On the Other Side Read online

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I’ve got a better idea.’

  Together they took a blanket out on to the balcony, huddling underneath it as they watched people down below on the streets, driving past in their cars. Some of them had their windows wound down and were playing loud music, which Evie and Vincent sang along to, badly.

  ‘I can play the violin but I really, really can’t sing,’ he confessed.

  ‘I can’t sing or play the violin! You’re one up on me,’ Evie said, laughing.

  They talked for hours, long after the tumble dryer had beeped to tell them that Vincent’s clothes were dry. They shared childhood stories of mishaps and mayhem, made each other laugh with tales of mad family members, and confided memories of tough times. Afternoon quickly turned into evening, and thoughts of going home started to enter Vincent’s head.

  ‘What’s the time?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Evie shrugged, willing him not to go just yet.

  He looked into his empty mug. ‘I should probably …’ He left the sentence hanging in the air.

  ‘Stay longer?’ she finished for him, trying to sound like she was joking but meaning every word.

  ‘I’ve intruded for long enough. Not to mention that I’ve made your flat much damper than it was before!’

  ‘It was my fault for making you go for a swim today.’ She smiled, then laughed again as the image of him sitting in the pond flashed back into her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said between snorts. ‘You just looked so helpless!’

  This time Vincent didn’t turn red with embarrassment. He just gave her that look again. The one where the romantic leads get tunnel vision and all they can see is that one person they want.

  ‘You’ve looked at me like that before,’ Evie said quietly.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘You know what.’ She prodded his shoulder with a finger. ‘What are you thinking when your face does that?

  What does that look mean?’ Although she wasn’t fishing for compliments or in need of a declaration of true love, she was hoping that he was feeling the same way she was.

  ‘Aren’t you suddenly full of questions?’ Vincent said, his voice dropping to match hers.

  ‘No point in being coy. We’ve kissed already.’ She winked playfully, trying to lighten the mood, but she felt her stomach flip all the same. ‘And I don’t like games. Being straightforward makes everything easier.’

  ‘I agree,’ Vincent said, nodding.

  ‘So, what’s the look for?’ Evie repeated.

  Vincent could see he’d backed himself into a corner and she wasn’t going to let up until she had an answer and he had no reason not to be honest.

  ‘I don’t have a mirror so I can’t be entirely sure, but … I’m pretty certain it’s my “I’d really like to kiss her again” face. Then again, it could be my “I can’t quite believe my luck” face. Or my “she’s totally bonkers and I really quite like that” face. Take your pick.’

  He hadn’t looked at her once. Instead he’d been looking at his hands as he fiddled with the stitching on the end of the blanket. Evie set her mug down beside her on the floor and took both of his nervous hands in hers. They were twice the size of hers, solid and rough, but she smoothed them out so that she could hold them. She shuffled a little closer as elegantly as she could. The twitch of his lips told her she wasn’t being graceful at all, but then his expression stilled as she leaned her face towards his until their noses were touching. She gently pressed the tip of her nose on to the bridge of his and traced the outline of it all the way down to the end, before tilting her head in further so she could reach his lips and kiss him.

  Her hands slipped out of his and she reached up to the nape of his neck, where she entwined her fingers in his shaggy hair and held on as she felt the speed of her life accelerate once more. Vincent slid his arms around her waist, aware that this was more of her than he’d ever dared think of holding, and he pulled her towards him. She was still kissing him as she climbed into his lap and his arms encompassed her entirely. Their kisses became deeper, full of longing, and being that close suddenly wasn’t quite close enough.

  Their hands became heavier and while Vincent was still trying to hold on to some of his inhibitions, Evie’s had floated away in the evening breeze, long forgotten and happily lost. Evie pulled away fast and clambered to her feet, taking his hand in both of hers and tugging him into the flat. She paused by the mattress, asking him with her eyes whether this was what he wanted. He responded by scooping her up in his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist and one thought filled her head as they sank down on to her makeshift bed: It’s not the first date any more, after all.

