by Anna Bloom
The ring of the phone at my ear is making nausea climb up my throat again, but I look across at Liv and her eager smile stops me from hanging up.
After five rings I think maybe I’ll just be able to leave a voicemail, but just as I’m mentally high-fiving the fact the line connects. “Hello.”
“Hi, Mum, it’s Julia.”
There’s a sharp stab of silence. “Julia, how unexpected.”
I scrunch my nose and then inhale a bolstering breath. “It’s okay, I’m not calling to chat. I know that’s not our thing.”
“Julia, please.”
I cut her off. “I have something to tell you that’s important and I just wanted you to know without Olivia having to be the one to tell you. I want to protect her from that. Are you sitting down? You need to sit down.”
“Just a minute.” I hear a shuffle. “Okay.”
“There’s no easy way to say this but I’m dying. It’s been ongoing since I was ill a couple of years ago, but, well, uh, yes well, that’s it really.”
Across the room Liv’s face crumples.
There isn’t a single sound from the other end. I’m about to hang up when I change my mind.
“You and Dad treated me really unfairly all those years ago. I was a young woman, enjoying herself. I didn’t do one thing that any other person my age wouldn’t have been doing. Olivia made her own choices, she still makes her own choices, and we are still the very best of friends. All of this, all of this distance, the shame you made me feel. It’s on your parenting not on me. And do you know what, Mum, I can go to the other side, I can die, knowing that fact is true. I’m a good person, always have been, but you tried to cast me as a monster so you could blame someone for your own mistakes. If anyone should accept the blame for Olivia’s behaviour it’s you and Dad. You should have let us live, not held us down.”
With the end of my splurge of words, I hang up before she can say anything: tell me I’m loose-moraled, weak willed. Whatever other shit she’s told me before.
I gasp for air, adrenaline running through my veins. My heart is way too quick.
Liv pads over the carpet swerving Lenny onto his play-mat as he drools like a champ. “I’m so sorry, Jules. Sorry they blamed you. Sorry that I was so stupid. I always make out that I’m the sensible one, the grown up one, but really it’s been you all along. Look at the damn mess I’m in, living in a house I can’t afford with two kids, married to a bastard who left.”
“But look at the kids.” I point at Lenny trying to roll over but only getting halfway and then flopping back like a blob of jelly. “And do you know what, Liv. I know this is hard for you, I know you’ve always tried to maintain something with Mum and Dad, but I don’t care, and I’m sure as hell not going to spend the rest of my time thinking about them. Same as I’m sure they won’t think of me, even when I’m gone.”
“What do you want to do with the rest of your time?” She slips her fingers in mine and gives a little squeeze.
I chuckle low and gruff. “I think my options are running out. I haven’t got time to get married, have children, or earn a million pounds.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you’ve been feeling worse?”
I raise my brows. “So you can live the ordeal with me?”
“Yes! We are sisters.”
Leaning forward, I wrap her into a tight hug. “That we are, but you are your own woman too. You’ve got lots of lovely friends, and your wonderful children. Pretty sure you’ll find a decent man someday… you know if you search under all the rocks and kiss all the frogs.”
Ice-cream city, my stomach hollows.
“You thinking of Henri?”
“Would it be sick and twisted if I was?”
“No. You like him.”
“Come on Liv, I hardly know him to like him. You can’t like someone you’ve only spent a matter of hours with and have kissed more than you’ve spoken too.”
Liv purses her lips in response and then swivels to face me. “Who says?”
“Uh, everyone, the universe.”
“Come on, Jules, look at me. I did things the right way. Went to uni. to get a glittering career, just like we were told we should. Met Darren who promised me everything, but who sadly gave me nothing, except the kids.” She pauses, face twisted, too many lemons in her lemonade of life. “Now I have no career, will probably have to move out of my home and I’m a single mother. Don’t get me wrong, I’d do anything for these kids, they are my everything.” Her gaze drifts to Lenny who has his whole fist in his mouth. “But do I wish I’d done things differently? Hell yeah, sometimes.” Her face drops, splashed with colours of guilt and remorse.
