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‘We have to face forward. We have to try, and try again.’
‘Now you sound like my husband.’
‘He’s an optimist?’
‘A rugby fanatic.’
‘Ah.’
She had raised her head. She was looking at him, straight into his eyes. It was as if she was waiting for some nugget of wisdom, from him of all people.
‘Well, look,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking about death this whole damn weekend, and – I dunno – I think it’s time to stop thinking about it, to concentrate on the living part of life, on what we have. I was in the Louvre this morning, looking at all those paintings, and I thought how death couldn’t erase them. And I was in a big graveyard yesterday, and it was full of people who went there to remember people, not because they died, but because they have lived. They have lived – present perfect tense. There was something there – an energy, maybe ghosts, who knows, butsomething.’
‘What remains.’
‘Yes. That’s it, isn’t it? Something remains, something that death has no hold over. I think we have to live hard, as hard as we can. Live furiously. Revel in the joy of it and suck up the pain, because that’s the deal. If you hide away from the rotten, ugly bits of life, you do yourself out of the beauty of it. Sure, you can’t beat death, but you can cheat yourself out of living.’
She was still gazing up at him, evidently at a loss for an answer. He felt his pulse rise. He wondered what chamber of his heart had been holding on to those words and for how long.
‘Well, here we are,’ he said, guiding her to stand on top of the plaque.
She was deadly serious now. The social smile was gone. She seemed to be placing real faith in his words, in him.
‘Close your eyes,’ he said. ‘Make a wish.’
She closed her eyes. ‘I don’t know what to wish for,’ she said.
‘Of all things possible in the world, what is your heart’s desire?’
A tear fell from under her closed lashes.
He brushed it away with his thumb.
‘A new beginning,’ she whispered.
‘Say it louder,’ he said.
* * *
Claire felt the strength of his hands, one holding hers above her head, the other tipping her elbow as she turned, keeping her centred. Her hair lifted into the air, and her skirt floated out around her legs. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell where the sun was. She felt its warmth hit her face on every turn, followed fast by the smack of the cold shadow under the cathedral.Try, she told herself.Live furiously. Make it good.
‘A new beginning,’ she said again, so loud that she gave herself a fright and opened her eyes. She toppled into Harry’s arms, laughing. ‘Your turn, Harry,’ she said.
‘Fair’s fair, I suppose. Alrighty then.’ He stood on the plaque and lifted his right foot off the ground. ‘Can I lean on you?’
‘Sure you can.’
He put a hand on her shoulder and gingerly turned himself around once, then twice, then lost his balance and tripped a couple of steps backwards, away from her.
Claire reached for him and grabbed his hand. ‘Feck it, Harry – are you okay?’
He rubbed off his sleeves in a gesture of impatience, then regained his composure and smiled at her. ‘I’m not the mover I used to be.’
‘Let’s get our seat back before the meerkats steal it.’
They retraced their steps, perhaps even a little slower than before, and sat down.
‘So, Harry, are you feeling more alive now?’
