by Tom Ellen
That was the worst feeling in the world.
I look over at Alice, who doesn’t seem particularly bothered by the fact that I’ve zoned out of the conversation. She’s focusing all her attention on the cloud of grey smoke she’s just sent drifting into the air above us. I’m not sure why, but I feel the need to fill the silence, to vent the thoughts that are building up in my head. Thoughts I’ve never really vented before. I clear my throat, and say, ‘I guess when I was younger I liked the idea of having kids just because I wanted to prove that I wasn’t my dad, you know? That I had it in me to be a decent father. Or at least to make a better job of it than he did.’
Alice nods. I can feel my face getting red, and the words starting to thicken in my throat, but I keep going. ‘But the older I get, the more I think it’ll just be the same story over again. It really feels like I’ve inherited everything bad about him. He cheated on his wife and walked out. I’ll probably end up doing the same.’
I realise as soon as I say it how awful this sounds. But I genuinely believe it. Daphne and I weren’t technically together on this day originally, but still, I’ve never told her what happened. And back in reality – in 2020 – I have arranged to meet Alice for a drink behind Daff’s back. A drink that I know full well could turn into something more.
I am already following in my father’s footsteps.
Alice brings me back down to earth by asking: ‘Are you still with Daphne, then?’ She digs at the grass with her foot as she says it: a gesture that seems rehearsed in its attempt to convey nonchalance. As if asking this question is no big deal.
I try to swallow, but my throat suddenly feels very tight. ‘We’re … No. I guess not, at the moment. She’s in New York for her job.’
‘Oh. Right. OK.’ I can hear the forced breeziness in her voice. She stubs her cigarette out. ‘Well, at least we’re both in the same boat.’
‘What d’you mean?’
She shrugs. ‘I had a thing with a guy out here, but it ended a couple of months back.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry.’
‘No, don’t be. I’m not sure about French men, in the end. Too short. I think I’d be better off with a British guy.’
She nudges my shoulder and smiles up at me. It’s a move that’s straight out of the first term at uni: flirty, but cushioned just enough that it could still be taken as a joke.
It doesn’t feel like one, though. I’m instantly transported back to Marek’s wedding: the two of us huddled together drunkenly at the dinner table. I know it’s pathetic, but it was so exciting to feel … wanted. To feel like someone fancied me. I haven’t felt that from Daphne in such a long time.
Alice’s phone starts buzzing and she pulls a face as she looks at the screen. ‘Sorry, I’ll just be one sec.’ She puts the phone to her ear and wanders away.
I’m left watching the Dodo Manège and realising that this – everything we’ve just been talking about – is entirely new territory. We never spoke about any of it originally, I’m sure of it. And it makes me wonder: will it affect what happens later? After all these fresh conversational twists and turns, will everything still pan out the way it did first time round?
The thought of how this night ended originally makes my stomach churn. I want to do the right thing – I really do – but I have no idea what that is. Because, as shameful as it is to admit, I have thought about this night a lot over the past six years. Half the time it comes back to gnaw guiltily at me as I lie beside Daphne in bed. But the rest of the time, it makes me wonder what might have been. How my life could have turned out if I’d stayed here.
My head is throbbing suddenly. I close my eyes and press my hand against them, enjoying the coolness of my palm. When I open them again, my gaze falls on the little wooden hut next to the crêpe stand. It’s a cutesy Christmas stall, decorated haphazardly with tinsel and fairy lights, selling all sorts of cheap, touristy festive gifts. And then I spot something I recognise.
The snow globe.
I walk over to the stall and pick it up. I bought this thing for Daphne first time around. It must have been at this exact moment, when Alice was on the phone. I thought it would make a funny, cheesy Christmas present – a nice thing to send back in reply to her card. I had no idea that I’d be posting it three days later feeling sick with guilt about what had happened tonight.
I give it a gentle shake, and hundreds of tiny snowflakes begin swirling gently around the miniature Dodo Manège. It’s a tacky little thing, really. I wonder where it is now. I wonder if Daphne kept it.
