Page 113 of Little Miss Fortune

Please work. Please work.

CHAPTER 39

I only lied about being lucky. I don’t do that anymore

The plan will only work if everything goes according to it. That means a lot of things need to both go smoothly and not raise suspicion. Fawzia and Chloe, as the only two who learnt about Toby’s condition from him, jumped in to help with a lot of eagerness, which was helpful because I didn’t have to explain anything to them. Malik, Maahni, Sophie, and Leon were told that I am trying to confess my feelings to Toby, because it’s not my place to share his medical data, but they were just as excited to help the cause.

Now the biggest snag in this line of dominos is the very first one—Rufus. I am a girl that he saw twice? Three times? He is under no obligation to help me. What I didn’t expect, however, was that Sashka’s charm would be the card that trumped any suspicion.

‘You have a jaw for acting,’ she exclaimed with fluttering eyelashes.

‘Well,’ his flattered mumbling turned into bubbles, ‘I am performing at the local community theatre.’

‘Great! This is the line I need you to say when you see Toby Lewis going on a run.’ She passes him the paper. ‘Sneak it into the conversation as naturally as you can.’

At around ten o’clock in the morning, Toby comes down from his apartment. Sashka and I sit across the road in clothes provided by Maahni, who had six trench coats, eight pairs of sunglasses, and a millinery of hats. We took the less conspicuous ones of the lot.

‘That girl has really good taste,’ Sashka says to me, stroking the sleeves on her coat.

‘Shh, he is coming.’

We watch Toby step out of the lift. My body tenses. With all this scheming, I forgot how much I’ve missed him. His hair bounces with every step. His slightly distorted silhouette in the window makes him look like a dream, like if I blink for even a second, he will be gone and I will be left on my knees in front of the looking glass.

He is about to exit the building, when Rufus says his line. We can’t hear it, but his mouth forms the words:

‘Running again Mr. Lewis? Thousands of people do this foolish activity to feel closer to hell, in my opinion.’

It’s the first line from the article I wrote about Tateyama. The one that inspired Toby to go to Toyama. I never got an answer for why he decided to hike it, but I have a loose idea—to see whether hell is as painful as living.

It is a gamble that it might work, that he’s read it more than once to remember the words. Toby freezes by the exit. He says something back with a small laugh and walks out, starting the run on his watch.

It’s been so long since we last saw each other. For a moment, I forget what I am doing here and want to talk to him instead.

‘Go, go.’ Sashka pushes me to the park, breaking the trance.

According to Toby’s running account (which I didn’t know was a thing until Sashka told me that a navy commander in Russia was shot because he kept logging his exact running path on it), he does the same route every Saturday. What he doesn’t know is that Chloe is helping Leon to set up street art displays along the route.

Leon reached out to his artist friends to complete street art installations, and Chloe used her connections to get us a permit to display the art (which usually takes four weeks, but she got it in two). Sophie, who volunteers at her local community centre, also got some art and pictures from her group. To be honest, I didn’t anticipate the artwork to resonate, because I only planned for Toby to notice the title of the project: Peace within Chaos—another quote from the article to catch Toby’s attention, but he stops by multiple paintings and drawings. I follow behind.

A green insect lands on me. My knees wobble.

If I cause a scene now, it will ruin the plan

So, instead I squeeze Sashka’s hand too hard, and she hisses, ‘Oi bolyache!’

‘Sorry,’ I whisper, feeling my heart in my throat, but not just from suppressing the scream.

In fact, for the first time in my life, I get over the flying creature being on me, being too distracted by the artwork. A mountain range over the lit-up city; a painting of a child jumping on a trampoline with toys everywhere; pictures of old couples walking along the river. Is Toby thinking what I am thinking right now? This could be us; this could be our life if you just let me in.

A sculpture from a local artist, titled The Dancers, makes me pause. They are faceless metal figures, stuck forever in an embrace.

‘You all right?’ Sashka asks when I stall behind.

‘Yeah, sorry.’

The wind picks up, taking away the little green fly. Toby is a lot farther ahead now. I guess we will also have to run, hopefully not too long.

We see him again when Fawzia’s friend from uni, who had a baby about four months ago, is asking Toby to help take the pram up a flight of stairs. Sashka and I wait for them to disappear, before climbing up. That’s where the culmination of the day takes place.