Then I can’t help myself tightening my arms around her because it feels so good to be holding her again and it feels as though some mutual comfort’s in order, and then she tightens her arms round me too, and then we just stand there, clinging to each other, for who knows how long. I know that there’s more to say but at the moment I don’t have the words. Or maybe I’m just too cowardly.
Emma’s the first one to move slightly, and when she does I immediately loosen my arms, and then we kind of back away from each other.
We’re standing facing each other now, smiling somewhat foolishly.
When I see that Emma’s eyes are moist again, I reach my hands straight back out to her. I always hated seeing her sad, and I still hate it.
‘Hey.’ I’m not at my most articulate right now.
Emma sniffs as I take her hands in mine, trying not to notice how much I like the feel of them there, as though they belong. She shakes her head.
‘Happy tears,’ she says. ‘Or maybe not happy, but not miserable. Maybe just emotional. That talk was a good thing to do.’ She sniffs again and then, as I’m wondering whether I should say more, she says, ‘Come on. Let’s go and be tourists. I really want to see the Ponte Vecchio.’
‘Let’s go,’ I agree, ignoring the voice in my head telling me that I should have told Emma everything immediately. In my defence, I did keep trying, and she kept stopping me. No, being honest, that’s a rubbish defence. She clearly did not suspect what I had to say; she just thought I was going to apologise some more and wanted to stop me doing that.
Oh God.
Okay. I do have to tell her, well, I think I do, but I think it would be better to wait until tomorrow. Or perhaps just as we arrive back in London. I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t in fact tell her at all. Maybe the way she kept interrupting was fate intervening, telling me that since we won’t be staying in touch she really doesn’t have to know.
There’s certainly no point spoiling this walk.
‘Oh, wow, it’s lovely.’
Emma is – unsurprisingly – captivated by the bridge and its quaint higgledy-piggledy buildings.
I’m captivated by her. I love watching the different emotions play across her face; I love the way that when she smiles the world (especially me) smiles with her; I love… her. I love her.
I wish I could turn back time. I wish I could be a different person. We can’t get back together, though. I think I’d just hurt her again. And then we’d split up and it would be even worse than last time if that were possible, and it would take a very long time to recover. I hate the thought of Emma being hurt, and I don’t want to get hurt either.
This walk, though, this evening, thisjourney, I can enjoy this.
And then we’ll say goodbye. And maybe I won’t tell her. Maybe it would just hurt her for no upside whatsoever.
When you’re young you really don’t know everything. I think that both Emma and I are naturally very honest people, but age and life have taught me that sometimes, despite an inclination to get things off your chest so that you feel that you’ve done the right thing morally, keeping facts from someone is the kindest thing to do.
‘There are some beautiful buildings to see on the other side, I think,’ I say. ‘What’s your plan for tomorrow? Were you thinking of spending the morning here sightseeing? We could make a decision now about what to go and see?’
‘I’d love to visit the Uffizi Gallery in the morning if we can get tickets. And then when we leave, we can drive to the Cinque Terre villages and have a look round and maybe go to the beach the morning after. If you’re okay with all of that?’
I don’t think the Cinque Terre villages can bethatfar away. Maybe a three-hour drive. If we keep stopping like this it’s clearly going to at least double the length of time it takes us to get back to London.
Yesterday I’d have been very WTAF about that.
Now I’m thinking… that sounds nice. I can catch up on some work on my phone while we’re driving. Or maybe I can’t. And maybe it doesn’t really matter that much.
Apparently I’m on an impromptu holiday.
I can’t remember the last time I took one of those.
‘Sounds perfect.’ I grin at her and I think my heart skips a beat as she smiles back and then keeps on looking at me, her smile turning into something more… serious.
We’ve come to a halt at the end of the bridge. We’re standing close to each other, just… looking.
I can see the rise and fall of her chest, the curve of her cheek. I know how good we were together. I want to…
I am not going to do that, even if Emma would like to.
It would be a terrible idea.
