Page 83 of The Edge of Always

‘Thank you.’ Hopefully, Emmett got fractionally more stupid during our years apart. Otherwise, my behaviour doesn’t exactly come across as normal. ‘Shall we walk?’ I should rest, especially since my chest is so tight, and my ankles feel puffy in my boots as I struggle to get the zip over them. And isn’t that a nice image? The last great indignity. Dying with puffy ankles.

‘Okay, let’s walk.’

I keep going, and as we begin to wander through the streets of Montmartre, it’s hard to worry about my ankles. The wide open boulevards make it hard to worry about anything at all. We pass a woman in sky-high heels walking seven dogs, and a group of teenagers who all laugh and talk loudly. A couple kiss against the railings, practically pornographic for the middle of the day. It’s so busy.

The Place Saint-Pierre is filled with artists and musicians. There’s so much life here, it’s confronting. I’m used to keeping my head down, blocking out the world with music, so it’s taken me a while to adjust to hearing and seeing everything. I’m full of every colour, reminding myself that whatever happens in the future, I’ll be grateful for these days.

‘It’s easy to think of Earl and Sebastian here,’ Emmett says. I agree, this is the sort of place that Earl would have loved. Full of people.

We climb the steps to the white church slowly. And when Emmett offers me his arm, I take it. I silently curse that there is so much climbing in Paris, but the views at the top are worth it. Inside is everything you’d expect from an old Parisian church, dark and gold and moody. I think how much easier it might be if I believed in this version of an afterlife. Not that I believe in nothing, but what I have is intangible and ill-defined.

We stop in a café as I’m exhausted. Emmett goes to order baguettes while I reply to some Deathers. There’s a message from Darth Painter.

DarthPainter: Paris suits you Luna. I hope you’re having a brilliant time.

TheArtofDying: I am, thanks Darth. It’s stirring up a lot too, from the past.

Darth isn’t online, so instead of waiting for a reply, I hit record for another video.

‘Welcome Deathers, to Montmartre,’ I talk into my phone, recording a live blog. ‘I mentioned in my last video that Spencer studied in Paris and fell in love with these streets. He always said that there was no city in the world like it. I’ll link his Montmartre piece in the comments. He was still heavily influenced by Expressionism in this work, so the lines are distorted and the brushwork is mixed, but it’s emotionally intense. Earl loved people; he always talked about how interesting people were. It’s natural, then, that he’d be drawn to painting places with so many people from all walks of life. I think it says something too, the fact that in his final years, he painted Paris, the place he learned to love art.’

I talk some more about Earl’s time at art school in Paris.

‘This time had such a seminal impact on his work. Earl liked to mix different styles, experiment. He never subscribed to one school of thought. And you can see that in Paris. And like in Paris, the mixture really worked for Earl, it kept his art interesting.’

I see that Emmett is coming back, so I wrap it up.

‘And that’s all I’ve got time for. Have a great day, Deathers. And remember, bonus death points for anyone who figures out where the blue door might be.’

I finish recording and hit upload. Almost immediately, my phone pings. Mae.

Mae: Nice video. You are so falling in love with Emmett during this great romantic quest you’re on.

Me: Thanks. And no, I’m not. It’s a platonic quest.

I have to keep my message to Mae short because my hands don’t appear to be working properly anymore.

Mae: Heard that before.

Me: I don’t want my heart broken again.

Mae: Hate to break it to you sis, but your heart is already fucked. Go live a little. What’s the worst that can happen?

I’d die of a broken heart, with a broken heart. The most tragic (if slightly poetic) death ever.

Mae: What’s that quote? People who don’t learn from the past are idiots? Tell him you’re poorly, tell him you love him stupid.

Me: That is not a quote.

Mae: Should be.

‘Hi,’ I say to Emmett as he finishes weaving his way through tables, tray laden down with carbs, the Rue Saint-Rustique in the background.

‘Hi,’ he smiles, putting the tray down. It looks delicious, but my appetite is non-existent.

‘What do you think Earl wanted us to feel, coming here?’ he asks.

I look around at all the people.