An Impossible Thing Called Love. Belinda Missen
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took the seat next to me, bringing water bottles and paracetamol. ‘I did Wimbledon last year. Roland Garros the year before.’
‘You did not.’ Speaking of jealousy.
‘Okay, so, Roland Garros was as a spectator but, you know, always on duty.’ He swung about in his seat and looked at me. ‘Any drugs tonight, Emmy?’
A bright light flashed into my eyes again. God, he was checking my pupils. ‘What? No.’
‘Alcohol?’
‘Too broke for that,’ I said.
William gave me a hard stare, eyebrows reaching for the sky. He was having none of my shit tonight.
‘Alright, maybe a swig of vodka and a schooner from the cheap bar at the hostel, but nothing to get drunk on.’
He scoffed. ‘You and me both. Tonight has been a bottle of raspberry cordial and far too much water.’
‘Doesn’t pay well, does it?’
‘Can’t say it does, but I do love it.’ For a second, it looked like he’d folded in on himself. He popped a blister pack of painkillers. ‘No allergies?’
I shook my head. His fingers grazed my palm as he dropped the tablets in my hand. My toes curled, and breath hitched. ‘No, and thank you.’
‘You want to hang about for a while, so I can keep an eye on you?’
Heather’s eyebrows disappeared up into her hairline and her mouth rounded into a scandalised ‘O’. When Josh suggested they leave me, I didn’t try and stop them; I was happy where I was. There was a quick agreement that it would be easier if I just met them back at the hostel instead of arranging a meeting point. Before leaving, Heather snapped off a quick Polaroid.
I scowled at her. ‘What do you want to do that for?’
‘For posterity’s sake. Maybe prove to people you got into a scrap.’ She grinned, disappearing into the throng of people.
Josh held a steadying hand on her shoulder. I looked back at William, chin buried in the neck of his jacket and wild hair everywhere. I pulled my beanie off, forcing it into an already bulging pocket.
‘I sure you’ll be fine, but just be mindful of it, will you?’ he said, eyes glued to the crowd wandering past. ‘If you have a lot of swelling—’
‘Or trouble breathing, go to the A&E?’ I flashed a stubborn smile. ‘I will.’
‘You know, it’s you who’s supposed to be listening to me,’ he teased. ‘And it’s definitely not broken if you’re laughing at me.’
‘Yeah, well. Call me a bitter med school reject.’ My nose had settled into a dull throb, the kind I knew would still be around in the morning. But at least the bleeding had stopped.
‘Reject? No. They let me in, they should have definitely let you in.’
‘You’re a doctor?’
‘Yup, a junior doctor,’ he said. ‘And in a couple of years, I’ll be a GP.’
‘What an effort.’ I sighed. ‘You love it?’
‘Adore it. It’s the best job.’ He smiled. ‘I mean, it’s got its moments but…’
I grinned. My nose ached. ‘Yeah, I get it.’
My plan, thwarted as it might have been, was to train as a doctor, because how good is it to do things that feel good for other people? Even volunteering, seeing people off into an ambulance, at least I’d been able to help, or make them more comfortable for a few moments in time. Recently, I’d had a call up from the local hospital, allowing me to volunteer in the maternity ward. There was nothing better than my few hours a week spent in there. But I didn’t need to explain this to William, he understood.
Instead, we sat quietly beside each other and watched the crowd shift and change. They moved up and back along the street, A bright orange light filtered down the street, highlighting the faces of young and old alike.
Whether we’d been joined by anyone else in the first aid station was beyond my comprehension. There’d been no call to attention, and no one had approached for anything more than paracetamol and water. We huddled in our jackets, watching, waiting.
Fireworks exploded above our heads with a loud crack, ripping through the night sky, and sending rainbow-coloured sparks back down to earth. Conversations stopped mid-sentence as crowds gasped as marvelled. It didn’t matter how old you were, fireworks were still a thing of wonder. I looked up in time for another thunk, whistle, crack, sparkle, fizzle.
When the last one sizzled into memory, I stood and brushed myself off again. William looked up at me, his face expressionless.
‘William.’ I held my hand out to him. ‘Thank you for your help tonight.’
‘Pleasure’s all mine.’
For a moment, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, even though I’d been in this same situation myself time and time again. So, I went with what was … normal and totally not creepy.
‘Well, goodnight.’
His smile reached his piercing blue eyes. ‘Goodnight, Emmy.’
With that, I walked away. People were moving back down the hill towards the station, the crowd noticeably thinner and torches snuffed one by one. A haze of grey smoke had settled above the street. I chanced a glimpse back at the first aid station, not knowing what to expect. There he was, hair aflame and smile wide, chatting excitedly and handing out bottles of water.
Smiling to myself despite the throbbing pain in my nose, I turned and walked away.
I’d been a little relieved when I finally clapped eyes on the bouncing kangaroo held aloft above the Ceilidh crowd. That stuffed toy was the signpost of our tour guide, for meeting, for lunch, and for relative safety as we travelled. Given most our group were Australian, it seemed fitting. There’d been a moment of panic earlier when I’d traipsed past a Ferris wheel and between rainbow-coloured show rides and couldn’t see it. My brain began running through a thousand different Emmy Has Got Herself Lost Overseas on New Year’s Eve scenarios. My heart slowed to a steady rhythm when I saw Josh’s lanky arm waving over everyone’s head. The consulate would not be dealing with me on this trip.
‘Emmy!’ Heather appeared from the throng, arms outstretched for a hug. I made sure to keep my still sore nose clear of any squashing.
‘Hey, you,’ I said. ‘What’d you get up to today?’
I’d woken to a note pinned on the underside of the bunk above me. Today was a free day, a keep yourself entertained type day, and my friends had disappeared early, along with everyone else. After my efforts last night, I was happy to enjoy the solitary sleep in, especially if I got the bathroom to myself without fighting anyone. Checking that I was mostly bruise-free, if a little sore still, I spent the day alone – something refreshing after weeks cooped up in the constant presence of other travellers.
Heather rattled off her day’s itinerary, the old monuments, museums, and back alley adventures. Josh, the avid walker he was, had trekked them up Arthur’s Seat before taking her out for a haggis lunch afterwards.
A traditional Scottish band soared to life on the stage ahead.
I’d spent my day meandering around the city centre, taking the stroll from our hostel into the city, and stopping at a chocolate shop for a rich hot chocolate topped with chocolate whipped cream. It was the perfect refresher as I made my way through cobblestone streets and uber green parks.
Cheap souvenirs were about all I could afford, and that was fine, because