The Connoisseur

Chapter 37 - Dream Big

“The calendar says it is.  I don’t believe it myself.”

“I can’t believe it’s over.”

“It’s not.”

Julie stared at her in surprise.  Sophia hadn’t really thought about what she’d said.  She’d just said it.  She realised it was true.

“This chapter is,” she continued, “But not the whole thing.  Not ‘it’.  There’s plenty of ‘it’ left to go.”

Julie smiled.  “Is this how the chapter ends?  We turn all poetic?”

“Poetic?  You’re easily pleased.  But yeah.  I think so.  You’re going to get your job, you’re going to get married, and you’re going to be bloody fantastic at everything.”

They clinked their teacups together.

“And you’re going to do the same,” said Julie.

“I’ve not got any wedding plans.”

Julie laughed.  “I didn’t mean that.  I meant you’ll be fantastic.”

They finished their tea, stood up and hugged.  Sophia was surprised that neither of them was crying.  That felt right.

“Dream big, Sophe,” said Julie.  “See you soon.”

“You too.  Bye.”

She stood on the doorstep and waved her friend off, before turning back into the half-empty house.

*

Dream big.  Dream big.  She had been, that was the problem.  She had been asked to dream the biggest dream possible, and had chosen to wake up.

It was late that night.  She was curled up on the sofa, watching a nondescript film on some backwater channel.  Her dinner plate was on the table waiting to be washed up, and her wine glass was beside her, waiting to be drunk from.  The amber light of the streetlights outside was clinical, sanitised.

Dream big.

She took out her phone.

“The number you have called has not been recognised.”

So much for dreaming, she thought.  She finished her glass, poured herself her third.  They were only small glasses – Julie had bought them so they could trick themselves into drinking less wine.  She felt pleasantly lonely.

Try again.

“The number you have called has not been recognised.”

It would be much better if he were here too.  They could be lonely and slightly drunk together.  But he didn’t sit on sofas with a bottle, cuddling, watching B-movies.  That wasn’t him.

Was it?

“It’s fantastically real,” said his voice, floating back into her head from nine months ago.  That date at Mario’s.  God, nine months.  Or was it closer to ten, in her timeline?

On an impulse she turned off the TV.  The silence was so welcoming.  One last go.

“The number you have called has not been recognised.”

If only she could speak to him.  She wasn’t done.  She wasn’t over it.  She knew she wasn’t, she was comfortable with knowing she wasn’t.  It wasn’t that she wanted to be back with him.  She just wanted to talk.  But she couldn’t talk.  She couldn’t talk!

She stood up, grabbed her plate, marched through the kitchen door – into a pitch-dark room.

The plate smashed on the floor.  She stifled a scream.

Her eyes adjusted.  The blue glow ahead became clear.  The sound of infinity became clear.

“Oh my god...”

There was the box ahead of her, on its plinth, just as it had been before.  She walked up to it, her heart racing.  She touched it.  She picked it up – it vibrated minutely in her hand.  She quickly put it down.

“Alex?  Alex?”

There was no answer.  Her voice echoed endlessly, far beyond the walls of the room itself. 

She wandered the dark, quiet halls, calling his name.  She thought the statues she passed by were staring at her; the objects on the tables dared her to touch them.  She felt that if she did, they would shriek, alarms would sound, the next door would throw her out into the street.  She called his name again, and her voice travelled for miles. 

Soon she came to the main hall.  It was so vast.  She felt like an atom in a dustcloud.  He had spent years in this place, she thought, ten years alone in this immense place, all by himself, only sharing it briefly.  She could have shared it with him forever.  Could she?  Did he want that, did either of them really want that?

She noticed that in the absolute centre of the chamber, a writing desk had appeared.  Upon it lay a sheaf of fine, blank paper, and a fountain pen in a small silver tray.  She knew, by instinct, that it was not Alexander who had left them there.

Text messages weren’t right.  Of course they weren’t.  Taking up the pen, she began to write.

*

Alex,

I don’t know what I’m doing here, or how I’ve managed to find myself in this place.  I was watching TV at home and...

She screwed up the sheet, threw it away.

Alex,

I wanted to...

 

Dear Alex,

I wanted to speak to you.  I’ve been waiting to speak to you for some time.  We didn’t end things properly.  I have to talk to you, God knows I do.  Please meet me.  We need to speak...

 

Dear Alex,

I know you.  I know you.  People always wear masks.  It’s the masks that make them.  I know the shape of yours, the contours, and I know why you put some of them on.  I don’t want you to take them off.  I want you to let me understand why you wear them.  I wear mine too.  We all do.  Each one of...

 

Dear Alex,

I’m writing to you to let you know we didn’t need to end it...

 

Dear Alex,

We didn’t need to end it the way we did.  Staying with you forever isn’t the only way.  There’s another way.  I’ve worked it out.  There’s another way we can try this, if we both want to.  It’ll be hard.  But there’s another way.

Stay with me.

None of the words seemed right.  She sat at that desk for an hour or more, trying to work it out.  She took scrapped every last attempt.  Text messages wouldn’t do the trick, and neither would letters. 

She worked it out.

Dear Alex,

Mario’s, 8pm, 5th September 2014.  Please come.

S x

She sealed the letter, wrote his name on the envelope, and returned through the doors into her own world.

***

I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  How do you think Sophia got back into Alexander's hall.  Will he agree to meet her?  What do you think they might discuss?  Please vote and comment if you feel so inclined :)

The picture is the Hall of Mirrors at the Palace of Versailles (the model for Alexander's house) in a slightly darker, spookier light.  This is where Sophia finds herself, alone, in the chapter.  I'm not sure if I'd want to live there by myself for ten years...Only two or three more chapters to go.