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“Nothing to lose? What about us?”
Elda took a step back, unable to look Charlie in the face. She stamped at the soft ground underfoot and dug her heel into the mud, rooting herself so she could stand up to her. They were everything together. But Charlie hadn’t been around for half of the anguish that Elda had faced over the past few weeks. Charlie was a good time girl who lost her courage when the hard stuff came knocking. “I need some space for a while. What we had was great. It was fun.” She couldn’t stomach hurting Charlie but pushing her away was the right thing to do.
“You’re throwing away what we have. Listen, I’ve always supported your decisions…” Charlie touched her hand. “But you can’t quit on us. I’m here for you.”
Elda closed her eyelids and saw circles in the darkness. She wished everything would be quiet. “You’ve barely been here for me at all. You’re obsessed with work. You have friends to help out. I just want to work out who I am and where I fit.”
Charlie’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry, Elda. I know I’ve been shit. Work has been too much. And this stuff with Kim and the children has been a nightmare.”
“I don’t care about Kim and her fucking kids.” Elda’s rage exploded between them.
“Okay. I’m making you feel worse.” Charlie held her hands up.
“I’m not sure I can feel much worse. I’m beaten by all this. I’ve failed. I need to step off this conveyor belt and see what’s next.” Elda saw Charlie’s frown, convinced she was right to walk away.
“Where are you going to go?”
“I don’t know yet.” She faltered. “My train is booked for Saturday morning. I’ve got an overnight stay in Paris and then I’ll go from there. I might head south.”
“Will you see Francis?”
“No, why would I?”
“Is it a holiday?” Charlie stopped, holding the silence between them.
“I don’t know. Probably.”
Charlie stopped walking. “Please don’t go, Elda.”
Elda kept moving. She couldn’t look back. It was too much.
***
Elda stood at the check-in desk. Someone was playing the piano on the concourse of St Pancras. It was a delightful, complicated melody, and a crowd had gathered to listen. She knew that if she looked back, she wouldn’t leave.
When the agent called her forward, a knot tightened in her chest. She pictured Charlie’s face and imagined her velvet skin and forced herself to lift one foot and then the other. Through passport control, her breathing calmed. She focused on counting seconds. She looked up towards an advert on the wall. Perfume and a picture of the Eiffel Tower. That was the escape she needed. Glamour, fun, and charm. Her head ached with exhaustion, and she rubbed her puffy eyes.
She’d slipped away that morning without saying goodbye. She thought she’d be able to leave her mum’s spite at the door, but realised she was still carrying it with her through the departure lounge, their hurtful exchanges echoing inside her head. She looked across at a man opposite her, tapping on a laptop. She wished she could busy herself. She wanted anything but to be in freefall.
Her platform was announced, and she gathered her bags. There was a chill in the air, and a grey hue that matched her mood. She looked at the tall carriages, wanting to remember them. She resolved not to return until she was ready.
“Miss, are you getting on board?” the man with the laptop asked from a polite distance.
She realised she was holding up the line of passengers. Without a word, she embarked and settled into a leather seat. It was too early for alcohol to numb her anxiety, but her bones were heavy with sleep, and she hoped to switch her brain off.
As a carefree tourist, Elda could just about pretend she was okay. She could play the part of an independent young woman travelling Europe. She could order in her best French, sip house wine, and drink strong coffee late into the evening. And maybe, just maybe, she could forget about the shitstorm her life had become.
A few hours later, Elda arrived at the front door of her hotel in a pretty area of the city. The main café, Arts et Metiers, was named after the area, and its tables spilled out onto the pavement. Mopeds skirted at the edges, and the waiter balanced trays of espresso cups. This was the Paris she dreamed of.
Elda found a table inside, and her eyes wandered over a catalogue of framed memories on the café walls. The waiter was impatient with her stuttering French, but she managed to order a glass of wine. She was on a holiday of sorts, after all. She sat back to take in the world around her. It was a million miles away from the stale air she’d left at home. Life was happening outside. Pedestrians threaded their way across pavements. Children scurried home from school. Workers huddled, talking fast over coffee and cigarettes. Shoppers carried posh paper bags. The city was alive.
Elda registered that, for the first time in weeks, the racing thoughts in her mind had slowed down.I can hear myself.Breathing came easily. The solitude of travelling alone wasn’t lonely; it was liberating.
She opened the blank sketch book she had bought at St Pancras. Her finger cramped around the pen. It had been a while since she’d sat drawing, but it brought her the peace she’d been searching for. She sketched hastily. First, the outline of the table in front of her, then details in the background, and a woman outside a shop. She disappeared into the movement of her pen across the paper.
She looked up, and there had been a changeover of people around her at the little tables. Two women were deep in conversation, their voices low. The way they gazed and held the other’s space made Elda think of Charlie.Yes. I wish you were bloody here.She pushed the image from her mind and gulped her wine. It burned the back of her throat.
As her mask slipped, she longed to be next to Charlie, cocooned in her arms and legs. She wished she’d had the courage to return to their home, put her silver key back in the lock and work out what happened next for them both. She had run away from the hard questions. She was overcome with fear and shame, and she no longer liked who she was.
