I could be normal. I could pretend to be normal even if this is something I haven’t been able to do since I was a kid. The market is packed, barely any room to move, let alone walk side by side, but I’ll be dead before I let go of Eleanor’s hand.
My eyes never stop moving, taking in every face, every body, looking into every shadow and alley, waiting for something to happen. While I had remained anonymous for a long time, there were still some who knew who I was, and would recognize me.
“Relax,” Eleanor squeezes my hand.
My teeth bite together hard enough for pain to bloom in my jaw. I didn’t make it a habit to carry weapons, but I wished I had one now. I may be out of my element here, but Eleanor wasn’t. She ignores the stares that follow us, people eying me, distrusting and then drop to her, wondering how it worked when clearly, we were complete opposites.
And while I was given the cold shoulder by most, Eleanor greeted everyone as if they were friends, speaking to vendors selling flowers and cheese and little trinkets from their brightly colored stalls set up in the market. Street food is cooked, the smells wafting under my nose, sweet doughnuts and hot dogs and burgers.
There was a time when I had done this. With Isobel, with my parents when they were still alive, but that was such a long time ago the memories were blurry, though these smells, this noise, it was something you wouldn’t forget.
“Are you hungry?” Eleanor asks, looking towards a vendor selling coffee and fresh pastries.
I had to remember this is her life, this is what she would do on her weekends, something she’d likely do with Tate if she were around.
I was honest when I said I was sorry about not letting her go, but I couldn’t expect for her just to give everything up. I had to give her this.
“Sure,” I say, following her towards the stall.
“I tried to come to this market at least once a month,” she tells me joining the queue, “I’d come here and get coffee and a croissant, and then I’d go a little further down to the book stall and pick up a couple of new books to read.”
“We can do that,” I tell her.
She smiles softly and orders two coffees, her pastry, but I don’t order any food. The coffee warms my hand as she passes it to me and pays, and then we re-join the crowd, walking towards the books.
She seems content, happy even, within the normal London lifestyle. I watched her during that meeting with Tobias, I watched her face as I spewed those lies, at how her brows pulled and mouth turned down, clearly questioning how easy it was for me to lie. Probably thought a lot of things I’d told her was the same and was questioning what was real and what was fake. But being in that room with Tobias I had to be someone else. I couldn’t let on that Eleanor, and I were something more than mere acquaintances, for if they do find out who I am, they’ll use her.
It was that thought alone that had me begging for her to quit working for the man. It was a panic I wasn’t used to feeling when I had everything so under control. Everything but this. Her.
It was a lot to ask her, and I had to hope she’d truly think about it, think about everything I’ve told her, how dangerous Tobias and his son actually were, and what they would do to her if they ever found out she worked for me.
She eats her croissant as we walk, oblivious to my inner turmoil. Any uncertainty gone. She didn’t run from me again though I had to admit, chasing her had become a new favorite thing.
I glance at her, I wonder how much she likes it? I wonder what she wants to try but is too afraid to ask. I’ll give it all. I wanted her to experience it all.
We make it to the book vendor and a huge smile spreads across her face as she stares down at all the titles on sale. She starts to pick them up, stacking them in her arms.
“You haven’t even read the blurbs?” I laugh.
“So?”
“So how do you know you’ll like them?”
She frowns as if the concept is absurd, “Why wouldn’t I like them?”
I shake my head and take the books from her, letting her use my arms to stack them. By the time she’s finished, there are eight books in my arms, and three in hers. The vendor totals it up and bags her books and once it’s paid for, we head back through the market.
My unease has lessened a little, but I can’t help but be on alert regardless. I keep her close to me always. At the car, she places her books in the back seat and climbs into the front.
“Thank you.” She mumbles when I have the engine started, “I’m sure that isn’t something you’d like to do.”
“If you enjoy it, Eleanor, then we’ll do it.” She blushes and I have to wonder what just went through her head.
“What do you enjoy?” She asks quietly.