Jojo's French Escape

by Lorraine Wilson

  Pickwick is happy to keep trotting along on the ground, even pulling a little on his lead in an attempt to overtake some slow-moving tourists in front of us. I can’t help wondering how long it will be before I’m walking my own dog, hopefully not long if everything goes okay. It also occurs to me to wonder when I stopped feeling like a tourist and started feeling like a resident.

  Pickwick is a little trouper, not bothered at all by the horses, knights or archers. The knights bear a red Cathar cross on the white tabards they wear over their armour. I stop for a minute and pass Pickwick’s lead to Poppy so I can take some photos on my phone for Mum.

  There’s a general party atmosphere on the cobbled streets and Cal appears to be enjoying himself. Not that I’m watching him.

  Much.

  Unfortunately, on one of the rare occasions that I happen to be watching him he turns back and catches me. Damn.

  With a smile he hangs back and falls into step with me.

  ‘So, do you come into Carcassonne often?’ Cal asks, fixing his piercing gaze on me.

  I shrug. ‘Not much, I’m pretty busy at the guesthouse. We are quieter over winter but then so is everything else. There’s not much like this going on then.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ Cal replies. ‘It’s a shame to spend so much time shut away in the guesthouse when you have the whole of France on your doorstep.’

  What the …? Talk about a quick switch from small talk to the Inquisition. What business is it of Cal’s? My jaw tightens and any party atmosphere in me is extinguished. Just as I’d been thawing a little, he reminds me of his habit of making assumptions.

  ‘Well, we’re out and about now,’ I say, biting back a more snarky reply.

  A group of teenage girls ahead catch my eye. They are staring our way, nudging each other and giggling. My stomach tightens and I feel my jaw clench as we approach. I’m sure they’re staring at Cal, they must be. He is far more famous than me. But there’s something sneering in the way they are watching that doesn’t match up with a fan girl attitude.

  Crap.

  Why did I let my vanity override my common sense? ‘Because of Cal,’ my truthful self answers and I wish she’d shut up. I spent far too long fussing over what to wear this evening, wanting to look nice but not like I’d made lots of effort. Although of course it did take lots of effort to look effortlessly nice. I sigh. My mind is a very complicated place these days.

  ‘Slag,’ one of the girls says with a broad south London accent and a few of the others giggle. Just my luck to come across an English tour group.

  I try not to flinch, to make my face a blank mask but I’m not sure I succeed.

  I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care … My mantra isn’t too successful either because it isn’t true. I do bloody care and I hate bullies. The injustice of it makes me want to march over and have it out with her but before I know it her friends will be filming the whole thing on their mobile phones and the whole thing will blow up.

  I feel Cal’s warm hand slip into my free hand and the gesture is so unexpected it makes me start. He squeezes my hand and the astonishing show of support makes hot tears spring to my eyes. I blink them away fiercely and once we have left the group behind us, I withdraw my hand. It feels too nice. I could easily get used to it and let the gesture seduce me into wanting it to mean more than it does.

  My hand is tingling. I was right about the sexual chemistry between us. It’s hard not to think about how more sexual contact might feel.

  ‘I know what it’s like, JoJo.’ Cal’s tone is quieter now.

  I reluctantly slow my pace. I’d been about to stalk ahead, and poor little Pickwick’s paws were moving awfully fast to keep up with me. I turn and look up, meeting Cal’s intense gaze.

  He knows what it’s like? I should be grateful to him but I’m simmering with an anger disproportionate to anything Cal could possibly deserve from me, particularly given he’s showing me unforeseen support this evening. Maybe this is the downside to hiding away from the world and being unable to express any anger: anyone you do meet is then fair game for some misdirected anger. Never engaging, never expressing anger and having to push it all down means I have an unhealthy cocktail of repressed emotions raging inside me, desperate to find an outlet. Anger at the girl who labelled me a slag stirs the mix and I can’t repress an irritable surge, my radar locking on Cal’s piercing blue eyes. As if he, TV cookery’s golden boy, could possibly know what it’s like …

  ‘What, you mean you’ve also been publicly dumped on television, unwittingly had a sex tape made of you and then had it distributed on the internet for the world and your gran to see?’

