That Night In Paris

by Sandy Barker

  “I know I told you he hasn’t contacted me, but I lied.” Oh.

  “That’s all right, Lou. This is hefty stuff. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  “No, I do—want to, I mean. I didn’t tell you this before, but I actually left Jackson a few weeks ago. I’ve been staying with my parents. It’s all very messy, because our parents are close with each other. They actually socialise together. We’ve been one big happy family for years, until now. Until I broke it.” The sarcasm dripped from “happy family”.

  “Lou, you didn’t—”

  “I mean, I know this isn’t my fault. It’s not even Jackson’s fault; it’s a disease. He’s sick, but after years of watching him descend into some sort of private hell, denying the whole time that he even needed help, I just couldn’t do it anymore.” I put my hand on her leg and she grasped it. “I tried, Cat. I’m a counsellor, for crying out loud, and I couldn’t help him.”

  “I’m sure you did everything you could.” She nodded and dropped my hand to get a tissue out of her pocket. “Lou, I’m serious. No one can ask any more of you, not your parents, or his, not even Jackson. At some point, you have to focus on looking after yourself.”

  She dabbed under her eyes and wiped her nose. “I know. That’s what I’ve been telling myself. It’s why I came here.” She signalled the coach with her hands. “Honestly, the whole Love Bus thing is a welcome distraction. I’m kinda getting a kick out of it.”

  “I’m glad.” I could have left it there, but one thing was niggling at me. “So, Jackson has contacted you since you’ve been here?” She nodded and looked out the window. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “He’s going into treatment.” She nibbled on her lip, her face set in a grimace.

  “That’s good, right?”

  “It is. It’s what I’ve hoped for … for … well, for years now.”

  “So …”

  “So, even if he’s sober, I’m not in love with him anymore. I know that now. I can’t ever go back to him.”

  “Oh.”

  “I want a divorce. I mean, I know I’ve been saying that—maybe it was so I could get used to the idea, you know, hearing it out loud—but in the last few days, since I heard from him, I’ve decided. I’ll tell him when I get back. I just hope it doesn’t push him back into the hole, you know?”

  “I’m so sorry, Lou.”

  “Eh, what are you going to do?” She closed the heavy topic with faux ease.

  I patted her leg, hoping she knew I was there for her. I didn’t want to say it out loud, because I sensed she was a millimetre away from bursting into full-on tears. Poor Lou. It really put my “love fugitive” status into perspective.

  We were quiet for some time after that.

  ***

  “Tom and I have a surprise for you, everyone.” Georgina sounded more than a little pleased with herself. “We’ve made good time this morning, which means we’re going to stop in Aix-en-Provence in a little while. We’ll only have ninety minutes there, but that should be long enough to have a look around and get some lunch. And I think you’ll love it. It’s really beautiful—the quintessential French provincial town. I’m so glad we’ve been able to squeeze it in today.”

  I knew from Sarah that squeezing in so-called “unscheduled stops” was part of managing a tour, but I had to admit that Aix-en-Provence sounded nice.

  But it wasn’t nice. It was stunning.

  Tom stopped somewhere near the centre of town—or as close to it as he could get—and I dropped a pin on Google maps. The town was replete with narrow, several-storey terraced houses, many of them painted in bright colours, with wrought-iron Juliet balconies spanning tall shutter-framed windows, and accents in contrasting colours. In every direction, the elegance and beauty of the town were undeniable.

  I grabbed Craig’s arm as he walked past the four of us. “Hey, do you want to have lunch with us?”

  “Oh, yeah. That’d be great.”

  “Dani’s in charge.”

  “I am?”

  “You speak French. We’re in the countryside. Not as many people are going to speak English here.”

  “Good point.” She scanned the small square. “Let’s try one of the side streets—that’s where the locals will go.” She struck off and we followed behind like ducklings. She made a left into a narrow street and we hugged the edges as cars squeezed past us.

  The sun couldn’t penetrate this part of town and I felt a chill after the sunny warmth of the square. We seemed to be chasing the sun the further south we went, and after leaving the typically damp autumn of the UK, I was loving this extra stretch of summery weather.

