Chapter 21: The Tram to the Water

Cecily had been sentenced in the spring, and I had spoken to her in a plain room before the judge did.

It was the last thing I owed her, and I paid it.

Six months later Simon took me to Lisbon and refused to say why.

"A deal?" I asked, on the plane.

"No."

"A friend's wedding?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"Eat your peanuts," he said, and he looked out of the window so I wouldn't see him smile.

The city was warm and steep and loud.

Yellow trams groaned up hills I did not think they could climb.

We rode one to the top on our second afternoon.

It was packed with schoolchildren and a man holding a live crab in a net.

I stood with my back against Simon's chest and his arm across my waist.

Every time the tram lurched, his hand tightened, and every time it tightened I forgot where we were going.

"Last stop," he said into my hair.

"It's only the fourth."

"Last stop for us."

He took my hand and pulled me down the steps into a small stone square.

There was a wall at the far end.

Beyond it the city fell away to the river, with its roofs and washing lines and the long red bridge.

A woman sold lemonade from a cart.

I stood at the wall and let the wind take my hair.

"Imogen."

I turned.

He was not standing.

He was down on one knee on the warm stones, in a good grey suit.

A tram ticket stuck out of his pocket.

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