I flick over to Ash’s feed. I have been checking it more regularly. There is a photo of Ash and a group of friends standing outside the pub. I do a search in his friends now for Kate and she comes up quickly. I click on her name and go to her feed, and the latest photo is a selfie with Ash and the captionAsh and Kate 2.0!
I close the feed quickly, pushing away the feelings of sadness again. And then I roll over and fall into a deep, slightly tipsy sleep.
29
I awake bright andexcited, and the first thing to do is to find a flight back. I search online and find a very late one out tonight—10:55 p.m. It will be a nightmare to get back to Broadgate again, but I push aside the money and the logistics and focus on what’s ahead. I have a whole day here, and a million things I could do. I almost don’t know where to begin.
Vienna has a couple of must-dos. I can go to see the huge, golden-leaf-covered Gustav Klimt and Schiele exhibition at the Leopold Museum, as recommended by a “24 Hours in Vienna” column andTime Out. But there’s also the world-famous Vienna Zoo—the oldest zoo in Europe. The zoo is happily situated in the middle of the grounds of the Schönbrunn Palace, a huge estate that happens to be on Joe’s Instagram, since it plays host to the summer open-air classical festivals. I could do any of that, or I could go have a huge slice of the very first and original chocolate cake at Hotel Sacher.
Buoyed by my ability to easily decipher the metro system, and the brilliant accuracy of Google Maps, I decide to go do something for pure pleasure. Pandas for breakfast and chocolate cake for lunch it is.
I pull on a knee-length denim skirt and my trusty Breton top and head out of the hotel, tucking my passport and my wallet into my cross-body bag.
On the Metro I see a message from Charlie.
You’re shining. It’s good to see xx
And then one from Samira.
On the quiet: Lynn and Ryan had a row because she saw him drinking beer with the opposition. It’s Broadgate for gods sake. I’ve slept with my dental hygienist.
I throw my head back and laugh, and then another message comes through right away.
Enjoy Vienna. Remember your worth.
Samira is top-drawer. A good person. I reply.
Yes yes yes. I have decided I’m worth not one, but two slices of cake. Photo incoming.
I grin to myself and head to the zoo for a whirlwind stop focused entirely on pandas; then I wander through the massive castleestate, getting lost in a labyrinthine maze and ending up in a tiny garden café, where I enjoy a cold glass of white wine, alone. In the morning. I’m either a free-spirited wanderluster or just a garden-variety drunk at this point.
At Café Sacher, I do take two slices of cake, sending Samira two photos, one of me grinning with cake on my fork, and the second of me pulling a queasy face. She sends back three laughing emojis.
As I burst onto the street, I check Joe’s Instagram once more. But nothing.
My heart sinks a little. I look across the main square in Vienna’s first district, to the huge church, and decide to head over.
Vienna doesn’t seem to do modest. Everything here is extra. And this cathedral is no different. I wander around looking at the art, which is lots of people writhing naked and in pain or breastfeeding man-babies. I light a candle for my granny and grandpa. I sit in a pew for a while and try, as I have so many times over my life, to summon some kind of connection to a god. And then I think of Ash.
I pull out my phone and check Joe’s feed and I almost leap out of my seat. There is a new photo, posted thirteen minutes ago, and he’s location-tagged it at a bar called the Pony. He’s standing outside, cello leaning casually against the brick wall behind him.
And it is less than thirty minutes’ walk from here.
I run out of the church, beaming. I stop briefly at the donations box and stuff ten euros in, crossing myself incorrectly as I do.
“Thank you, God, you fucking beauty!” I shout, skipping down the main stairs, past a woman who tells her young son tosee the glory God can bring.
“I promise to give you a bit more thought, God,” I say, as I wavethe church good-bye and, stopping momentarily to let my Google Maps calibrate and find the direction, I’m off. Off as fast as my legs can carry me.
As soon as I pull up across the street from the Pony and catch my breath, I realize I don’t have a plan.
I can’t just bowl in there and barrel up to him.
I can’t introduce myself as Mara and hope he doesn’t think I’m stalking him.
I am, kind of, stalking him.
IthinkI am stalking him.