  Cal doesn’t flinch.

  ‘I mean I know what it’s like to get knocked down and to have to pick yourself back up again. I know it’s really hard.’ His tone is serious.

  I meet his gaze. His blue eyes, usually dancing with amusement as though contemplating a private joke, are solemn. I look away again quickly, unnerved by the sudden flash of connection I feel.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask, feeling considerably less prickly. I’m not so self-centred that I believe I’m the only one who has ever felt the way I do. I know some people have had far worse things happen in their life and coped much better than me. Still, I’m fairly sure Cal doesn’t know exactly what it’s like. Betrayal live on TV and then via a leaked sex tape is a pretty unique set of circumstances.

  ‘I opened a restaurant with a friend in Dublin. This was before I moved to London. I left a lot of the business side of things to him – that was his area of expertise. I didn’t realise he was borrowing money from the business to fund his gambling habit until it was too late. The restaurant folded and it wasn’t anything to do with its popularity or the quality of the cuisine.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t realise, I’m sorry,’ I say. I’m aware that my armour is slipping a little, that Cal has found a chink in it.

  ‘Not many people know about it. It was a tough time and I’ll admit there was a temptation to give in to feeling sorry for myself or to beat myself up for not noticing the signs.’ Cal shrugs. ‘These things happen. People will screw you over in life, but you can’t let their actions beat you or define you. Lots of successful people in life have had terrible setbacks and failures but they don’t let that be the end of the story, just a stepping-stone to another one.’

  My hand tightens around Pickwick’s lead and I look down at the cobbles. Is that what he thinks I’m doing? Feeling sorry for myself, choosing to be a victim? How else was I supposed to handle it? I don’t remember asking for his opinion. Whatever happened to polite small talk? Not that I’m a fan of sticking to talking about things that don’t matter but honestly … It feels like Cal is still making assumptions about me without bothering to find out the truth from me. This is just as bad as complete strangers assuming they know me because they’ve seen a highly edited micro-second of my life.

  My cheeks grow hot and I keep my eyes fixed on the cobbles in front of me as we walk. I’m not a victim. I didn’t choose this and I don’t feel sorry for myself. Well, maybe sometimes, a little bit but … Bah, this is exactly why I need to get out more. I have entire conversations in my head and drive myself …

  ‘Watch out, JoJo.’

  Cal puts out an arm to pull both me and Pickwick against the wall as a procession of horseback riders and men with flaming torches pass us by. His hand remains on my lower back and he stands partly shielding me from the procession. My body registers his touch and the nearness of his body with a powerful jolt of erotic electricity. My body flushes with yet more heat.

  They seem to take forever to pass us, but I don’t step away from Cal, I can’t. It’s been so long since I felt anything like this, so long since my body had any kind of reaction to anyone. I’m sure he’s aware of it. Of course, he is, he’s an attractive man, fully aware of his power over women.

  Unfortunately for him this woman knows that sexual chemistry isn’t everything. Also the things he said
to Leo about the kind of woman he assumed I was … Can I ever forgive him?

  ‘Who was it that said that a life without passion is a slow way to freeze to death?’ Cal’s words sound casual, but they’re spoken close to my ear, ostensibly to be heard over the noise of the crowd around us but I’m positive he’s aware of the effect of his warm breath on my nerve endings.

  I know without a doubt he isn’t talking about passion for a career or for life in general but the kind of passion that got me into trouble in the first place. It’s too much, his presuming to know me. We’ve barely spoken and yet he’s challenging me this evening like this is some sort of intervention.

  I’d be more indignant about his presumption if he didn’t happen to be right, damn him. Being right doesn’t make him any less annoying. His words are too perceptive and I daren’t meet his eye. I can’t risk betraying that his words resonate with me.

  Once the riders are past, I pull away, annoyed with my body for responding to Cal with such abandon. Didn’t it get the memo my mind sent out regarding the policy change? A celebrity hookup is absolutely out of the question for several reasons: firstly I can’t risk the attention and secondly I don’t want to give Cal the satisfaction of thinking he was right about me all along.