‘C’est combien?’ I ask, without looking up.
A gravelly voice replies, ‘Oh, you can have that one on the house!’
I glance up, and almost inevitably, there are two bright blue eyes twinkling back at me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘Bloody hell …’
I stare in disbelief at the old man’s crumpled smile, half hidden inside his scraggly grey-gold beard. ‘You gave me the shock of my life there. Although I guess I should have been expecting it.’
The watch-seller laughs. ‘You should indeed, young man.’ He smoothes down his reindeer tie, and leans towards me conspiratorially. ‘I think I make rather a good French souvenir salesman, don’t you? People seem to be buying it, anyway. Which is more than I can say for the souvenirs themselves. Haven’t shifted a single bloody thing all morning.’ He starts whistling ‘Good King Wenceslas’ as he rearranges some Arc de Triomphe-branded oven gloves.
My brain is still frazzled from the conversation with Alice, and I find I don’t really have the patience for the watch-seller’s trademark enigmatic cheeriness right now. ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask bluntly.
‘I just wanted to stop by and wish you a merry Christmas,’ he says. ‘It’s all part of the service.’
‘And what exactly is this service?’
He gives a throaty chuckle. ‘Oh, I can’t go into that at the moment, I’m afraid.’
‘Right. And I’m guessing you still can’t tell me why all this is happening, or when it will end, either?’
The old man tosses a Louvre-shaped paperweight into the air and catches it. ‘You guess correctly, young feller-me-lad. Even if I wanted to, we wouldn’t have time.’ He nods over at Alice, who is still circling the Dodo Manège with her phone clamped to her ear. ‘Your friend there is going to be walking back over in approximately’ – he checks his watch – ‘one minute twelve seconds.’ He stops juggling his merchandise and looks at me. ‘All I really wanted to do was check in and see how you were getting on. I realise this experience can be somewhat … overwhelming.’
He tilts his head and gives me a kindly – almost paternal – smile. That faded photo of Grandad Jack flashes back into my head again. The similarity is actually pretty eerie.
I’m on the cusp of bringing it up – asking if we’re somehow related, maybe – when the old man says, ‘So, come on: how are you coping, then?’
‘I, erm … OK, I guess.’ I shrug. ‘I mean, it’s not difficult to figure out why I’ve come back to this particular day. Something … happened here, first time around. It’s something I’ve thought about a lot over the years. I was actually thinking about it in that pub in 2020, when I met you. I was wondering whether I’d made the wrong decision today, whether I ended up with the wrong person. And I guess, since I’ve come back here, maybe it means that I did.’
The old man scratches at his beard with a miniature Eiffel Tower. ‘Hmm. That’s one way of looking at it.’
‘Is it the right way or the wrong way?’
‘Well … that’s not for me to say.’
I groan loudly, and he laughs again, his blue eyes sparkling. ‘You’ll figure it out,’ he says. ‘Just give it time. And speaking of time … I’m afraid ours is up.’
He taps his watch and glances behind me.
I turn to see Alice approaching, and as I turn back, the watch-seller is delivering an enthusiastic sales pitch to a passing couple in what sounds like perfec
t French.
I slip the snow globe into my jacket pocket just as Alice reaches my side.
‘Sorry about that,’ she sighs, dropping her phone back into her bag. ‘My boss won’t even leave me alone on bloody Christmas Day. I’m the only one in the office next week, so there’s tons to do. Anyway …’
She loops her arm through mine, just like she did all those years ago when we were heading to the maze. The watch-seller breaks out of his sales pitch to shoot me one last crumpled, twinkly grin.
‘Come on, then,’ Alice says. ‘We’re going to be late for our next stop.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
We are late.
We arrive at the tiny Champo cinema on Rue des Écoles almost ten minutes after the film has started. We edge our way down the aisle towards the only free seats, muttering ‘Excusez-moi’ and ‘Je suis desolé’ at the disgruntled people standing up for us.