  Evie’s hands trembled as she dragged the blanket back on to the mattress while trying not to be seen by the outside world. She pulled it over herself immediately, not from embarrassment at being seen by Vincent – it was far too late for that – but because the balcony doors were still flung wide open and now the winter air was crisp. She curled up next to Vincent, whose eyes were closed, and rested her head against his chest, which was moving in time to his heavy breathing. As soon as her cheek pressed against his skin, his arm instinctively curled round her, and it felt so right that she couldn’t imagine having his arms too far from her ever again.

  ‘Evie?’ Vincent mumbled.

  ‘Mmm,’ she whispered back.

  ‘Don’t go away.’

  She tilted her head to look at him. He still had his eyes closed, but his brows had knitted together above them.

  ‘What do you mean?’ She was entirely worn out and couldn’t keep her own eyes from shutting.

  His arm pulled her in closer and Evie’s body stretched out and pressed against the outline of his side. ‘You’re spectacular.’ He felt her lightly shake her head and exhaled in disbelief. ‘I mean it.’ He opened his eyes and tilted her head with a finger on her chin. ‘You’re like … that single firework that makes everyone gasp in a display that would otherwise have been quite disappointing.’ Evie enjoyed his silly spontaneity while Vincent felt the relief of finally saying what he’d thought up hours ago and dared not say. He took a deep breath and watched Evie’s head rise and fall with it. ‘I’m just a little … I don’t know. We’ve known each other two days and it already feels like I’ve been here with you, like this, a million times before.’ He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger and her closed eyes crept open a little.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘And you’re just as worried as I am that it’ll disappear as quickly as it happened?’ Vincent nodded and kissed her forehead, warm against his lips. ‘Neither of us are kids, Vincent. I know what I want out of life and I know how I feel.’ Evie twisted so that she was lying on her stomach, leaning on her elbows to look at him.

  ‘Of course you do.’ He gently brushed her cheek with his thumb, concern etched on his face. ‘But things change over time.’

  ‘Then let’s worry about that when the time comes. For now, I’m happy, and I don’t see that changing.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  Despite his words, Evie could see that Vincent’s worry wasn’t going anywhere. All she could do was prove to him that whatever this was between them, it wasn’t a fickle, childish fling. It felt honest and uncomplicated, like nothing else had ever been in either of their lives, although in very different ways. Evie moved forward, putting her weight on his chest, and gave him a long, lazy kiss, during which a tear containing reflections of all his fears escaped his eye but he wiped it away before she could see it. Eventually she pulled away, her eyes full of happiness, and they settled down under the cover, sleepily talking about nothing until they both drifted seamlessly into sleep.

  Neither of them could have known that this was the calm before the storm.

  This December was much the same as every year Evie had experienced it, except that now mulled wine tasted sweeter, she noticed the smell of cinnamon wherever she went, and carollers found lots of hard boiled sweets in their instrument c
ases and hats.

  ‘Evie! EVIE!’

  Lieffe rushed to the doors of the apartment building and looked to the left to see a man standing on the pavement underneath Evie’s window, wearing thick gardening gloves, with a large and very real Christmas tree lying on its side at his feet.

  ‘You must be Vincent,’ he said. ‘Do you need some help with that?’

  Vincent looked sheepish. It was New Year’s Eve, and Evie had spent Christmas without a tree. Although it had been an extremely romantic idea in Vincent’s head, it had turned out to be rather impractical. Lugging the tree across town without a car had worn him out, and although the wind was biting and snow was most certainly on its way, he’d sweated through his T-shirt, presumably his coat too, and his face was redder than Rudolph’s nose.

  ‘Vincent? What’s going on?’ Evie had run out on to the balcony after scrambling to find half-decent clothes to throw on. Vincent was out of sight, hauling the tree through the doors to the building, but he heard her and called back, ‘I’ll be up in a minute!’

  Lieffe helped Vincent stand the tree in the lift but only Vincent could fit in beside it. ‘Good luck!’ Lieffe wished him with a little two-fingered salute as the doors closed.