  I bite my lip and ignore Cal, lengthening my stride to make sure I catch up with Poppy and Leo before anything else can be said. I really don’t know why Cal is so bothered about engaging with me. I thought he’d dismissed me. That was the first night though, and a private conversation. Maybe he’s doubting his assessment of me?

  Well, I don’t care. I can’t do this, not with him. Yes, I want to move on, and I’d like to date again, I miss physical affection but someone easier, less annoying and definitely not a celebrity.

  I manage to thwart all his attempts to get me on my own by sticking next to Poppy and Leo. It’s not easy to do given the steady flow of foot traffic and it gets me some annoyed looks from tourists trying to come in the opposite direction. Poppy frowns the first time I refuse to fall back and walk next to Cal and then, when it happens again, she rolls her eyes at me, fully aware of what I’m doing.

  When I do glance over my shoulder it’s to see Cal smiling at me. He doesn’t seem offended exactly. Instead he seems to find me funny, an attitude that needles me far more than it should.

  We take refuge from the crowds in the leafy courtyard garden of a restaurant within the walls of the Cité. It’s an oasis from the noise and bustle we left just a few steps away when we stepped through a stone archway. Large church candles nestle in alcoves and niches in the old stone walls. White fairy lights are strewn across the leafy green boughs of the trees that are dotted around the garden, amidst the tables.

  ‘I’d love something like this theme for our wedding reception,’ Poppy says wistfully, looking up at the boughs.

  ‘Candles in the wall alcoves in the barn would be easy enough to do. It might be a good permanent look for the restaurant’s decor,’ I suggest, relieved to have something else to focus on.

  Pickwick taps my knee with his paw; it’s his signal to request, or rather demand, cuddles. I scoop him onto my lap. Peanut appears to be surgically attached to Cal; she’s totally into him and has no shame in showing it. I almost feel a teensy bit jealous of her. Treacle is on Poppy’s lap. Leo is the only one of us who is dog-free and that’s only because Max, his Pyrenean mountain dog, and Barney, the blind rescue dog, are both not great with crowds.

  ‘White lights on the beams maybe?’ I add. ‘And for the wedding I have seen saplings used, or elaborate branch arrangements in the middle of tables. Just a thought, but if we can’t do the saplings and we want to keep it simple we could open up all the doors to the barn and have the party half outside in the field with lights and white lanterns strung up in the trees. It needn’t be complicated.’

  ‘And this is why I love having you as my right-hand woman.’ Poppy beams. ‘If I was planning the wedding on my own I’d get brain freeze over the length of my to-do list. Sorry, I mean my do-it list. You’ve got great style, JoJo, and you’re so practical too.’

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I’m not sure if she’s trying to reassure me or up-sell me to Cal. Maybe it’s just reassurance – she did promise not to matchmake and I think I got through to her … I hope so anyway.

  It’s the first time she’s used my nickname that I can remember. I think this must be Cal’s effect creeping in.

  It’s okay though. I think I’m happy to be JoJo again. Joanna was pretty unhappy. If I can get back to being JoJo, then maybe I can get back to being my old self again.

  I’m not sure if it’s that easy though. I think what happened has changed me. I used to trust easily and love freely. I can’t imagine being like that again but maybe it’s a good thing.

  ‘Leo told me how indispensable JoJo has been to you both. That’s why I think she’d be great at helping me with The Barn,’ Cal announces.

  ‘Oh, but really, I’m not … I mean I haven’t … How could I possibly help you? I just help with the guests’ meals. It’s nothing …’ I stare down at my menu, flustered. Spending more time with Callum O’Connor is the last thing I need right now.

  ‘She’s being modest, Cal,’ Poppy scoffs. ‘She runs the whole thing virtually single-handedly and she’s been doing all of the admin since I took on the art gallery and extra freelance work. Plus, she’s had the experience of running her own business back in England as well as knowing how things are done here.’

