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We reached the front of the queue and a cab pulled up to the kerb. It was cooler in Amsterdam than it had been in Paris. The wind rippled through Sylvie’s T-shirt, the fabric flapping around my waist, his hoodie still tied there.
‘Oh,’ I said, pulling at the knot, ‘you should take this.’
‘Non,’ he said, putting his hand on top of mine. ‘Keep it. Then you will not forget me.’
I lifted my camera and took a quick photo of him, his dark eyes burning into me through the lens.
‘Now I never will,’ I said.
He took my head between his hands, smoothing his thumbs across my temples. ‘I’ll miss you, Hannah,’ he said.
I wanted to run my hands through his hair, to know what it felt like, but if I started something, if I touched him at all, I might not be able to stop.
The taxi driver beeped his horn.
‘I have to go,’ I said, pulling away, opening the car door. ‘The Lux Hotel, please,’ I shouted over the noise of the engine.
Léo slammed the door behind me.
‘I hope everything works out for you, Hannah,’ he said, bending down to look through the window, his face right there, centimetres from mine.
I smiled at him as the taxi screeched away from the kerb, following the U-shaped driveway out of the station
‘Good luck tonight!’ I shouted out of the window.
He waved and I waved back and within seconds we’d pulled out onto the main road. Just like that, I couldn’t see him any more. I sat back in my seat, finding my belt, doing it up, swallowing hard to try to dislodge the lump in my throat.