  Evie was waiting as the doors opened on the seventh floor, laughing at the sight of the lift filled entirely with tree and Vincent squashed up against the wall. Together they dragged it along the corridor, leaving a trail of pine needles, and manoeuvred it through the door of Apartment 72. Once Vincent had got it upright in the corner of Evie’s living room, they both stood back to admire it. It was a little lopsided, but they both loved it all the same.

  ‘Gives it character,’ Evie said, smiling.

  Vincent produced from his pocket the tree’s first ornament. It was a hard boiled sweet made out of orange glass, with a piece of green ribbon attached to the centre so Evie could hang it from a branch.

  ‘Wherever did you find it?’ Evie asked, as she marvelled at it, holding it between her fingers and up to the light.

  ‘It just appeared in my pocket one day.’ He held up his hands and she hit him with a tea towel she’d been using in the kitchen while he’d been sorting out the tree. ‘I figured it was meant for you.’

  Evie had got out of having Christmas with her family by telling them she was ill. Eleanor Snow hated anyone being sick in any way, and even more so when she had guests to entertain, so as soon as she knew her daughter had the sniffles, she insisted that she didn’t come home for Christmas dinner or the annual Snow and Summer festive party. She even cut the conversation short and put the phone down faster than usual, just in case she caught Evie’s ‘illness’ through the handset.

  All in all, Eleanor didn’t seem too upset and Evie couldn’t have been happier. She and Vincent went to Violet’s house for Christmas dinner instead, taking along with them a box of mince pies Evie had made on Christmas Eve, although several of them had disappeared into Vincent’s mouth before Christmas morning arrived. During dinner, Vincent was pleased to see how genuinely taken Evie and Violet were with each other. Afterwards, Evie had insisted on clearing the table, and when she was out of sight, Violet placed a hand on her son’s arm.

  ‘She’s truly wonderful,’ she said, her eyes glistening.

  ‘I know,’ Vincent beamed.

  Vincent hadn’t been back to his flat for days, but Sonny hadn’t been in contact so he was unsure if he’d even noticed. More and more of his clothes and belongings had ended up at Evie’s place as he stayed over increasingly frequently and they settled into a routine of sorts. They’d pinned up bunting and fairy lights, and as Evie drew sketch after sketch at her newly bought desk, Vincent would pin those to the walls too. They’d assembled the pieces of her bed and were actually using the bedroom to sleep in, but they often took a blanket out on to the balcony at night to talk through their day over tea before sleeping. As the new year drew closer, both Evie and Vincent were looking forward to new beginnings together. The life they’d created in the month they’d known each other was ideal, but it was something they knew they’d need to work hard to keep.

  Their plan for January was for Vincent to apply to music schools and to try and find some gigs bigger than playing underground tunnels to disgruntled commuters, while Evie was going to send copies of her portfolio to publishers and animation studios. All she needed was one person to give her a chance to change the future her mother had planned for her. Just one person had to say yes for her to be able to spend her life with Vincent, and she was determined that that was going to happen.

  As midnight approached on New Year’s Eve, Evie and Vincent were in her living room, taking it in turns to throw chocolate chips into each other’s mouths. Whenever either of them succeeded, it resulted in hands being flung into the air in triumph, and lots of cheering. When they heard a neighbour’s party start the countdown, they ran to the balcony.

  ‘… FOUR … THREE … TWO … ONE!’

  Fireworks erupted, lighting up the sky around them. Vincent lifted Evie off the floor and into his arms, and even though he was kissing her, she could feel his smile. When he returned her to the floor, she leaned over the balcony and yelled, ‘HAPPY NEW YEAR!’ at the people in the street below, many of whom shouted it back. Then a very calm voice from the balcony to her left said, ‘I hope it’s a wonderful year for you both.’ A man in a tweed jacket, with suede elbow patches, raised a glass of whisky in a toast to them.

  ‘Oh, it will be,’ Evie said, smiling back at her neighbour. ‘And for you too.’

