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‘It’s great, yeah. I bought some furniture.’
‘Oh yeah? That’s great. Did your mom bring you out to that vintage place she loves, out on Santa Monica Boulevard – White Rhino?’
Caroline laughed. She was warming up. ‘White Buffalo, Dad. Yeah, we went out there and to another couple of places, and I got some great chairs and this really cool coffee table made out of a tree-stump. You’d love it.’
‘I think I would. That sounds great.’
‘Oh, and I ordered some bookshelves on the internet, but they came in about, like, seventy-three pieces. I don’t even know where to start.’
She was working hard, he could tell, to fill up the conversation.
‘Your mom and I made that mistake once, too.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, yeah. You remember those shelves in your first bedroom? It took us a whole weekend to get them up, and they were never straight.’
‘Yes! I do remember that. My big hardbacks would only fit on the left-hand side, so I put one on each shelf all the way down.’
‘Huh.’ He remembered finding her reading with a flashlight long after bedtime. He felt that knot of regret tightening over his sternum, for all he had missed. For all he would miss. He drew a deep breath and went on. ‘Umm, sweetheart, how areyou?’
‘Me? Good, all good,’ she answered too quickly.
‘No news at all?’
For a moment, he thought the phone connection had gone down, but he could hear her breathing.
‘Nope, none at all. Mom says you’re in Paris.’
Mom says.?.?. they talked every day. He could almost hear it, the sound of the door creaking shut.
‘I am, but I’ll be home next week. Maybe I can come help you with those shelves?’
‘That’s okay, Dad. I think I can manage the shelves, but we can do lunch or something. Call me when you’re back, I guess.’
And click went the lock.
‘I’ll do that. Goodnight, sweetheart.’
‘Bye.’
‘Bye.’
Harry sat back against the plump purple pillows and closed his eyes. He exhaled, then found he couldn’t draw breath. His whole chest cavity, he felt, was filled up with pain. His heart hurt. His pulse drummed in his ears. So this is how it feels, he thought, to drown in remorse. His phonebinged, and he picked it up. It was an automated message, reminding him that he had reserved a private tour at the Louvre at 9.30am.
Right, he thought.IknewI must have had a plan.Harry poured another cup of coffee. It was stone cold, but he drank it anyway.
In the Parisian Garret
They had leaped at each other, naturally, with all the ferocity of the desperate. The hem of his T-shirt was torn in their rush to pull it over his head. The top button of her blouse was lost. The stack of books that served as a bedside table was kicked to the floor. Her thigh was bruised. His lip was bitten.
Not a word was spoken, even afterwards. Still locked together, still hot, still aching, they fell asleep.
* * *
Noémie woke up cold. The window stood open, a chill breeze stirring the curtains. She pulled a blanket over Dan’s body and rolled off the bed. One quick tap on her phone screen revealed the time: 6.45am. Stepping between the melee of clothes and shoes and books strewn on the floorboards, she crossed the room and pulled in the window. A pale-yellow light was spreading from behind the building, from the east. The stars were whited out, though a waning crescent moon hung close to the western horizon.
Noémie turned back to the bed. Dan was staring at her.
