‘Miss, can I see?’ Eye-gouger asks. I look up to read his face, and he looks genuinely interested.
‘Okay,’ I say, handing it over slowly. ‘Be very careful with it.’ He nods and a few others shuffle closer to his side to get a better look. Soon, the children are passing it around carefully and asking questions all about him and where I’ve been.
When we pull back into the station, the kids are more subdued, and the teachers take them outside to sit on the grass to enjoy a picnic. Elena, Olivier, and I grab coffees in the café and sit outside on a terrace overlooking the station.
‘You were fantastic on the train; even I was scared of you. I thought we’d lost the crowd at one point,’ Olivier says, stirring milk into his coffee.
‘It’s just kids for you. If I had a pound for every time Kieran and his mates fought, I’d still be staying in the nice hotel.’ I grin.
‘Well, thank you, I was starting to panic when the game of I spy didn’t work. You’re a naturel.’
‘I’m just glad we didn’t have a full-on re-enactment of hand-to-hand combat.’ I sip my coffee. ‘It’s hard to imagine how such a beautiful little train ride was built for the horrors of war,’ I say, sipping my coffee. It burns my mouth and I wince.
‘It was also used to rebuild the area after the war, so in some ways it’s a symbol of hope,’ Olivier says. ‘It was then used for transporting sugar beet. Which I don’t think is a symbol of anything.’ He grins.
‘You’re off duty now.’ Elena nudges him.
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I like listening to Olivier’s war trivia.’
‘Hey, if you like hearing Olivier’s tales, you should come for dinner tomorrow night. I’ll cook. He can talk.’
I’m about to say yes but Olivier groans and knocks the wind out of my sails so instead I fumble for words and an ‘Oh no, I couldn’t possibly’ comes out.
‘You must!’ Elena insists and I’m cringing inside. It’s obvious Olivier doesn’t want me to go.
I bat my hand in an attempt at flippancy. ‘Olivier probably just wants to rest. He’s been working so hard.’
‘It’s not that, Cath. Elena is a terrible cook. The worst,’ he says, grinning mischievously.
I giggle, probably too hard, but it’s what comes out with the relief I feel. ‘Well, I’m sure you’re not, Elena. Besides, it’s not as though I’m used to fine dining or anything. In fact, between you and me, I’m actually a fan of cut-price tinned meats.’ They both look at me, confused.
‘Well, you have been warned.’ Olivier is mock serious. ‘Honestly, she is the only French person I know who can’t cook.’
‘Brother, you are very cruel,’ she says, but there is a sparkle to her eyes that suggests she’s taken it all in good humour.
‘So I take it you can cook?’ I ask Olivier.
Elena throws her head down onto the table and groans dramatically. ‘Oh please, is there anything this man can’t do?’
I giggle. Obviously, I don’t know him as well as she does but I had got that impression.
He puts on an overly modest expression. ‘I’ve been known to dabble a little in the kitchen.’
‘He’s like Raymond bludee Blanc.’ Elena’s pronunciation of bloody packs a lovely punch, but I have no idea who Raymond Blanc is. I’m assuming he’s a chef of some sort.
Olivier laughs. ‘I cook simple, homely French food. That’s all. I’ve tried teaching this one but she has no patience. Like you can make a quick casserole.’ He shakes his head.
‘Speaking of patience, I’m going to round up those children. It’s almost time to leave.’ Elena disappears before either one of us replies.
‘So, you’re a dark horse,’ I say, teasingly.
Olivier’s brow crevices. ‘You have some strange expressions.’
‘I mean you’re a man of many hidden talents.’ I’m smiling but I allow it to fade. ‘Elena told me about how you cared for her after your parents passed away. I guess you had to be good at a lot of things.’
He draws a deep breath. ‘Elena talks too much.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I—’
‘It’s okay. Elena has this habit of telling everyone everything.’ He sips his coffee. ‘I should be flattered because she always sings my praises, but sometimes I think she has this rose-tinted image of me, still through her naïve sixteen-year-old eyes.’
‘Surely you’re being harsh on yourself there. And unfair to Elena.’
‘She remembers me as this hero. I shielded her from a lot of the details about my parents’ deaths at the time and I always made sure she was well looked after. She was my number one priority. But in the background, when I was alone, I struggled. I missed my parents, and I had a lot of responsibility.’
‘Of course you did. I’m a single parent – I know how it is. When my friends were out clubbing, I was at home feeding a baby and changing nappies all alone. It’s hard. Going straight into parenting a teenager at such a young age must have been a lot to handle.’ I place my reassuring hand on his.
He swipes at some crumbs on the table. ‘I started taking pills to help me sleep. I’d wake up, cook, clean and make sure Elena was okay and had everything she needed, then once she went to bed, I’d take a pill. Then I started taking different pills during the day, for anxiety, just to take the edge off, and when the doctor wouldn’t prescribe them anymore, I bought them illegally.’
