then I’d be able to face it. I would have hope.’

  ‘Do you mean me, Hope, or just hope?’ she asked, reaching for his hand.

  ‘One equals the other,’ he told her. ‘The only thing that scares me is being hopeless – in both senses. I don’t ever want to lose you.’

  In answer, Hope wrapped her arms around him and gripped tight.

  As Hope had chosen the Charles Bridge for their morning excursion, it was Charlie’s turn to pick a destination for the afternoon. Rather unimaginatively, Hope privately thought, he decided they should head to the shops in Wenceslas Square, where he wanted to treat her to a new outfit.

  ‘It will cheer you up,’ he said when she shook her head. And usually he’d be right, but Hope was starting to feel uncomfortable about the amount he was splurging on her. Still, she had promised herself that she’d make an effort, so she let herself be led away from the café and underneath the arch of the vast Powder Gate.

  She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to find, but she was surprised to discover that Wenceslas Square was not actually a square at all. It was, in fact, a wide boulevard dotted with shops, bars, casinos and restaurants. Of all the places they’d visited in the city so far, this seemed the most modern, but Hope still found herself entranced by some of the architecture.

  ‘Look at that place,’ she said to Charlie, pointing to a tall yellow building that was coming up on their left.

  Charlie squinted at the sign. ‘Grand Hotel Europa,’ he told her.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ she exclaimed as they drew closer.

  ‘What’s that style of design?’ he asked, peering up at the curved stone arches.

  Hope didn’t answer him for a few minutes because she was flicking through the guidebook.

  ‘Art Nouveau,’ she said. ‘First opened in 1889, but now closed. Oh, that’s a shame.’

  They were right in front of the striking building now, both craning their necks back to get a good look, and they could see that the entrance and lower windows had been boarded up.

  ‘If I ever won the lottery, I’d buy this place and restore it to its former glory,’ Hope said, picturing herself standing up on the threshold, welcoming guests with a tray full of complimentary hot grog. She had tried for years to persuade Dave to buy and open a B&B. She would do all the cleaning and cooking, she told him. All he’d have to take care of was the paperwork. It was a job that Hope knew she’d love and that she’d be great at, but Dave had refused to consider it.

  ‘I don’t want some stranger sitting with their feet up in my living room,’ he’d grumbled.

  ‘But we’d have our own part of the house,’ she’d pleaded. ‘We could even move out of the city a bit, go to Wales or the Lake District. It would be so nice for Annette to be
out in the open more.’

  He’d glared at her then for trying to use Annette as a bargaining tool, and argued that his daughter would be bored in the countryside and so would he. ‘Why would you want to upset your own daughter by taking her away from her school and her friends?’ he’d asked, deliberately picking the one subject he knew she’d cave in on.

  So that had been the end of it.

  Hope had never told Charlie about her secret ambition, but she suspected that he’d love the idea. Like Hope, he was sociable and outgoing, and a driving instructor could really base themselves anywhere in the country. But something had always held her back so far. Was it the fear that he wouldn’t like the idea, or the fear that he would?

  They carried on along the wide pavement, stopping every now and then to venture into clothes shops but coming away empty-handed each time. Hope seemed to have lost her shopping mojo – no amount of dresses and shoes could heal her today. Charlie pretended to be fine about it, but Hope could tell he was worried, and after they’d been into five shops with no joy, he stopped pointing them out as they passed.

  ‘Oh, look at that,’ she murmured.

  A small crowd had gathered around a wooden bench outside an Italian restaurant, as people took it in turns to have their photo taken next to the model of a man that was sitting on it. He was a dirty gold colour, with one leg crossed at a jaunty angle and an arm stretched invitingly along the back of the seat.

  ‘Go on – sit down and I’ll take a photo,’ Charlie urged, but Hope shook her head.

  ‘Not in front of all these people.’

  ‘Oh, go on.’ Charlie gave her a little nudge. ‘You danced across the square yesterday, and there were far more people watching then.’

  He made a good point.

  She stepped forward and sat down, shuffling her bottom along until she was sitting almost on the lap of the golden man. Up close his eyes were cold and staring, as if he’d been frozen solid at just the split second he’d realised something was going to happen. It reminded her of the creatures that the White Witch had turned to stone in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. She had read the whole collection of C. S. Lewis books to Annette when her daughter was growing up, and that scene had frightened her. Hope had always had to reassure Annette that the animals didn’t stay trapped in stone forever, and that Aslan the lion would be along soon to save them.