The cinema screen is lined with tinsel, and it’s showing the same film we saw first time round: a schlocky Christmas romcom called The Holiday, starring Cameron Diaz. As we sit down, I remember that it’s dubbed into French, so I’m expecting to pick up exactly as little of it as I did originally.
‘Shit, sorry, I thought it was subtitled,’ Alice whispers. She nudges my elbow. ‘Good practice for your French, though, right?’
‘Yeah, exactly. No worries.’
I sit there in the darkness watching Jude Law gabble incomprehensibly in someone else’s voice, my hand almost touching Alice’s on the armrest. I remember so clearly how excited I felt at this moment the first time around. It wasn’t only the mystery agenda; it was also the fact that this was starting to feel like a proper date, rather than two old friends spending Christmas together because they didn’t have anyone else.
The difference this time, though, is that Daphne and I aren’t on a break. We’re married. We might be in a bad place in 2020, but we’re still together. Did I think about her at this moment originally? I must have done, surely. She’s out there, in New York, at this very instant. I wonder if she’s thinking about me too.
Alice interrupts this train of thought by nudging my arm. ‘Are you following what’s going on?’ she whispers.
‘Yeah, yeah. Totally.’
She cups a hand round my ear. ‘Cameron and Kate Winslet have done a house swap, and now Cameron fancies Jude Law, who is Kate’s brother.’
I can feel her breath tickling my skin, and despite everything, certain parts of my body begin reacting fairly predictably. That was another reason this moment felt so exciting first time round: I was realising just how much I fancied her.
I get the sudden urge to turn my head so that we’re face to face. I could kiss her right now. It scares me how much I want to.
But instead I just nod and whisper, ‘Yep, crystal clear, don’t worry.’
She smiles and turns back to the screen.
After an hour or so, the film finally comes to an end. As we shuffle out, I agree strongly with Alice that it was ‘super romantic’, despite having picked up roughly seven words throughout.
By the time we’re back on the street, it’s freezing cold and the sun is already starting to set. We make our way down to the banks of the Seine, where twinkling red-and-white Christmas lights are strung delicately through every tree along the river.
We walk slowly, side by side, taking it all in. Alice is talking about her job now, and I can’t help cringing slightly as she throws around terms like ‘brand awareness’ and ‘synergy’ with an entirely straight face. She’s definitely much more earnest than she was at uni. I think I was quite impressed by this the first time around: I was swept up by how hot she looked, and how confident and sophisticated she seemed. But now, as she starts venting on her ‘useless’ boss and ‘annoying’ colleagues, I can sense a sharpness – a bitterness – I don’t remember her having before.
I can’t help thinking about Daphne: a superstar at her job, too, and yet still kind and modest and funny.
Alice must read my mind somehow, because she switches tack completely as she pulls out another cigarette. ‘You know, I always thought it was such a shame that you and I lost touch after uni.’
‘Yeah.’ I nod. ‘Me too.’
‘Or even before that, really,’ she says. ‘We did everything together in the first term, and then when you came back after Christmas, it was like things had changed.’
I scratch the back of my neck. ‘I know … I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.’
Alice shrugs. ‘No, it was fair enough, I guess. You and Daphne had just started going out, so you had other stuff going on. I was just sad that we didn’t get to hang out together any more. I … missed you.’ She laughs suddenly, as if to soften the impact of that last statement.
‘I missed you too,’ I tell her, although I’m not sure if it’s out of honesty or politeness. I’m trying desperately to remember if we had this conversation originally, but I’m drawing a complete blank.
Alice coughs and fiddles with her fringe. She keeps her gaze fixed straight ahead as she says, ‘It sounds stupid, but I always felt like Daphne had a weird … thing about me. That maybe she didn’t like me very much?’
I try to work some moisture into my mouth. ‘No … I don’t think that’s true.’
