A Life In A Moment (12 page)

The
day-to-day sort of news confirmed that my cousin finished university,
Uncle Haralambos kept the bookshop alive, and Aunt Urania, as always,
kept both of them on their toes.

As for
Michalis and Ellie, I hadn’t learnt a thing more. Never once
did I ask after them; I didn’t care to know. However, once, out
of the blue, Natalia mentioned they were still together, leaving me
strangely perplexed.

Still
together?

My initial
prediction about their imminent breakup was way off. Michalis was not
the bracket in Ellie’s life as I hoped he would be. It was me.

My mind
wouldn’t let go of this, until it dawned on me that I just
didn’t care about it any more. I had become so satisfied with
my own life that I wished the same for everyone. Somehow, though, my
ears still burned for an apology, for my heart’s sake. Not so
much from Ellie, but from Michalis. We were supposed to have been
friends. I was determined to wait for his apology for as long as it
took. 

My fourth
year in London saw Pavlos and Samantha still unmarried, but trying to
have a baby. As it was taking too long, they began to realise that
either one of them must have had a physical problem. They decided
never to learn which one it was. They swore to stick together, even
if they never had a baby.

 
Watching
all of this, I persistently expressed my wish to rent a place of my
own so they could have their own breathing space. Possibly because
they considered me the child they didn’t have, they always
insisted I shouldn’t leave. They couldn’t understand they
only delayed the inevitable.

Just
before my twenty-third birthday, I resolved to make the big step.
Without telling them, I began my hunt for my own flat. At last, I
found a small house at the end of their road, four blocks down.

It was a
corner studio on the second floor, with wide walls of glass, in a
fairly new building. The first time I stepped in, I imagined myself
sitting on the floor, in the dark, listening to music. I instantly
understood that I would spend there the next few years of my life,
and easily signed the lease.

When I
announced the news to Pavlos and Samantha, I saw their faces fall
with sadness. 

«I
don’t know if you think you’re a burden, but you must
know you’re not», Samantha told me, looking at Pavlos for
his own affirmation. 

«I
know, but I have to live alone — and so do you. Anyway, nothing
will change, except that I won’t sleep here. We’ll be
together all day long», I smiled at them in reassurance.

Samantha
smiled back and suggested helping me with my décor and
furniture arrangement. Taking up her offer like a true bachelor, I
told her about the bits and pieces I had in mind to buy for the flat.

I didn’t
need much furniture, as I had already decided upon a minimalist look.
The walls would be painted bright blue, the curtains made from
crushed linen, oversized cushions forming a sitting circle and, set
in the centre, a low, wooden coffee table. At the far side of the
room, my bed — a simple futon. For my books, a set of shelves —
the tallest item of furniture. Everything else would be placed on the
floor in a deliberate sense of orderly nonchalance.

«If
Mum were alive to see your flat, she would ask why it’s so
untidy», Pavlos remarked when he saw it finished.

«Mum’s
opinion aside, do 
you 
like
it?»

«I
do, if you ask me», Samantha butted in.

«Well,
if that’s what you want, then it’s fine by me», he
finally said, failing to sound convincing.

 
36

One day,
some weeks later, I was out on a hunt for a lamp with a dimmer to use
for reading. On the verge of giving up, I suddenly stumbled upon
something intriguing. Almost hidden behind the window display, it
made me open the door, ringing the little metal bell, and walk
straight in.

«...Angelique?»

She turned
and looked at me in surprise. «Vassilis!»

It was the
very same girl I had met so long ago on my train journey to Paris.
The girl that had whirled around me, and then away from me, like a
tornado. The girl that I had shared my life story with. The girl who
had grown up in Strasbourg, but wanted to live in Paris with her
boyfriend.

She wore a
deep purple skirt patterned in every colour and a simple black
T-shirt diagonally halved by the strap of her bag — cutting a
deep gorge between her breasts, like a leather river. Her hair had
grown long, held in a vivacious ponytail.

She was so
much more lovely than I remembered.

«What
are you doing here?»

«I
moved here just a few weeks ago! I now work for the European
Parliament and they moved me to their offices here.»

«Really?
How come you didn’t go to Paris with... Francois, right?»

«Right,
but…Well, all of that’s finished now. Paris,
Francois...», she replied flatly, weary of opening up that
drawer of her memory.

«You
broke up?»

«Several
months after our trip.»

«What
a shame...»

She
smiled. «Nahh… He wanted to quit his studies and move to
Stockholm. Why settle for being an obstacle?»

«Stockholm?
Why?»

«He
met a girl from there and he was besotted...», she said with a
pained grimace, evidence of how far behind she’d left that
fact.

She
would never have acted any other way. After all, it was she who had
told me
Never look back. The only thing
you’ll find is what you left behind or what let you go
.

«See?
You complained about not having really lived compared to me. Now you
have stories and experiences of your own to tell», I remarked,
pausing for a moment. «Do you maybe have some time for a
coffee?»

She nodded
and followed me out of the shop. «I see there are no more
bruises — the ones you had when we met.»

«It’s
been so long since then...»

It was a
short walk to our pub. The locals inside waved their hellos as we
wound our way through to a table at the window.

«You
won’t believe who I just bumped into», I winked at Pavlos
when his curiosity got the better of him. «This is Angelique.
We met on the train from Milan to Paris, when I was coming here.»

With
an exchange of an
isn’t-it-a-small-world
smile, the two were introduced. I ordered coffee for me and herbal
tea for Angelique.

«So,
this is the pub you’d told me about, eh?»

«Yes.»

«I
have to say you look a lot different to how I remember you.»

«I 
am 
different.
The time that’s passed has dealt generously with me.»