  Sonny

  Evie hadn’t heard from her mother in months, and she wondered if Eleanor thought it would be easier if she spent the rest of her life pretending she didn’t have a daughter. She felt a little cruel for wishing that could be true, but her time with Vincent had been near-perfect and she didn’t want anything to ruin it. And Eleanor Snow would undoubtedly ruin it. Right now, the only problem with Vincent was that Evie was completely and utterly in love with him.

  ‘Vincent. What do we do if I don’t get any further than the newspaper?’ Evie had just finished clearing up after dinner, and she stood in the kitchen doorway, tea towel in hand. She was having another of the moments that had been occurring all too often recently, when she would remember her mother’s conditions about her living in this flat and having the job at the paper and would feel like she was going to be sick.

  ‘Is your mother actually going to force you to marry someone you don’t want to?’ Vincent asked gently.

  Even though she knew Eleanor was extremely cold, Vincent’s question did make Evie wonder whether her mother would be that heartless, especially if she met Vincent for herself.

  ‘You’re twenty-seven,’ Vincent continued. ‘You can make your own decisions … can’t you?’ He was reading a book in the green armchair, which they’d moved further into the living room now that the mattress was on the bed where it belonged. Evie dried her hands on the tea towel, then slid into the living room in her socks, stopping at the armchair, where she collapsed dramatically into Vincent’s lap.

  ‘Of course I can make my own decisions. But what if they’re decisions that make me happy, but upset, embarrass and shame the rest of my family to the point where they disown me entirely?’

  ‘Am I that awful?’ He pouted, but she kissed him and said, ‘Not at all. You’re wonderful, and that’s just the problem. They like boring and bland.’

  ‘I can be boring! Look.’ Vincent’s face became completely expressionless and he swept his hair into a sort of neat comb-over.

  The phone rang, and as Evie ran to it, Vincent followed her, putting his boring, serious face as close to hers as possible, making it very hard for Evie not to laugh as she picked up the receiver.

  ‘Hello? No one ever rings this phone,’ she mouthed to Vincent who was messing up his hair once more.

  ‘Hello, is that Evelyn Snow?’ The voice on the other end was well-spoken and full of charm, and Evie would have known it anywhere.

  �
�It is Evelyn Snow, yes. Is that James Summer, of Snow and Summer Ltd? The most dashing man in all the land, with the world’s wealthiest ladies falling at his feet, day in and day out?’ Evie had adopted her mother’s tone of voice, clipped and posh, which she’d perfected as a child in order to amuse her little brother.

  Jim laughed. ‘It’s good to hear your voice. I visited your parents’ house today and it’s like you never existed! How’s the job and the flat?’

  Vincent was back in the armchair with his open book in his hand, but he’d read the same sentence four times because he was too distracted, trying so hard not to eavesdrop on Evie’s conversation.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ she said. ‘I’m a bit of a family embarrassment at the moment. The job is fine … sort of. But hey, I’m drawing and getting paid to do it, and that’s a thrill in itself.’ She let her chest swell with pride.

  ‘And your mother’s letting you? Has she gone completely sane?’ Jim couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice.

  ‘No, she’s just as awful as ever. I’m not here without conditions, of course.’ Evie’s pride quickly sank and drowned.

  ‘Well, I was just calling to tell you your presence was missed. I thought you would have at least come home for Christmas. You missed the famous Snow party, and we always have a dance or two.’

  ‘Jim, you only ever dance with me to avoid Nelly Weathersby.’ Nelly was the daughter of a lawyer who worked at the firm, and she was completely besotted with Jim. She was an attractive girl, but whenever she looked at Jim she had a glint in her eyes that made her look psychotic, and he had once overheard her saying she was desperate to know what their children would look like. ‘And it’s always more than a dance or two and you know it!’

  There was a pause on Jim’s end of the line. He thought about all the times he and Evie had danced together at that same festive party every year and how it was only partly because of Nelly Weathersby but mostly because it was the only time he could be close to the girl who had never loved him back.