“You wouldn’t even have to think thoughts like that if Darren wasn’t such a dickweed.”
Liv snorts a laugh. “But you see my point.”
“What are you suggesting I do? Call Henri and ask if he has time to see me just one last time?”
A stretch of silence elongates between us, pulling thoughts into my head that I want to block but can’t. Dr Francis’ words mainly.
“What do you want to do, Jules?” Liv’s voice filters in and mixes with concepts such as end-of-life care and dangerously low oxygen.
A tight weave of panic plaits around my chest but I push against it, fighting. I’ve got to keep fighting. Dr Francis was only giving me his side of the coin. I’ve still got that small sliver of a chance that I might get lucky.
That’s my end of the rainbow I’ve got to hold on for. So, what do I do while I wait?
I meet my sister’s eyes. “I want to live, because I really don’t think I have. How sad is that? I’ve been so scared since the virus hit and all this started that I’ve forgotten how.”
“Julianna!” Liv blasts and I rock back. “You haven’t been living since Mum and Dad blamed you for the fact I started shoplifting and doing drugs. You weren’t to blame, I was.”
“It’s irrelevant now.”
“How can you even say that? Your life is almost up, and you haven’t lived it, all because of me.”
“Utter codswallop.” We meet one another’s eyes and then burst out in laughs. My laugh is so deep it might bring on my need for end-of-life care. My belly aches as I try to calm myself down.
“I’m going to find Henri.”
“You mean call him and ask if he can visit?”
I shake my head. “No. That’s not living. I don’t know how many weeks I have left, but I’m going to make every one of them count.”
Like rain drowning out the sun, Liv’s laughter morphs into tears. “I can’t believe this. You seem so fine.”
I reach for her hand. “I know it looks that way. It’s exhausting keeping this up though, because truth is I’m not. I’m tired, Liv, so damn tired. Every breath… it doesn’t give me what I need. I can feel it. There’s this empty hunger in the place of where vitality should be.”
“I don’t think I can do this, Jules, don’t think I can watch this, live through losing you.”
I hold myself together, my hand that isn’t holding hers wrapping around my middle. “I’ll just slip away eventually. I think that’s how it works.”
Who knew talking about dying could be so pragmatic?
“Henri?”
“I’m going to find where he lives.”
“And then?”
“Then I’m going to go there.”
“And then?”
“Then,” I pause. “Actually, I have no damn idea.” A giggle builds in my stupid, useless chest. “I think I finally understand this living malarkey. I can almost imagine the kiss of the French sun on my skin, can taste its warmth. I have no idea if he wants to see me, sure I could ring and ask, but that doesn’t sound much like an adventure to me.”
“But wait,” her face falls, “you can’t travel, Jules. You’ll need insurance, medical cover, God knows, I’ll have to research—”
Holding up my hand, I cut her off. “Insurance? Olivia, I’m trying to live, not die of boredom while you create me a r
isk assessment.”
She gives me the look, the, you’d better not let me regret this look. Then she sighs and shakes her head. “I’ll get my laptop.”
“What for?” Please, God, not a spreadsheet.
Shaking her head she stalks for the kitchen. “So we can google cheese.”
Well, that makes much more sense than turning up in Perpignan and knocking on doors until I find that perfect specimen of Man Mountain.
Am I doing this, really doing it?
My gut tells me yes and my heart is nodding along. Both in perfect sync for the first time.
I’m really doing this. Adrenaline hammers my veins hard and fast.
“Will you look after Barney?” I call after her.
Later when I’m home, after I’ve played my favourite role of Aunty and put Paige to bed, smelling her clean and combed hair as we snuggled for stories, I pull out the peacock diary. At the bottom of my bucket list, I write: Find Henri.
Right at the top, I poise my pen, waiting for the right word. Then in capitals I put: Live.
