The conversation ended there. I wasn’t sure if Robert had simply fallen back to sleep or whether he, like me, was lying there thinking of Maddy.
I hoped it was the former.
The next morning we were forced out of bed ridiculously early (which probably wasn’t that early, but seeing as none of us had bothered to move our watches forward an hour it seemed like it was still the middle of the night). We might have thought we were on holiday, but our teachers were hell-bent on getting us out of bed and on to the streets of Paris as soon as they could. We’d mumbled good mornings to each other at the breakfast table as we slumped into our seats.
‘Okay, sleepy heads,’ welcomed Miss James with a smile before handing around printed worksheets. ‘Here’s a rough itinerary for the next few days and the work I expect you to do in each museum or place we visit.’
‘Work?’ queried Robert. ‘But I thought the idea was just to look at the art, Miss. Surely that’s what the artists would want.’
‘Nice try, Mr Miles.’
I swear I saw her blush.
I quickly skimmed my way through the itinerary and longed for the words to pop from the page, but I didn’t see them.
‘Miss? Where’s the Eiffel Tower?’ I asked, unable to hide the panic in my voice. ‘Surely we’re going to go there …?’
To my relief a few of the others grumbled their own protests at the omission.
‘I was planning on talking to you all about that. I thought it might be a nice thing to do the morning we leave to go home – a splendid way to round off what I’m sure will be a great trip. Although that does mean getting up very early, and getting on the bus to go straight back home from there, rather than going from here. Does that sound okay with you lot?’
There was a split reaction from the group – the girls all nodded in approval, beaming great big smiles at the thought of gracing the super romantic spot, and the boys grunted – either because they weren’t as bothered or because it was still too early. Needless to say I was with the girls on this one. Going there on the last day would be all right, I decided. I’d have preferred to go there straight away and get the whole thing over with as soon as I could, rather than having to wait for the entire trip and agonizing over what was to come, but the important thing was we were going there. All I had to do was hold it together until then.
Gazing over the plans for our busy week, we tried to eat the crusty rolls and slices of ham and cheese given to us (none of us were too impressed with that continental malarkey), and then our crazy week of cramming in every tourist attraction Paris had to offer commenced. We gazed up at Notre Dame cathedral while singing the songs from the Disney classic which included a lonely hunchback (then had to stop ourselves from continuing to sing when we were inside the holy building – although I’m pretty sure I heard Robert humming along to himself). We explored the Rodin Museum and copied the moody pose of The Thinker, walked around the Picasso Museum and debated whether he was a genius or just off his rocker. Got dragged through Père-Lachaise cemetery as Miss James listed details of a load of dead people we didn’t know – actually we had heard of Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde, but even then it was hardly riveting stuff – they’re dead! Plus, it was freezing cold and standing around bored was irritating. We marvelled over work in the Musée Marmottan Monet, complained how small the Mona Lisa was in the Louvre (after queuing for ages to see her – plus the glass case in front of her was dirty) and questioned the respectability of almost every piece in the Pompidou Centre (‘How can that be art?’) – all the while making notes and scribbling sketches in our notebooks so that our teachers would think we were actually doing some work, but more so that we had something to show our parents when we got home, giving them the satisfaction that their money had been well spent. Hardly any crêpes were eaten – one of my biggest disappointments of the trip when it came to experiencing the joys of Paris. Well, that and the fact that our trip to the Eiffel Tower never felt like it was getting any closer.
The days crawled by at a snail’s pace, as if they were purposefully trying to torment my lovesick heart. However, every now and then, in the distance over a bridge or from a viewing platform at one of the museums, I’d catch a glimpse of that metallic beacon of beauty and romance and feel a surge of happiness ping through my heart. Every day, every minute and every second inched me closer and closer to its magic, reminding me that my plan was still intact, that the trip’s grand finale was just around the corner. I had no doubt that the Parisian air had the power to propel us into something new. Something different that would change our lives forever.