by Woolf, Emma
Lily leaned her head against the fridge door and closed her eyes. Suddenly she longed to be close to Julien. She wondered where he was tonight: probably just a few minutes’ walk away from here, perhaps cooking dinner for Marie and the running girl. She wished she could talk to him, but at the same time she hated him for the speed with which he had replaced her. Was that girl still around? The more she thought about it the more confused she became. She should go to bed. Her chances of sleep tonight were looking increasingly unlikely.
Around four a.m. she gave up trying to sleep. She pulled on her bathrobe, made a cup of tea, and took it through to the living room. She stared out at the night sky, thoughtful but not unhappy. Again, she heard her father’s words: “I think you guys need to talk.”
Sunday dawned, cloudless and hot. Lily dressed Stella in a sundress and hat and took their breakfast down to the garden. While Stella practised crawling on the grass, Lily scribbled a to-do list on the back of an envelope: Ring Cass, Olivia, James re Dad. Ring Marie re weekend—when/where? Then she wrote: Julien? She stared at his name, blankly, and added another question mark.
Of her siblings, she opted to call Cassie first, since they had talked about their father a few times already. It was lucky Claude was here now and not at the start of the year, Lily thought. Cassie had been devastated by the miscarriage and would have been in no state to meet him. Now she was pregnant again, just safely past her three-month stage, and radiant with relief.
Cassie answered immediately. It turned out that they were all at Celia’s house, Cassie and Charlie, Olivia and James, and James’s girlfriend, Su-Ki, having brunch and reading the newspapers in the garden. Lily felt a pang and wished she were there too.
Cassie put her on speakerphone. “Olivia, James, come and listen. It’s Lil and she wants to talk.”
Lily realised that Celia would be there too, presumably within earshot. She plunged in: “It’s about this weekend. Well, it’s about Claude. He’s in town, and he’d love to meet you all. We could have tea round at my place, or maybe a pizza somewhere local, just a quick meal . . .”
Her words had come out in a jumble. There was silence at the other end, and Lily held her breath. What were they thinking? Suddenly she really wanted this to work out. Claude was genuinely sorry for what he’d done; wasn’t it natural that he’d want to meet his own children?
James spoke first. “I don’t mind, Lil. I can’t imagine we’ll have much in common, but I’ll come if you want.” Lily’s heart leaped. Then Olivia: “OK, if James goes I’ll go. And Cass, you have to come too.” Cassie’s voice: “I can’t do Saturday afternoon, but the evening’s fine.”
Lily realised she had been pulling up handfuls of grass. She exhaled and unclenched her fist. “That’s great, guys! Thank you. I promise we’ll keep it low-key, nothing heavy. And Mum”—she hesitated—“are you OK with this? You’d be very welcome too, if . . .”
One of the barriers to any relationship with their father had been their feelings of protectiveness towards their mother. Since their earliest childhood all four of them had been aware that he had abandoned her. As they grew into young adults they had witnessed her loneliness and felt a mixture of anger and humiliation on her behalf. However nice Claude might be, however remorseful about the past, Celia was their priority. But over the past two years Patrick had come into Celia’s life and changed things. At long last she had found happiness with someone else, and now they worried far less about her.
“It’s fine, darling.” She could hear that her mother was smiling. “I’m at a dinner party with Patrick on Saturday. I’m not averse to meeting at some point, but it’s probably best for you to get to know your father first.”
Lily could hardly believe it had been that straightforward. James’s and Olivia’s reactions had been less than enthusiastic, but they had said yes. That was all that mattered. Lily had brokered this reunion and after that—well, it was up to Claude.
His phone was off, and she realised he was probably onstage giving his keynote speech. She sent a text: Just spoke to the others, they’re OK for meeting Saturday dinner. I’ll book a local pizza/pasta place if that sounds good xx. Then she rang Marie and invited her to the flat on Saturday morning. “We can go for a walk and potter round the shops,” Lily said. “It will be lovely to see you—Stella’s been missing her sort-of grandma!” She felt relaxed around Marie now. They might even have the chance to discuss Julien. She wondered if he was in the background, if he could hear his mother talking to her.