  “Oooh, that looks promising,” Dani said, pointing to a striped awning ahead. Several tables, all with squares of white paper clipped to them, sat out front. There were no customers yet—it was barely noon and the French don’t typically eat until later—but a waiter, or maybe he was the proprietor, was standing in the doorway, a clean white apron wrapped around his formidable waist.

  “Bonjour,” called Dani with a smile. She rattled off some French and he smiled, then gestured to two of the outside tables. He gestured again, asking for help to move them together, which he and Craig managed quickly. Before long we were seated, each with a glass of sparkling water. A giant basket of bread and a small ramekin of pale butter appeared in the middle of the table, and the man handed around one-page menus written entirely in French.

  Like the café we’d gone to a couple of nights before, there were three choices for each course, and Dani translated them all for the group. It was a prix fixe menu, which meant we got three courses for only fifteen euros, including a glass of wine. Even if the food was only mediocre, it was a bargain, and after a squashed muesli bar and three headache tablets for breakfast, my stomach was doing gymnastics in anticipation.

  I decided on soupe au pistou, salade Niçoise, and tarte aux poires. I’d loved the pear tart in Paris, and I wanted another fix before we left France the next day.

  The man arrived with the wine, holding two carafes by the neck in one hand, and five inverted wine glasses threaded between the fingers of his other hand—impressive and probably impossible if he didn’t have such giant hands. I poured wine for my friends and when we all had a glass in hand, proposed a toast. “To unexpected stops and to unexpected friends.”

  Dani gave me a head tilt and an “Aww” before she clinked glasses. The others settled on “Cheers” or “Salut”. The wine was good—light, aromatic, dry. I am not one for cloyingly sweet wines—why does anyone like Moscato?—so it was perfect. I picked up a piece of bread and slathered it with the butter.

  “Oh, my God,” I said through my mouthful, ignoring my own table etiquette. I pointed repeatedly at the bread, indicating the urgent need for everyone to try some.

  “That good, huh?” asked Jae, dryly. I nodded, but she didn’t take any. I’d noticed Jaelee wasn’t into bread and baked goods as much as most people were. The others had some, though, and there was a refrain of “Mmm”s accompanied by nodding heads.

  “So, I’m not sure which of you great dirty stop-outs I should start with,” I said after swallowing my bread. I raised my eyebrows and looked at Jaelee, Craig and Dani.

  “What in God’s name is a great dirty stop-out?” Jaelee asked, narrowing her eyes at me.

  I had forgotten I was the only (sort of) English person amongst a group of North Americans, so I explained.

  “It is a person who stays out all night—or most of it,” I added, pinning Dani with a look—she wasn’t getting off the hook. She responded with her own raised eyebrows and defiantly popped a piece of bread in her mouth. I continued, “and, got some.”

  There was a beat, then loud laughter from the group. Craig shook his head and brought his fingertips to his forehead. I would have bet a million pounds he was wishing he’d turned down the lunch invitation. I zeroed in on him.

  “Craig?”

  When he lifted his hea
d, his face was red again. I was having so much fun.

  “C’mon, Craig, spill,” said Dani, dodging the first bullet. We’d get back to her later. “Where did you sleep last night?”

  “Well, there wasn’t much sleeping …” That brought another round of laughter as he grinned at us. It was clearly a mix of embarrassment and pride. “I slept in Kayla’s room.”

  “Good for you,” said Lou.

  The first course arrived, another reprieve for Dani, and we all settled down like schoolchildren who’d been misbehaving while the teacher was out of the room.

  The soupe au pistou was a clear vegetable and white bean broth served with a quenelle of pesto. It was a vibrant-looking dish and smelled divine. It tasted better than it looked, and I realised it was the most delicious food I’d had in days. I could taste every ingredient, all the fresh vegetables. Dani was having it too and when I lifted my eyes to hers, she nodded her agreement.

  When we’d all finished the course, the man cleared the table with a practised efficiency I couldn’t master in a million lifetimes.

  “So, Jae, what about you?” asked Lou, her chin propped on her hand.