She
smiled. 

«How
about you? How were these four years for you?»

Absentmindedly,
she let her glance jump out from the pub and wander about in the road
for a while, as if looking for an answer to my question.

«Well,
initially, after what happened with Francois, I was disappointed.
Desperate, actually. I needed to make new plans for my future, but I
didn’t know how to do this on my own. It was only later that I
realised the only thing I could do was carry on, day by day. I
decided to immerse myself in my studies, get my degree and leave
Strasbourg as soon as I could. So, after graduation, I applied for an
assistant post and, thankfully, I got the job. And I was lucky enough
to find myself at last away from my hometown.»

I smiled.
«And Francois?»

«I
don’t know. I haven’t heard from him. I guess he’s
still in Sweden. Have you had any news from Greece? From...? Oh, I’m
sorry, I can’t remember their names...»

«Michalis
and Ellie.»

«Oh,
yes, that’s it!»

«They’re
fine, I suppose. I’ve learnt they’re still together.»

Angelique
was taken aback. «Really? Have you been in touch with them at
all?»

«Not
at all.»

«You
didn’t want to try?»

I shook my
head. «There was no reason to.»

«Why
not contact them if you don’t have a problem with their still
being together? You’ve lived through so much with them. You
share so much history. Why let it all go to waste?»

«I
don’t know if it’s that simple. Had they apologised in
some way, I might have maintained contact with them. But, besides
that, when you weigh up what a relationship is worth, what counts
more is the future, and not the past. Even if you’ve been
through a lot with someone, why give it a try if you realise it
actually has no place in your future?»

Angelique
nodded. «You’re probably right. I don’t think I’d
want to if Francois asked me to keep contact. I don’t know. I
guess you’re right.»

«So,
you’re starting your life from scratch…»

«Yes,
a new start in London! With no looking back!»

 
37

We began
to spend quite a bit of time together, despite the clashing of our
schedules. We resigned ourselves to sharing our lunchtimes several
times a week. I relished every moment of being with her. We did
nothing but chat and laugh. In the end, we had lunch together every
day, without even having to arrange it — an unspoken pact. We
simply arrived at the same place, at the same time, every single day.

My
feelings for her found no obstacle in deepening. As my childhood
friend Karkavitsas had written, the first confession of love is the
effort one makes to hide one’s feelings from the other. And
that’s exactly what I found myself doing, with increasingly
skilful pretence, the more I saw her feelings of friendship for me.

We soon started to meet
each other after work and to stroll through night London, filling the
streets with our shared stories and laughter.

One
of those nights, though, would fill
with
a feeling all people in love must have felt at some point;
the feeling of awkwardness which mixes restrained tears and censored
swears into a blend of a tight smile.

«I’m
in love!» I heard her say.

My heart
thundered in my chest, flooding my brain with quick-thinking
adrenaline, hunting down the perfect reply, until she finished her
announcement:

«...With
a colleague of mine — and I think he likes me, too.»

My heart,
crushing down upon itself, slowed its wild beating, and then stopped
completely.

It is
exasperating and inexpressibly perplexing how life sometimes chooses
to mock us. She causes someone to break your heart with only a few
words, forcing you to restrain your tears and shattered defence, so
you have no choice but to feign the consenting happiness you cannot
trick yourself into feeling. And the most ironic thing is that life
always employs exactly the right person to play out this prank on
you.

I don’t
remember saying anything else that night. The only thing I did was
paste the clumsiest of awkward smiles over my agony, as if I’d
propped my mouth into a wide smile with the bar counter’s
toothpicks. I would not have her see my ache to flee. Upon our
parting that night, my lips touched each other finally to shut in the
whine that almost escaped.

From then
on, I avoided her with a variety of excuses. But no matter how good
they are, there always arrives a time when you have to replace them
with the truth. After one too many excuses, I decided to be honest
about it all. And in the heat of that moment, I rushed to her flat.
She was probably sleeping, but I didn’t let it stop me.
However, anxiety overwhelmed me as I came up against her door, and as
I was too timid to speak to her myself, I left it all up to a small
piece of paper that I slipped into her mailbox. The next morning, she
would bend down to pick up the strange note. Unfolded in her hands,
it read:

I am in love with you. Please, don’t contact me again,
unless you have some good advice to reassure me with.

In the act
of sliding my note beneath the door, I believed I’d made the
right decision. Few moments later, I regretted it. I was twenty-three
and still I behaved like a child. I went back to her door, but it was
impossible to get my note back. I thought about writing another note,
but that would make me seem even worse of a fool — a fact I
couldn’t deny, but hated.

What
the hell! I don’t care what may happen! 
I
thought in the end, giving up.

She never
contacted me again. During our first few days apart, I believed it
must have been difficult for her to come up with the good advice I’d
asked of her. Perhaps she thought I would go after it myself. After
that, I thought she was probably not even the vaguest bit interested
in giving me any advice. The affair with her colleague must have
deepened, so yet again I was only the short pause between someone’s
two loves.

One night,
an absurdly desperate notion arrived in my head: could it be that I
had slipped the note in the wrong mailbox?

38

A long
time passed, and I was filled with regret from the word go — a
relentless regret I could do nothing about, until one routine,
ordinary night, the cogwheel moving this story along, stuck. 

I had just
arrived at the pub for my shift. Not expecting anything out of blue,
Bob handed me over an envelope.

«That
girl you hang out with popped by and left this for you.»

I grabbed
the envelope and ripped it open:

Remember on the train, when we first met. I told you that all I
wanted was to go to Paris with Francois. When we broke up, I came
here to London, but yet, there will always be a possibility of me
joining him in Paris. I hope you will understand...