The week passed quickly. Despite several more sleepless nights, and a gnawing anxiety about Julien, Lily finished two of the editing projects she was working on. Miraculously, none of her siblings pulled out of the meal with Claude. On Friday evening, Lily popped downstairs for a glass of wine with Susan after Stella had gone to bed, the baby monitor clipped to her jeans.
Lily related her confusion over Julien and the strange fragments of information from Claude. She told her about the scene on Hampstead Heath, how she’d witnessed Julien and that beautiful girl running through the rain. It was a relief to talk to someone outside the situation, although it didn’t resolve anything. “You don’t know who that woman was,” Susan said. “It could have been a friend, a neighbour, anyone. I agree with your dad: the two of you need to talk.”
It was wonderful to see Marie on Saturday morning. She admired Lily’s flat, enthusing over the light, the high ceilings and wooden floors. Lily trusted Marie’s sense of style—she had restored the farmhouse in Burgundy beautifully—and they discussed various layouts for the living room and a possible upgrade of the kitchen. No one knew, but since Harry’s last bequest Lily was entirely mortgage-free; for the first time in her life, she actually had money to spend.
For Stella’s first birthday, Marie had brought a luxurious set of white bath towels and bedsheets, one hundred per cent Egyptian cotton, from Harvey Nichols. “Rather than more toys or baby clothes, I thought you could do with something for the flat,” she said. “I know what it’s like when they’re young, one’s endlessly doing laundry and things can get a bit ragged.” Lily was touched she had remembered Stella’s birthday and delighted with the present.
They were finishing their coffee and getting ready to leave the flat when Marie dropped the bombshell. She spoke so casually that Lily almost missed it. “. . . and it’s been lovely to see my niece again. She’s been in London lately looking at various graduate courses at Imperial College.” Lily was searching for Stella’s socks and didn’t make the connection at first. Then Marie said something about this niece staying with Julien. She felt a wave of relief wash over her. Keeping her voice as casual as she could, she said, “Your niece? Have I met her?”
“My younger sister’s daughter, Melisande. We pretty much brought Meli up, so she and Jules are very close. They’re more like brother and sister than cousins.” An image of the running girl flashed into Lily’s mind again: the same colouring as Julien, the same laugh. Of course, they were related. No wonder they seemed so easy together.
Lily’s heart soared. The running girl wasn’t his lover after all. She was his cousin. They had grown up together, as close as siblings. She didn’t mind how beautiful and athletic the girl was now—they weren’t sleeping together and they weren’t in love. She blinked back tears. She must resist the urge to hug Marie, the bearer of this stupendous revelation. She must stop herself from confessing all her paranoid suspicions, all her unfounded rage and bitter jealousy. With those few simple words, Marie had changed the entire future.
Steady, she told herself. You and Julien still aren’t speaking, and this is no guarantee that he hasn’t met someone else. It was no guarantee, but it was everything, everything. The past few months had been so hard. Giving up the hunt for Stella’s socks, grabbing a pair of tiny sandals, Lily thought she might burst into song.
They set off for Belsize Park. Marie had a long list of special British requests from friends back in California: PG Tips, Marmit
e, shortbread, honey, all of which they could get at the local supermarket. Lily floated around the aisles, smiling at strangers, feeling as though she had been born again. After buying everything on Marie’s shopping list and more, they strolled towards South End Green for a walk on the Heath.
Marie was carrying Stella in the papoose, and Lily felt deliciously unburdened. The weather was hot and sunny, as it had been for weeks, and she was wearing a black silk shift dress, bare legs, and jewelled sandals. It must be fate that I wore this dress today, she thought, walking beside Marie. Julien had bought it for her birthday in Paris the previous autumn, and this was only the second time she had worn it. She had found it at the back of the wardrobe this morning. She must have shoved it there, out of sight, in the midst of her despair. She remembered trying it on in the tiny Parisian boutique, and how Julien had said, “That’s it. That’s the dress.” That evening he’d taken her for dinner at his favourite restaurant, Le Cherche Midi on the Left Bank, and she’d worn the dress. This morning, rediscovering it, she felt able to put it on.