18
The Sun is a many splendored thing
Sweet Jesus. I cling onto the handle attached to the ceiling of the taxi as it weaves through the streets. I’d love to be able to look at the town, but it’s a blur through the window. My non- English cab driver appears to be a Formula 1 racing pro, while the rest of Perpignan seem to be Sunday drivers. I screw my eyes shut as we zoom up to the rear end of a red Renault.
I’m going to die in this taxi before I even get to see Henri.
Breathe, Julia, and don’t look, it’s better this way.
Unable to decide if I should just rock up to Henri’s cheese dynasty and knock on the door, I’ve taken the slightly easier option of booking a hotel.
We pull up outside a sandstone square building with bright-blue shutters. The double-fronted fascia is covered in hanging baskets screaming an array of colours. Leaves and petals sway in a gentle, rhythmic dance. I stare out of the window of the death cab and take it in. It’s as beautiful as the man who lives in this town. Petite auberge de la ville. I only booked it because it said ‘little’ which made me think of Henri, but now I can see it rather than just a gallery of images on Google, I know I’ve made the right choice.
Beautiful. How had Henri even managed to smile coming to London from here?
This is the place for smiles.
The cab driver flings open his door, not all that concerned whether it stays on its hinges and saunters around to the boot, cranking it open and tossing out my small cabin bag. Scrambling out, I get my purse ready.
“Combien?” I ask, using the last of my remaining French after, yes, no, and thank you.
He rattles off an intelligible string of words, but I just about catch “Vingt.”
Diving into my purse, I peel off the fare and a tip. He nods his head and lowers back into his cab, screeching away from the curb. Twenty seems cheap for an airport ride to me, but I guess if you drive that fast you can fit in unlimited trips a day. He must be loaded.
Taking my time, I turn around. I’m actually here, although I can’t quite believe it. Right up until I got on the plane, I wasn’t quite sure I would. Now I’m here, it’s the best decision I’ve ever made. The air is warm, sweet with flowers, and a hint of fresh coffee. Voices are chattering, birds are singing, and my god the sun is shining. Lifting my face, I seek the golden rays.
According to Google, Henri’s cheese empire is out in the countryside, so todaywell until I’m brave enough to go and knock on his doorI’m going to relax, recharge, and do some exploring.
A little spark runs through me. I’m here, I’ve done this. I’ve stepped out of the box to life. Hauling up my bag, I walk into the cool reception of the hotel. The marble floors are slippery under my sandals and I almost ice skate myself to the reception desk. Trying to be discreet, I slide open my phone and glance down at my ready primed screen. “Bonjour comment vas-tu? J'ai une réservation.” I do not in any way make it sound French. The lady, sixties and smart as a shiny new pin, shoots me a spearing, shrewd look.
“Would English be better, Madame?”
Wouldn’t it just. With a thankful smile I nod. “Please. Sorry, did that hurt your ears?”
“I’ve heard worse,” she clips in heavily accented English.
“Oh, I don’t know. I might succeed them all yet.” I grin in a vain attempt at friendliness. In vain because this woman can only be friends with blocks of ice.
Tapping fuchsia nails on a keyboard, she glares at the screen. “Mademoiselle Brown?”
Ah, I’ve been downgraded from Madame. Oh well.
“Oui,” I answer.
“Room fifteen. Breakfast ends at seven sharp.”
“Seven!” I exclaim, but then clamp my lips shut.
“Evening meals, should you wish to dine with us, are served in the restaurant. You will need to make a reservation.”
“Okay, thanks.” I almost bob a curtsey. How can such a beautiful building house such a miserable old crone? Mysteries of the universe and all that.
“Thank you. I’m going to go exploring.” She hands me a key with the biggest wooden keyring on it I’ve ever seen. I see the game here, make it so big that people can’t put it in their pockets and walk off with them. This way all keys are left at reception and she knows who is in and out. “Merci.” I take the key and force it into the back pocket of my cropped jeans.
Leaving the sour-faced old coot, I seek out room fifteen, although the smell of coffee is making my stomach growl with the zest of a bear straight out of hibernation. Well, it’s sure too late for breakfast and nowhere close to dinner, so I push on for my room, determined to get back out in the sunshine and find a small café to eat at.
