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There was something flat and rectangular lying on the bottom of it. I pulled apart the tissue revealing an oxblood leather passport holder.
‘Si!’ I said, my mouth literally dropping open.
‘Open it,’ he said, crouching down next to me.
I looked at him quizzically, doing what he’d asked. My passport was already inside, along with a British Airways ticket. I shook my head in disbelief, scanning it for a destination, barely able to take it in: London Heathrow to Venice Marco Polo. Sunday 30th June 2019.
‘I’m taking you to Venice,’ he said, beaming. ‘I know you’ve always wanted to go.’
‘Blimey,’ said Ellie, looking flustered for once, as though she couldn’t quite find the right thing to say.
‘But we’re already going to Amsterdam in July,’ I said, confused.
‘For the wedding you mean?’ scoffed Ellie. ‘That’s hardly a holiday.’
‘Exactly,’ said Si, taking it in good humour. ‘I know you’ve booked the whole week off work, so I thought we’d spend a few days down in Venice first.’
I raked my fingers through my hair. I didn’t understand.
‘And then I’ve booked us on a night train from Venice up to Amsterdam on the Wednesday night. I thought it sounded more romantic than flying. We’ll have our own little compartment with pull-out beds. Brandy night-caps as we whizz across the Alps.’
I thought I might actually be in shock. Si looked pleased with himself and excited, like a kid at Christmas.
‘Say something, for God’s sake,’ said Ellie.
Suddenly I shot up out of my seat, threw my arms around Si’s neck and pulled him into me. ‘I love you,’ I whispered in his ear, my heart racing. ‘And I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.’
The mid-morning sun was glittering on the Seine and I took a series of photos, widening the shot to capture the buzz of the river.
‘It is 10.20,’ said Léo, checking his watch for the hundredth time that day. ‘Shall I drive you back to the station?’
‘Sure,’ I said, grabbing my bag off the ground, surprised to feel a swirl of disappointment.
‘I would offer to show you some more of Paris. But since you hate it so much …’
‘I never said I hated it,’ I protested.
He gave me a look.
‘Ok, I do sort of hate it.’
‘You have seen all of this before? The river? The Eiffel Tower?’
‘Sort of,’ I said, remembering how bleak everything had felt that day. How I’d berated myself for coming at all, for believing for a second that he wanted to see me. For opening myself up, being prepared to forget about everything that had gone before.
‘I suppose you are too afraid to see the more authentic parts of the city,’ said Léo, walking off towards the bike.
I jogged to catch him up. ‘What do you mean, afraid?’
‘I am a complete stranger to you. You would not risk coming with me to my arrondissement, for example. It would be too risky, non?’
He handed me the helmet, which I managed to do up myself for the first time.
‘Where is your arrondissement?’
‘The 10th,’ he said, straddling the bike. ‘You know it?’
I shook my head.