They waited to cross the road. Marie asked about Cassie’s pregnancy, how it was going and whether it was a girl or a boy. “She’s decided not to find out,” Lily said. “Charlie says he’ll be happy with either, and Cassie’s just relieved to have got past the three-month stage. I think she’s finally starting to relax . . .” Abruptly she stopped speaking. Standing at the crossing, directly opposite them, outside Le Pain Quotidien, was Julien.
Lily pushed up her sunglasses, blinking in the brightness. It was definitely him. Now what? She could hardly run away or pretend she hadn’t seen him. Marie noticed him a moment later and waved. It was only ten or fifteen seconds until the traffic lights changed to red that they stood there facing each other, but to Lily it felt much longer. They walked forward, awkwardly meeting in the middle of the crossing, and then Julien retreated, joining them on their side.
“Hi, Lily, hi, Mum.” He leaned over Stella and stroked her hair. “Hello, sweetheart.” (What did people do without babies to diffuse tricky situations? Lily thought.) They looked at each other, saying nothing, until Marie broke the silence. “Here’s an idea. I’ll take Stella to the park—I need a walk and she needs some fresh air—then the two of you can have a talk . . .” She looked from her son to Lily. “How does that sound? I’ll ring you in an hour or two.”
They watched as Marie walked away, neither of them sure where to start. “How about we go back to my place?” Julien said. “The cafés are really busy at the moment, usual weekend rush . . . I’ve got all this fruit from the market,” he said, holding up some brown paper bags. “I’ll make you my special Californian smoothie.”
Lily smiled. “Your special Californian smoothie? How could I resist!” They didn’t say much, walking up East Heath Road, but it felt good to be by his side. She couldn’t believe the timing. If she’d run into Julien twenty-four hours ago, if Marie hadn’t told her about the niece, Lily would have cut him dead. Everything about today was miraculous: the dress, the weather, the news about the beautiful sporty cousin, Meli-something . . . Whatever her name was, she wasn’t his girlfriend.
As they turned into the gates of his building, Lily recalled the two of them running through the rainstorm. What did it matter now? She had clearly been losing her mind.
“You’re going to love this,” Julien said, ushering her into the kitchen. He reached into the cupboard and lifted out a top-of-the-range silver Vitamix. “I got it when I was visiting Claude and Marie. It makes juices, smoothies, soups, everything.” He emptied the paper bags onto the counter, pulled out two chopping boards and two gleaming Sabatier knives. “Can you prep me some carrots?”
She had always enjoyed messing around in the kitchen with Julien, prepping the vegetables for a salad or stir-fry while he masterminded the actual cooking. It was a good place to talk, or at least a way to relieve this tension in the air. He sliced a couple of apples and dissected a large mango, added her chopped carrots, spinach leaves, a handful of ice cubes, and some grated ginger on top.
Julien’s flat was cool and spacious, but it wasn’t a day to stay indoors. They sat on the balcony in the sunshine, overlooking the Heath. “I hope you like it,” he said, pouring out two tall glasses of the Californian smoothie. “I’ve got a whole book of different recipes. This one’s my favourite.”
She took a sip. “Mmm. That’s delicious. Much nicer than anything you get in the shops—you can really taste the mango and ginger.”
“So . . .” Julien put down his glass and looked at Lily. She had forgotten those flecks of green in his brown eyes “I should start by apologising. Whatever happened with us, for whatever reason, I shouldn’t have cut myself off . . . I think I got the wrong end of the nettle.” Lily smiled at this mixed metaphor; just once in a while his flawless English let him down. “I know we should have spoken.”
“Julien, hold on. Can we start from the beginning? As far as I remember, we were OK in December—and then you went away and after that we weren’t OK any more.” The girl might not have been Julien’s lover, but Lily still needed to understand what had happened before that. “Did you change your mind while you were skiing? Did you meet someone else?”
“No, to both those questions. I didn’t meet anyone else and I didn’t change my mind.” He paused. “I thought you had changed your mind. I cut myself off because I didn’t know what else to do. By the time I wanted to talk to you, it seemed like it was too late, you’d lost interest.”