  “Okay! I obviously didn’t sleep at the château. I was at Marc’s cottage, just down past the vines, near the property line. It was really cute, actually, hundreds of years old. But unlike Craig, I actually slept. It was all very chaste.”

  “Really?” My eyes narrowed. I wasn’t buying it.

  “Really.” She gave me a pointed look, then addressed the rest of the table. “He cooked us a nice dinner and we drank wine and talked. Then, somehow it was nearly two, and rather than stumble back in the dark, I stayed there. He gave me his bed and he slept on the couch. In a different room. Okay?”

  “Sounds delightful,” said Dani, but I still wasn’t buying it.

  “So, how come you looked so happy this morning, like, you know … something happened?” I asked.

  “Because, it was the nicest date I’ve had in … well, I don’t know how long, and I needed that.”

  “So, it was a date?” asked Lou. Jae sighed impatiently. “What? I’m living vicariously here. Throw me a bone.”

  “That’s what she said,” joked Dani under her breath.

  “Hah! Dani, you crack me up.” She threw me a crinkle-nosed wink.

  “Are we done with my interrogation yet?” asked Jae. It was crystal clear that she was done.

  “Did you at least get a goodnight kiss?” asked Lou.

  “I did.”

  “And? Geez, girl. Details.”

  “Geez, Louise. A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

  Lou rolled her eyes and shook her head, and Jaelee took a sip of wine, remaining tight-lipped.

  “We’re getting nowhere,” I cut in. “Dani, you go.”

  “What? There’s nothing to tell. Jason and I danced until I practically fell over, then I went up to bed. The end.” Well, I bought that. No subterfuge with Dani—what you saw was what you got.

  “Huh. All right, Craig. It looks like you win this round of Great Dirty Stop-out. Thanks for playing, everybody. See you next time.” I can be quite the comedian sometimes. My friends laughed, but it was probably at me.

  Saved by the salad!

  Niçoise is a favourite of mine and this one didn’t disappoint. The tuna was fresh, the outside seared and the inside rare and pink, and the tiny potatoes and the green beans were cooked to perfection. The Dijon and vinegar dressing was tangy, and a little spicy. I was in foodie heaven. Although I worried my body wouldn’t know what to do with all the vegetables after three days of baked goods, cheese, and more wine than I needed.

  Speaking of which …

  “We need more wine.” I looked around for the lovely man in the apron and he magically appeared. “Encore du vin blanc s’il vous plaît, monsieur.” He nodded and disappeared back inside. Dani caught my eye, her eyebrows raised at my near-perfect French. “The more I drink, the better my French gets.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Thanks, Dan.”

  The wine arrived and the table was cleared. This time, Lou poured. “I don’t know if I can fit in dessert,” groaned Dani.

  “Of course you can. Don’t be ridiculous,” I rebuked playfully, as five desserts landed on the table. Jaelee and I had ordered the tart, Craig had gone for the chocolate mousse, and Lou and Dani for the clafoutis, a kind of light cakey flan filled with cherries. Dani eyed hers with a pout.

  “I’ll eat it if you don’t want it,” offered Craig. At about six-foot-three and a voracious eighteen-year-old, as Lou had described him, it was likely that lunch hadn’t filled him up—even with the generous portions.

  “You can have mine,” said Jaelee, pushing her plate over to Craig. I wondered if that had been her intention all along. Dani took one bite of her clafoutis, closed her eyes as she savoured it, then handed the plate to Craig. He finished all three desserts before I’d finished one. Boys.

  “Hey, guys,” said Lou, “I hate to be that person, but we need to be back at the coach in less than ten minutes.”

  How had that happened? I guess time flies when you’re having a delicious meal in a beautiful location with lovely friends. The day had definitely turned around from its horrendous beginnings.

  We finished up, settled up—lunch had been a bargain—and followed Dani back to the square where our coach was waiting. We were the last group to arrive and even though it was before the departure time, Georgina gave us a look that said otherwise.

