A Heart Bent Out of Shape by Emylia Hall Page B

the fact that he hadn’t told the others his reason for singling her out; that Hadley was the name of Hemingway’s first wife. It was as though he expected them all to know already. Or if they didn’t, it didn’t matter anyway, because maybe you did lose things if you talked about them. As Hadley walked out of the room she felt the eyes of some of her classmates on her. She fiddled with her scarf and affected nonchalance. She didn’t dare look back to see if he was watching her too, but she felt somehow that he probably was. It was just like before, when he’d stood and smiled on the dark street, lighting his cigarette before turning away. She walked away now as she walked away then, a new kick in her step that was only obvious to those who knew to look.

five
    In those early days and weeks, nights out would often last through till morning. Kristina and Hadley would come home in the pale pink dawn, sometimes accompanied by straggles of the others, a rambling Chase, a wan-cheeked Jenny, a lustrous Bruno. After one such night, Kristina and Hadley trailed back up the hill to Les Ormes , and there was serenity in the city’s stillness. The clamour and hot press of the club they had left behind was like a muddled dream. As they walked they both inhaled the morning air at exactly the same moment, then broke into criss-crossing laughter.
    ‘It feels so good, doesn’t it?’ said Kristina. ‘I swear I don’t get hangovers in Lausanne. The air’s so . . . what’s the word? Restorative .’
    ‘People used to do that, didn’t they? Go to a place to “take the air”. I like that. It’s so civilised.’
    ‘Maybe that’s what we’re doing here,’ said Kristina. ‘Taking the air. Recovering. Recuperating on the Swiss Riviera.’ She paused. ‘Hiding,’ she added.
    Hadley thought of how the night before, they’d danced through the fountains of the Ouchywaterfront, their jeans wet and slapping. How two boys had passed them in the library the next day and waved, calling, Hey, fountain girls .
    ‘I don’t think anyone could accuse us of hiding,’ said Hadley, with a snicker of a laugh. She caught Kristina’s eye. ‘Definitely not.’
    ‘Maybe that’s the trouble, then.’
    ‘Jacques?’ she said, and it was the first time that she had mentioned him again.
    Kristina made a small, exasperated noise and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She spun it round her fingers and fixed it with a clip.
    ‘Yes. No. I don’t know,’ she said.
    ‘Am I supposed to guess? Okay. He’s your boyfriend back in Copenhagen. A childhood sweetheart. Only now you’re here, and he’s not, you’re having second thoughts. Maybe like Jenny.’
    ‘Nothing like Jenny. And I don’t want you to guess.’
    ‘Then tell me.’
    ‘I can’t.’
    ‘But why not? We’re friends, aren’t we?’
    ‘Friends?’ Kristina grabbed her hands and squeezed them. ‘Hadley, of course we are.’
    ‘Well, I don’t understand then.’
    ‘Shouldn’t some things just stay private?’
    ‘So it’s a secret?’
    ‘It’s not a secret. It’s just private.’
    ‘Okay,’ said Hadley. ‘It’s just, when you said before that it was a long story, it felt like maybe you wanted to tell.’
    ‘Not really,’ said Kristina. ‘But if I did, you’d be the first person . . .’
    ‘It’s okay,’ said Hadley, ‘you don’t have to say all that.’
    ‘You would be! Hadley, I promise you would. There’s no one else here I’d rather tell. You’re my best friend.’
    Hadley felt a ripple of pleasure. Kristina had tossed it so lightly, yet it didn’t make it any less true. ‘Well, you’re mine too,’ she said back.
    Kristina leant in and kissed her on the cheek. Her breath smelt of the sweet apple liqueur the barman had poured them to send them on their way. Her lips were cool as glass.
    L’Institut Vaudois was a constant, the point to which they all returned, no matter how full their days and nights. One afternoon they met up after