The room makes me exhale a low and steady breath. Unlike the dim and cool interior of reception this is something else entirely: feminine and delicate with whites and blues, sheer voile curtains brushed in a breeze through the open balcony doors. “Oh my,” I breathe out loud, my own voice bouncing back at me. Stalking for the curtains, I pulled them to one side to be greeted by the most spectacular view of streets winding off into the distance, framed by a vivid blue sky. Down below a canal or maybe a river, if there’s a difference, serenely cut through the street.
I think I’m finally in love. Eager to get out there, to walk those winding paths, to touch and feel all the things, I plant my suitcase on the bed and tear open the zip. Grabbing my hairbrush, I yank it through my hair and tie it in a high ponytail before squirting myself with some perfume. No time for showers, I want to explore. The shoe situation needs more thought though. I go back to the Juliette balcony to look at the pavements. As much as I love my gladiator sandals, I will fall on my ass in them. I pull out my Converse and tie them on, before realising the look is putting me into the ‘man pant’ zone. Flipping through my capsule packing, I tug free a cotton dress and quickly swap my jeans and t-shirt, pairing the low-cut trainers with a sundress. Now I look like I’m on holiday. The cardigan I needed when leaving England can stay firmly behind. I throw it onto a high back chair.
Right. This is it.
Life.
I pause at the door. The unknown stretches in front of me. There’s a little voice that says, Julia, you came here to find Henri, not buy knick knacks. But I push it away. I can find Henri tomorrow when I’ve had a shower and prepared… I still need to consider what I’m going to say to him, other than the fact I’ve stalked him all the way to his home because my life is about to end, and this trip is my last hurrah.
Yeah, I need to work on that.
I don’t feel like my life is going to end. Right now, it seems ridiculous that’s even a possibility. I’m buzzing, fizzing like a shaken bottle of champagne.
Grabbing the key and knowing I’m going to have to give it back to the sour puss at the desk, I slip back out of the room.
Desk woman isn’t there, so I drop the key in the box and make my way outside, the sunshine sinking into my skin, ki
ssing the tip of my nose and turning my hair warm.
Turning right, I walk along the river with its brasseries and restaurants, all of them offering a plat du jour. I stop at a couple, perusing their menu, grateful for the Anglais page, of fresh caught fish or varying cuts of steak. My stomach growls again but I don’t want to sit in a full restaurant, I want to explore. I’ll seek out somewhere to buy a pastry and a coffee while I walk. There are narrow lanes leading away from the main drag, and I dive up one on instinct, thrusting forward into a warren of close shops, cobbled streets, and geranium-filled hanging baskets which splatter red, white and pink like they are waving a new national flag. The air in my lungs is sweet, tinged with the earthy scent of the flowers and leather goods being offered by the nearest shop which has handbags hanging on rails outside its windows. Automatically, I reach to touch the warm and supple leather, ducking my head when the owner blasts a string of French at me I have no hope of understanding, although I can get the gist he wants me to come inside and buy all his fine goods, not that he’s accusing me of stealing any of them. He throws his hands to the side with a shrug as I walk away, and it makes my stomach lurch.
What am I doing? I came here to find Henri, not buy a handbag. This is typical Julianna, hiding not living.
Bollocks. With a newfound sense of determination, I go to head back down to the river. I can find something to eat eventually, but first I need to find Henri. I’ve got to face this full on. No more hiding, no more burying my head in the sand.
I manage a whole twenty seconds, until I’m heading back in the direction of the hotel and a familiar shape is walking towards me. I’d know the strong curve of the shoulders anywhere, the slim narrowing of his waist. I know them more than I know his favourite colour. What I don’t know, or who I don’t know rather is the tall blonde with his arm looped through his.
That’s my elbow to hold I want to shout, but of course I don’t. I stand there like a fish gasping for breath out of water and about to be gutted alive.
I can feel his eyes land on me, the familiar shiver running over my skin. I want to run, but my feet have cemented themselves to the pavement.