  I’m cringing. I love Poppy lots and appreciate she’s my best cheerleader but I really, really wish she’d shut up right now. I don’t want to be ‘sold’ to Cal. Quite the opposite.

  ‘Yes, I know, Leo said,’ Cal replies.

  I can feel his gaze on me like it’s tangible. I’m far too hot. I stand up abruptly and push my chair back.

  ‘Just off to find the loos.’ I hand Pickwick to Leo.

  ‘You know she would’ve gone to catering college but her mum had an accident and so she had to stay home to help.’

  I don’t think I’m meant to hear Poppy’s words, but they reach me because I have to loop back on myself to get inside the cool interior of the restaurant. I really wish I could block the words out and my cheeks burn. I would never, ever compare my skills to Cal’s or my café to his restaurant and I’m mortified he might think I have delusions of adequacy. He’s a trained professional and I’m just an amateur who likes to bake.

  If it weren’t for the fact I’m wildly attracted to him and he seems determined to needle me I’d love the chance to work and learn alongside a professional chef. But it’s too risky. I may have been keeping the lesson of Aiden well at the forefront of my mind but my body refuses to behave. Today isn’t the first time that an unexpected brush of Cal’s fingers has set my nerve endings tingling. If I can’t stop the inappropriate sexual electricity from darting through me, I need to play it safe and keep my distance as much as possible. Even if he were a regular guy it wouldn’t be safe; I’m just not ready. But he’s not a regular guy, he’s a celebrity, so it’s far, far too risky.

  Thankfully the subject has changed by the time I get back to the table. I resist the urge to tell Cal that Poppy has been up-selling me because she’s a good friend and really it’s not true. I would but my saying anything is only going to start Poppy off again.

  I sit back and listen to the conversation, observing Cal. I’m dying to discover he’s vapid and self-obsessed but unfortunately for my libido he’s not. He’s intelligent and interested in Poppy and Leo, asking lots of questions about the St Quentin vineyard, the village veterinary practice and Poppy’s books and art.

  Why does he have to make it so hard for me to hate him? If he was a self-centred name-dropper it would be so much easier to ignore the chemistry humming through my body. The subject turns naturally back to The Barn.

  ‘My vision for The Barn is really good quality food on a small scale so there’s time to pay real attention to detail.’ Cal’s eyes light u
p and I can see he has real passion for the project, I can also see the charisma that makes him television material.

  Maybe he was talking about a more general passion earlier? But I remember his warm breath on my neck and the hand that lingered on my lower back for just a second too long to make it casual.

  ‘From what I’ve seen around here there are plenty of restaurants providing fast-turnaround dishes for tourists. We need to cater to the more discerning diner, who would rather have one amazing meal out as opposed to two average meals,’ Cal adds.

  ‘Yes, and that should appeal to residents as well as tourists. Of course, we’re hoping to draw in those tourists who stop at the Vineyard for wine tasting.’ Leo seems almost as enthusiastic as Cal.

  ‘The art gallery might bring in more traffic too,’ Poppy says. ‘We have some amazing local artists on board.’

  I don’t contribute. In fact, I try to be as invisible as possible, talking quietly to Pickwick, who is back on my lap, and using toilet breaks for the dogs as an excuse to get away from the table whenever Cal tries to turn the conversation to me.

  His words about a life lived without passion have taken root in my mind and I don’t want him to see how unsettled I am. I hate that he was right, right about that anyway. I hadn’t noticed just how cold and numb my life has become while I’ve been stuck in survival mode.

  Cold and lonely.

  Once I’ve thought the word ‘lonely’ it looms large. I read that loneliness can take as many years off your life as smoking or being obese. I don’t know how true that is, but I’ve heard similar things about stress so maybe it’s true.

  I’m not lonely because no one cares about me – Poppy couldn’t be a better friend to me – but I just feel … disconnected. It’s not my life that’s the problem so much as me. Usually I’d say I’m a fairly passionate person. It’s my heart that’s grown cold. I’ve become detached. I’m sleepwalking through life and Callum O’Connor is the only one who has noticed. Or maybe he’s just the only one who has called me on it.