A Change of Plan

"My parents' friends keep hinting at a chaise longue, but those things are so old fashioned and big it would look ridiculous, I mean where would we even put one of those in this dinky little place? And it's hardly a priority right now."

Éponine has been chattering nonstop for the last half an hour.

Enjolras is quite sure of this, for regular glances towards the little alarm clock in their bedroom have left him is constant surprise that the passage of time has not, in fact, been longer. He wraps his arm more snugly around her waist and sighs into her neck.

"I mean, supposing we divide up the money that your grandparents and my Aunt Christine gave us, we could put half towards important electrical appliances and half towards kitchen utensils – we'll need a lot, and then the money left over from other family and friends can go towards general stuff like towels and curtains and storage. Oh, but then we should probably focus on decorating first, shouldn't we? The walls are so bare it looks awful. We can't start fitting wardrobes and shelves before we've painted." She chews her lip thoughtfully. "But then we can't very well live here without furniture, unless we ask my father for a loan of his garden deckchairs and table. We'd need to clean it of course, but it might do for now."

Enjolras listens to it all with a dazed expression, exhausted before they've even begun, and his mind drifts back to the previous day. The wedding had been a quiet affair, simple and relaxed. He finds himself longing for such peaceful bliss now, and is startled to hear his own voice blurting out a suggestion in the midst of Éponine's monologue.

"What if we don't use the money to decorate at all?"

Éponine pulls back from his grasp to study his face. "What?"

Enjolras shifts uncomfortably. "I was thinking, maybe, of something else."

"You mean go with furniture instead?"

"No…" He toys with the edge of the duvet.

"Then what do you mean?"

"I thought, maybe…" Enjolras chews his lip thoughtfully, prompting Éponine to poke him playfully on the chest in mock exasperation.

"Thought what?"

"I passed by the travel agents the other day in town. They had an advertisement for a package holiday in Italy, and…well, if we were to convert the money altogether as one lump sum, we would have enough to go."

"But our parents -"

Enjolras cuts her short, mumbling on in deep thought as his fingers trace patterns across the lines of her shoulder.

"It starts in Venice. We would have a few nights there. I've heard it's beautiful at this time of year, all autumn mists and dusky sunsets reflected in the water. We'd almost have the place to ourselves since it's out of tourist-season. Then we'd travel by train down through Tuscany, and stay in Florence for a little while. We'd see the Ponte Vecchio, like you painted in art class. Then to Rome. With love, obviously. You've always wanted to see Rome. You could bring your sketchbook."

He grins sheepishly at his own joke, sees her solemn face and hastily continues.

"As for the money, well - " He shrugs, gesturing vaguely at the walls of their little bedroom. "We already have the house. Maybe we won't be here forever, certainly not when we have kids, but Ep, we have years to decorate. And when the time comes to do everything bit by bit, won't it mean more if it's our own money, our own money that we've earned ourselves? Wouldn't it be better to be able to look at, say, a soup ladle or a gravy boat and think wow, that's really ours, not some weird gift from Courf and Jehan? Who cares if it takes us years to finish the place, if we have to use deck chairs as lounge furniture for a while? It'll be an adventure, it'll be our adventure that we created, and in the meantime we'll have priceless memories that'll last a lifetime, memories from our honeymoon that will never break like a refrigerator would, that we'll never have to replace, or, or…"

Enjolras trails off uncertainly. His wife is silent, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"So…what do you think?" he asks nervously.

She props herself up on one elbow and stares down at her new husband. Enjolras returns her soft gaze, peering up at her through sleepy eyes that are both wary and hopeful all at once. So he had listened. Turning her head to look out the window, she recalls a morning just like this one, when the sun had peeked out at intervals through fluffy white clouds, and the birds were singing their sweetest melodies; when she had declared to her new group of college friends that one day she would sit on the Spanish Steps with her sketchbook and watch the world go by.

An airline ticket to romantic places.

A small cough calls her out of her reverie, and Éponine turns back to see Enjolras still gazing at her, the same mixture of love and slight fear etched into his features, the same question in his eyes.

What do you think?

The sight prompts her to burst out laughing and lunge forward to smother his face with kisses.

"I think I love you even more than yesterday."

When the newly wedded couple buy their first teapot, they are ecstatic.

The elderly shopkeeper waves them from the hardware store, recalling days gone by when she herself was young and in love. She had danced through the door of her own tiny house with her husband the day after their wedding, twirling about in a mad whirlwind of happiness, their laughter echoing through the still-empty rooms. They had been innocent, naïve even, but their life had been full and happy.

The old lady chuckles as she returns to the counter, the young couple's conversation of cobbled streets, huge cathedrals and little bridges over canals still echoing in her mind. How funny that they should have picked the very same cities.

Oh, how the ghost of you clings.

Later that night, when she is tucked up in her own bed, she is still thinking of the young couple as she drifts off to sleep. And in her dreams he is there beside her once more, golden curls gleaming in the autumn sunshine as they navigate their way through the oldest parts of the city, map in hand. The cracked cobblestones of the alleyway are warm beneath her feet, and she thinks, yes. With you at my side, I am always home. Their fingertips brush together as they emerge into the light of the square.

And when the morning light taps gently at the window and stirs her from her slumber, she laughs and laughs, and the tearstains shine upon her cheeks.

"How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss; and ah, how old my heart!"*

Fin.

* William Butler Yeats, Ephemera

Song lyrics throughout from These Foolish Things (Remind Me Of You)