The biggest smile erupted on his lips as his heart took flight. Anyone listening in to their conversation, a voyeur to their kiss, might have been mistaken in thinking the moment had just been described as the least exciting, under-valued and boring meeting of mouths that had ever existed. But Ethan knew what ‘comfortable’ meant to her and his insides were dancing.
‘Keeley,’ he addressed her. ‘Would you like to go to the circus?’
Forty
L’Hotel Paris Parfait, Tour Eiffel, Paris
‘They’ve moved me to the death room.’
Keeley swallowed back the tears as she looked into Erica’s eyes on the screen of the FaceTime call. Her friend wasn’t looking well at all. Her breathing was slow and laboured and each edged-out word was wrapped in a throaty rasp that told a story all on its own.
Keeley was sitting on one of the little iron chairs on the suite’s balcony, wrapped up in her coat, looking out at the Eiffel Tower and feeling a whole mix of emotions. When she’d arrived back at the suite, Rach had been still fully dressed, some bottles from the minibar opened and empty on the nightstand, eyes closed and snoring, lying on top of her bed covers. As much as Keeley wanted to share what had happened with Ethan and find out what Roland’s call had been about, she also didn’t want to disturb her friend. So instead she had decided to step out into the moonlight and try Erica again. The first few moments of their call had been Keeley showing the Parisian cityscape. She hoped it had been a feast for her friend’s senses. Twinkling festive lights strung over rooftops and awnings of brasseries, the sound of mopeds and church bells, the buzz of the metropolis so unlike the quiet of the hospice. But now Erica, at least, seemed ready to talk reality.
‘There’s no such thing as the death room,’ Keeley said quickly.
‘Room nine,’ Erica answered. ‘Everyone knows the death room is room nine.’
‘Well, that’s not strictly true,’ Keeley countered. ‘I think, if you compare statistics, you will find that many people have also died in other rooms.’ What was she saying? They all died. It was a hospice. There was no hope for anyone. The medical team’s job was to help make their patients’ final journeys as comfortable as possible. Erica had never been under any misconception that she was going to get better. There had been hope to begin with, when Erica had started her second round of treatment and had, finally, started to let Keeley in a little. Erica wasn’t the type of person to give her heart easily but once you had it, you had it for always.
‘Keeley… I know I’m dying,’ Erica said bluntly. ‘You know I’m dying. You know I know I’m dying. We both need to face up to the fact it’s happening soon.’
‘Not soon,’ Keeley said. She simply couldn’t bring herself to verbalise it. ‘Just… someday.’
‘Listen,’ Erica began. ‘I have Henry here with me. And I… named the other poodle in the picture, Sandra.’
‘Sandra?’
‘What’s wrong with the name Sandra?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all. Does the name mean something special?’ She didn’t recall Erica mentioning a ‘Sandra’ being dear to her in all the time they’d known each other.
‘It’s the name of that Nurse Walters,’ Erica responded tartly. ‘She’s rough with the bath sponge. I did it to spite her.’
‘O-K.’
‘And I’m holding on to Nick with my left hand by the way.’ Erica took a deep breath. ‘And I don’t care how dirty that sentence sounds.’
Keeley smiled.
‘So… why are you calling me now?’ Erica asked. ‘The view is something else, but was it just to check I wasn’t dead already?’
‘No,’ Keeley said. ‘Of course it wasn’t that.’
‘Then it’s… the hot dude,’ Erica said, stifling a cough. ‘Is it the hot dude?’
Immediately, despite the freezing temperatures, Keeley’s cheeks took on a glow and it was as if she was back down on the street below, reliving every heart-thumping second of that kiss with Ethan. It made her shiver all over again. ‘It’s the hot dude,’ she found herself whispering.
‘Oh, man!’ Erica exclaimed, voice even more breathy. ‘You need to start talking.’
How did she even start to explain it? The memory of his mouth on hers wasn’t something she could easily begin to define, even to herself. And perhaps it was better to keep the depth of feeling internal and muted. Because being quite this emotional towards someone she had only just met might seem strange to Erica. It was strange to Keeley. Or perhaps ‘unexpected’ was a better word.
‘We spent some time together,’ Keeley said, knowing she was already smiling. ‘We bonded over a half-dead dog and—’
‘What did you say?’ Erica exclaimed. ‘A dead dog?!’
‘He’s fine now. More than fine. He was… stunned somehow… for a few hours… anyway, we met up again and I introduced him to Rach and we… kissed.’
‘Hallelujah! There is a God!’ Erica shouted. ‘He might not have been able to spare this sister but he’s looking out for you.’
Keeley rested into her coat a little, letting the collar raise up and cosset her like a sleeping bag as she sat back in the chair. ‘It was…’ Her lips were about to spill the truly insane sentiment about her connection with Ethan whether she was apparently ready for it or not.
‘It was what?’ Erica asked. ‘Don’t leave me hanging.’ She coughed. ‘Not when I’m in the death room here.’
‘It was…’ The only word Keeley could think of using was the word she’d told Ethan. The word he had understood the meaning of, but Erica definitely wouldn’t. ‘It was… comfortable.’
‘It was what now?’ Erica asked, bringing her face really close to the screen.
Keeley could see every blood vessel in her eyes, but she could also see that her gorgeous, flawless complexion had somehow returned even at this lowest point in her health. Keeley had always been a little envious of her friend’s perfect skin. She smiled at Erica’s confusion.
‘It’s kind of a thing we have together.’ They had a ‘thing’ with each other. How bizarre was that? But the thought of sharing something like that with this enigmatic man warmed her all the way through. It was almost like somehow they had known each other all along…
‘I need to see a photo,’ Erica said, her voice a little weaker.
‘I will get you a photo,’ Keeley promised as Erica’s eyes began to close. ‘But, Erica, you have to promise me one thing.’
‘Sshh… I want to have sweet dreams of Nick Jonas.’
‘Promise me you’ll hold on a bit longer,’ Keeley begged. She knew it wasn’t fair to ask this and immediately hated herself for it. She was thinking selfishly, about her fear of losing her friend, not about Erica’s pain and her fight.
‘Get me a photo,’ Erica breathed, the phone screen dropping a little as her grip loosened. ‘I want to see who’s making you smile that way before I kick the bucket.’