I tap on her photograph and go to her profile. She has almost two thousand followers. I scan the biography.

Sabine Roux. Video artist. Capturing the moments that make our lives. Video means ‘I see’ in Latin.

Shit.

This is bad-bad-bad. So much worse than I thought. Because the best way to get an artist to do something is to ask them not to.

What if she’s uploaded it already?

I scour the thumbnails, searching for a rooftop, Noah and my silhouette in each frame. But they aren’t there. In fact, she hasn’t uploaded anything at all in fourteen hours. Not since a selfie at the bottom of a set of stairs. The sky is glowing indigo above her and behind her is a street sign: Rue Chappe. I vaguely recognise the surroundings; she’s standing at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to Noah’s building. Right near where Khalid picked me up. That must have been on her way to Noah’s party last night.

The photo before that was taken in some sort of park – there are lots of miniature boats on a body of water behind her and a tonne of trees. The location is set to le Bois de Boulogne. And the caption translates as: So lucky to live here.

There’s a link to a Vimeo page just below her biography. Maybe she uploaded it there. I tap on it. Hold my breath. And wait for it to load.

She has 1314 followers on Vimeo, joined three years ago and has uploaded thirty-eight videos in that time. I grip my jaw as I scan the details beside the most recent upload. It’s from a month ago. It’s entitled: ‘Love Actually’. And it’s had seventy-four views. I press play and sip my coffee as I watch the black screen fade to an image. There’s a bridge with an apricot sunset reflecting off the Seine behind it. I recognise the buildings in the background; it’s not in frame but the Louvre is right there to the left. Which means this was filmed on Pont des Arts.

The first time I stood on that bridge was with Harrison in the spring of 2014. We scrawled our names with a black sharpie onto a bronzed lock and then attached it to the fence beside hundreds of others just like it. But all those locks, like our love, have been cleared away now; the weight declared a safety hazard. But, from this video, it appears a few rebellious locks remain, catching the light wherever they can be attached, like ours was. I wince at the memory but then my attention is captured by a couple who are now standing square in the centre of the frame.

Because they’re mid-argument.

The woman pushes the man’s chest. The camera draws in closer. She’s crying, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. Yelling something at him but there’s no sound so I don’t know what she’s saying. The man is frowning, and using his hands a lot, like he’s trying to explain. Tourists move around them, pretending not to watch. To notice. While behind them, another couple hold hands and blissfully stare out at the water.