Alice just nods, but she doesn’t look convinced. I can’t think of anything more to say, so I just keep quiet. A boat full of rowdy tourists in Santa hats drifts past, and I scour my brain for a change of subject.
Before I can find one, she carries on: ‘So, how come you guys split up, then? If you don’t mind me asking?’ That same studiedly casual tone has slipped back into her voice, as if we’re talking about a two-week fling rather than a nine-year relationship.
I try to keep my voice as steady as hers. ‘Well, we didn’t really split up. I mean, technically we’re not together right now, but—’
‘Something must have changed, though?’ she cuts in. ‘If she’s in New York, and you’re here?’
‘Yeah. I guess. It’s … complicated.’
‘Mmm,’ she says. ‘Yeah, it sounds like it.’ Her face is blank – totally unreadable. But then she stops in front of a big flight of stone stairs and turns to smile at me. ‘Anyway, here we are. Next stop.’
Thankfully, all talk of Daphne dries up after that.
We head up and onto the Left Bank, where we eat the same incredible steak-frites at Le Relais de l’Entrecôte restaurant in Montparnasse. And after that, we retreat to the same crowded little piano bar in Denfert-Rochereau, where we huddle up at the same corner table and see off what is almost certainly the same bottle of house red. I just sit there, feeling increasingly drunk, listening to Alice talk about her co-workers, occasionally pouring scorn on them with an acidity I definitely don’t recall from the first time around. Everything is beginning to blur at the edges now, starting to feel scary and unreal. Because I know what will happen once we leave this restaurant, and I have no idea what I should do when it does.
Even though Alice has stopped grilling me about her, I still can’t get Daphne out of my mind. Something Mum said to me during that Monopoly game comes back suddenly: you and Daphne seem to have a relationship that’s worth working at. That’s what I was supposed to be doing here in Paris: working at it. When really I was sitting in this bar doing the exact opposite.
And then it hits me … Mum.
She’s out there too, in this reality. She’s still alive.
As soon as the thought enters my head, I’m up and out of my chair, mumbling an excuse to Alice behind me. My heart is thudding in my chest; I’m suddenly desperate to hear her voice. I step out into the freezing cold and press my phone against my ear, thinking: please, please, please pick up …
‘Hello, darling!’ she trills. ‘Merry Christmas!’
The winking Christmas lights on the lamp posts begin to dissolve in front of me as the tears blur my vision. I have to bite the inside of my cheek hard to keep it together. ‘Hi, Mum, merry Christmas!’
I’m trying to keep my voice steady, but I’m not totally sure I’m succeeding.
‘I was going to call you later, when I got back from Simon’s,’ she says. ‘Is this costing you an absolute fortune? I can call you back if you want?’
‘No, no, don’t worry.’ God, it is so good to hear her voice. She sounds happy – and more than a little tipsy – and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for this chance to speak to her again.
‘I just wanted to say that I miss you,’ I mumble. ‘I wish I was there with you.’
She drops her voice to a whisper. ‘Trust me, you don’t. I spent the whole of lunch sitting next to your cousin Lucy’s incredibly dull new boyfriend. The man talked about nothing but Top Gear for an hour and a half. I am now the world’s leading expert on Richard Hammond. I think I know more about Richard Hammond than Richard Hammond does.’
I am half laughing and half crying now, receiving some very concerned looks from people walking past.
‘So, what are you up to?’ she asks. ‘Please tell me you’re not moping about on your own?’
I take a deep breath and try to pull myself together. ‘No, don’t worry. I’m spending the day with a friend, actually.’
‘Oh, that’s nice. Where do you know him from?’
‘Her, actually. She’s an old friend from uni.’
‘Oh. Right.’ There’s a pause on the other end of the line. And then I hear Mum clear her throat stiffly. ‘And have you heard from Daphne today?’
‘Yeah. Well, I got a Christmas card from her yesterday.’
‘Yes, I got one, too.’ There’s another pause, and she adds, ‘She’s such a lovely girl, honestly.’ I can feel the prickle in her voice.
