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The postcard caught his eye – and simultaneously stabbed him in the heart.
He’d snuck out of the tradesman’s entrance of the Corinthia earlier in order to avoid the permanent lurkers at the front, and told his driver to take him somewhere - anywhere! He needed to get out of his head – a distraction, anything to stop him thinking about Him. Them. Was there even a Them anymore? He was fucked if he knew.
The driver was a trusted friend but, oh god, Tim hoped he wouldn’t ask him anything about Armie today. A concerned, ‘how’s he doing?’ or a ‘when do you think you’ll see him again?’ would cut like a knife.
“Ok to put my tunes on?” Tim leaned forward and fiddled with the dash without waiting for a reply. It was a diversionary tactic to ward off conversation.
It worked, and they drove slowly through the congested streets. The seemingly discordant sounds of the hectic city and Natalie’s voice somehow melted into one, creating something unexpected and beautiful. Timmy took off his cap and laid his head against the cold window.
They’d played this whole album on repeat one dreamy weekend at James’s villa…
Six tracks in, he lifted his head, shook out his hair and switched the music off. I need to stop this. “Where we going anyway?” he asked, whipping around to look out at both sides – a row of white houses and a park could be just about anywhere in central London.
“Camden Market. I reckon that’ll keep you occupied for a while. Gimme a bell when you’re ready and I’ll pick you up near Amy, god rest her soul.”
Tim yanked his cap down low, hooked a facemask over his ears and popped on his sunglasses. It was as good a disguise as any, and nobody seemed to be looking his way as he meandered through the stalls. Come on Timo, get a grip.
Then he saw it.
On a revolving rack, surrounded by tacky Union Jacks and pictures of Big Ben was a postcard of a blue scooter in a green field – with a picnic basket on the back. Fuck! Was the universe trying to kill him today or what?
He paid for it and found a place to sit.
Armie had planned the surprise, raiding Luca’s kitchen for wine and cheese and apple tart. And after a hair-raising ride around the narrow roads of rural Lombardy, with Timmy clinging on for dear life, they’d parked under the shade of a huge tree and ate and drank and talked and laughed - and kissed and made promises that seemed fucking ridiculous now. But back then, before…before…
An idea gripped him. He took a sharpie out of his coat pocket (always a sharpie…) and wrote on the postcard:
I have everything I ever dreamed of - apart from the one thing I’d give it all up for. Him
And on the other side he wrote the address…
PostSecret
28241 Crown Valley Parkway
Laguna Niguel, CA 92677