“Lost interest?” Lily said, more sharply than she’d intended. “In what way, lost interest? I’ve been here all along, you’re the one who went away. I just couldn’t understand why things went weird between us, why we stopped seeing each other . . .”
“I don’t understand either,” he said. “At least not entirely. Remember in London, we were having lunch at your mother’s house and everyone was there? She invited me to come for Christmas, but I’d arranged to go skiing with my friends as usual. Anyway, I really wanted us to spend the holidays together, so I asked if you’d come to St. Anton too, but you didn’t seem keen.” He took a deep breath.
“Here’s the thing, Lily: I had it all planned out. I spent weeks looking into the baby-friendly areas of the resort. I found out about daycare and ski schools. I even booked a chalet with a separate loft apartment for the three of us, so we’d be away from the others and it would be quieter at night.” He shook his head. “I really got excited about you and Stella coming along. But when I finally got around to asking, you dismissed it out of hand. I felt like a fool—we’d only been together a few months, I was obviously rushing things. Then I started thinking: Well, it’s not surprising, after all she has other priorities, she has a child. Why would she want to come skiing with a bunch of people she doesn’t even know?”
“You actually wanted us to come?” Lily said. “I thought you were asking to be polite—I thought it would be an absolute pain, having us tagging along, cramping your style. I’m not the world’s best skier, and I didn’t know how it would work with Stella, and to be honest I was worried about the cost too. And then you rang and casually mentioned you were off to California; after all those times we’d discussed going together, you must have known I’d be hurt. After you left, Dad invited us out for New Year, he even offered to pay for the flights, but by then you’d gone silent and I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t want to turn up in San Francisco, as if I was chasing you out there.”
“I wanted you to come, Lily. I thought it would be wonderful to visit Claude and Mum together. I honestly felt like an idiot. I thought you weren’t serious about our relationship.”
“I was serious about our relationship, of course I was,” Lily said, shaking her head. “Have you any idea how I missed you, how confused I was . . .”
“No. I had no idea,” Julien said. He looked angry for a moment. “You seemed so distant. I went away and I tried to get everything out of my system—you, Stella, everything. I s
kied a lot, and I drank a lot, and I felt miserable.”
Lily stood up and walked to the edge of the balcony. She stared across the Heath, then turned to face him. “OK, here’s what I think. We are both very proud, very defensive people. We’re a terrible mix of confidence and insecurity. I thought you didn’t want to spend Christmas with us, so I withdrew. You thought I didn’t want to come away with you, so you withdrew. I thought you were bored of me and Stella, that you preferred partying with your wealthy ski friends. The more distant we were with each other, the worse it got. We were being defensive because we were hurt. Don’t you see?”
“I don’t think I’m defensive,” Julien said, and then laughed. “OK, yes. Maybe I am. I couldn’t work out what you were feeling.”
“My feelings never changed,” Lily said, her voice quiet. “I liked you from the moment we met in France. I thought we had a future together.”
He came over to her and took both her hands. “We do.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly. “We do have a future.” He touched her shoulder, smoothing the silk folds of her dress. “Isn’t this . . . ?”
“Yes, the dress we got in Paris. Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” he said. “I’ve been a complete fool. I’m sorry, Lily. Can we try again?”
They kissed for a long time on the balcony, oblivious to the joggers and dog walkers on Hampstead Heath behind them. Julien scooped Lily’s hair up, kissed her neck, and led her inside.
Afterwards they lay in bed, half-covered by a white sheet, enjoying the slight breeze through the open doors. “Stella!” Lily suddenly said, sitting up. “How long has it been—what time did we leave them?”
Julien lazily reached out an arm. “Don’t worry,” he said. “She’s with Mum. They’ll be having a lovely time.”
Lily ran out of the bedroom. “I completely lost track of time!” She found her phone in the kitchen. “Oh you’re right—they’re fine. There’s a missed call and a text message from Marie: Have kidnapped your daughter! Having picnic in park. Will bring her back to J’s around 2ish xx