  I breezed past her, ignoring her schoolmarmish scowl. Jae did the same, but Lou hadn’t got my memo and started chatting with Georgina about where we went for lunch. I left Lou to it, climbed on to the coach, and nestled into the window seat. We’d be in Antibes soon. The French Riviera! Huzzah!

  My phone beeped inside my bag and I dug it out. One new message and three that had arrived during lunch. I was suddenly very popular.

  Mum:

  Dad helped me with the box. I’ve got the last postmarked letter and the birthday photo. Sending you a photo of the photo. I took it with my phone! You look so cute together. Will scan the letter tomorrow, because we’re playing golf with Lisa and Ciaron today. Mum xxoo

  What did she mean, we look so cute together? I looked at the photo, a wave of happy memories crashing over me, before moving onto the next message.

  Sarah:

  I have news! Call me asap!! ps It’s good. I think. Squee! S x

  Well, that was intriguing. I’d have to FaceTime her when we got to the campsite in Antibes.

  And Jean-Luc:

  How early can you meet me on Thursday? J-L xx

  Well, Jean-Luc, I can meet you as soon as I step foot on Roman soil. I was fairly certain we were supposed to go on a walking tour with a guide, and it was Rome, so that would probably be amazing, but I wanted to see Jean-Luc more than I wanted to see ancient piles of rocks. I made a mental note to ask Lou to ask Georgina what time we were getting into the city on Thursday.

  And Alex:

  Hey Cat. Just letting you know I’ve given Jane notice and I will be moving out at the end of the month.

  No sign-off. No other information.

  On the phone he’d called himself a “right idiot”, and now he’d decided to move out. Both were my fault, and I couldn’t help feeling awful about the whole thing. Because he didn’t need to move out. Sure, it would be a little awkward for a while, but we were adults, right? We could still live together.

  Even I didn’t believe myself.

  I also couldn’t ignore that my stomach was churning at the thought of finding another flatmate with only two and a half weeks’ notice. And beneath the guilt and the worry was something else, something I wasn’t proud of—relief. I shot Jane a quick text just as Lou sat down next to me.

  “Georgina’s so nice,” she said.

  “Yes, she’s lovely.” Who was I to burst her bubble? Besides, I had bigger worries than Georg-bloody-ina.

  Chapter 7

  “Hey!” It wa
s so good to see Sarah’s face. It had only been a few days since we’d chatted but so much had happened.

  “Hi! How are you? Where are you?”

  “We’re in Antibes now.” I said it the proper French way, Onh-teeb.

  She laughed. “Oh, yeah, that place is … uh … pretty crappy.”

  “That is an accurate description.”

  “Not quite the garden sheds, though. A bit of a step up.” She was right. The campsite was nothing special, but we were in actual cabins and the four of us got to room together again. We still had to walk across the campsite to have a wee or to shower, but at least there was room for our luggage, and there were windows on opposite sides of the cabin, so we had a cross breeze.

  “Want to meet my lovelies?”

  “Yes!” she clapped her hands together a few times. The girls were in various stages of settling in. Jaelee was sorting through her bikinis—I’d lost count at four. Lou was scrolling her phone, and Dani was lying prone on her bed.

  I started with my bus bestie. “This is Lou,” I said, sitting down next to her so Sarah could see us both.

  “Hi, Sarah. Your sister’s awesome.”

  Sarah laughed. “I completely agree.” I beamed, enjoying the adoration from two of my favourite people. “How are you enjoying the tour so far?”

  “It’s awesome. Sorry, I need another word, but it is. Mostly because of the girls.” Dani interjected with her signature, “Aww.” “Your tips have been good too.”

  “Oh yeah? That’s great. It’s been a while—about a decade, now—but a lot of it will still apply.”

  “Hey, Sez? What about the excursion to Monaco? It’s tonight.”

  “That’s a must. Definitely. It’s just beautiful there.”

  “We’re supposed to go to a casino?” added Lou.

  “Uh, yeah, if it’s the same one we used to go to, you could probably skip it. It’s not like it’s super nice or anything. Then again, it is kind of cool to say you’ve gambled in Monaco. The walking tour should be good, though. How’s your TM?”