I let his words sink in for a moment. ‘After what you went through, nobody could blame you for that,’ I say, thinking back to the days where Kieran was a baby and would cry for hours on end and I’d feel like a complete failure because I didn’t know how to fix him, so I’d cry too. I know what that kind of isolation feels like, and if there was a pill I’d known about that would remove that helplessness, I’d have taken it too.
‘It’s hardly the perfect image that Elena portrays. I was basically a drug addict. I feel so guilty when she coos about what a great brother I am, but she doesn’t know my secret.’
‘Olivier, everyone has secrets, and the very fact that Elena thinks you did a great job is evidence that you did. I’ve never told Kieran about my struggles because he doesn’t need that weight on his shoulders, so it’s understandable that you kept it from her. I know what it’s like to be so young and have such great responsibility, and it’s hard, but here we are, on the other side, enjoying life.’ I raise my cup to him and he smiles.
‘I also wish I could have told you everything on my own terms. Elena latches on to people and tells them her life story.’
‘Well, I’m glad she did because I’ve finally uncovered an imperfection. You’re not perfect through nature or choice, you’re perfect because you had to be.’ I hold his gaze for a moment. ‘It’s intimidating being around someone who is too perfect, you know.’ I smile so he knows that I’m joking.
‘Well, if you don’t like perfection, you should come to Elena’s dinner tomorrow. I’m sure she just wants to get to know you better. Either that or it’s her way of getting you and me together. Who knows what goes on in her head.’ He laughs.
‘I would love to come to dinner.’
Maybe then we will finally talk about yesterday.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I’m jiggling with nerves. Olivier is picking me up soon and he’s going to drive me to Elena and Julien’s house. A family gathering is uncharted territory and I’m going to be out of my comfort zone. Jackie and I had been to Lille to go shopping earlier, and she seemed to think I was making a big fuss over nothing, but she has no idea about my background. I’m a single parent and I work in a supermarket and here I am in the middle of some French romance with a handsome, intelligent man who is way out of my league. Things like this don’t happen to me. But it isn’t a romance, I remind myself. It can’t be.
A familiar little red car pulls up and Olivier honks the horn. I take a breath and climb in. ‘You look beautiful. I love your dress,’ he says as his eyes pass over me, making my skin tingle. G
oose bumps pop up on my legs.
‘Oh, this old thing?’ I joke, but I’m too nervous to be convincing. It’s a red, flowery sundress that I bought today, and I must admit, I did think I looked good as I passed the mirror on my way down; but if I’m not careful, Jackie will have me bankrupt.
We pull up to a well-kept property out in the countryside. It’s a pretty peach bungalow with a dark oak front door, gravel driveway, and lots of garden space. There are potted red flowers by the door, which swings open as we approach it. ‘You’re here!’ Elena bounces down the driveway, hugging us in turn.
‘You have a beautiful home,’ I say.
‘Thank you. You should see Olivier’s.’ She winks at him.
We walk inside and cooking aromas travel through the hallway. ‘It smells good,’ I whisper to Olivier, who purses his lips. The house is fairly minimalistic and simple inside. Pale cream tiled floor, pale cream walls, and light oak furniture. We’re greeted by Julien as we enter the kitchen. He’s a handsome blond man who looks like he goes to the gym. His face is friendly.
‘Hello,’ he says. His accent is much thicker than both Elena and Olivier’s. ‘I’ve set up outside.’
We all take our seats and Julien pours out some red wine. ‘I feel terrible that you’re all having to speak English just for my benefit,’ I say, sipping mine. An explosion of dark, rich red fruits hit my taste buds.
‘Oh, don’t be silly. It’s second nature to Olivier and me, and this one—’ she jabs Julien ‘—needs the practice.’
I’m glad Olivier doesn’t say anything about my French lessons because I’m not ready to showcase my talents (or lack of) just yet.
‘Would you like bread?’ Julien hands the basket of fresh crusty bread rolls around the table.
Olivier leans over to me. ‘I’d seriously recommend eating the bread.’
Julien gives a look of mock-sympathy. ‘I agree. I tried to salvage this meal by turning the heat down, but I don’t know.’ He shrugs.
‘I can hear you,’ Elena’s voice echoes from the kitchen. ‘I think this time I’ve done okay. I’ve gone for French-edible cuisine.’ The men laugh quietly and Olivier murmurs that it would be a triumph if she’s succeeded.
She brings out a cast-iron crockpot and places it in the centre of the table before removing the lid. Steam gushes out. ‘Voilà.’
‘It smells delicious.’ I glare pointedly at the men.
Elena beams with pride. ‘It’s boeuf bourguignon. As our guest, you can try it first.’ She dollops a ladleful on my plate and the rich aromas of onion, beef and wine fill my nostrils. I can’t wait to tuck in because despite my apprehensions, it smells delicious, but I wait politely until everyone has been served.
‘Bon appétit,’ Elena says, raising her glass. The men exchange glances of caution and I shake my head at their rudeness. Everyone else breaks off hunks of bread and scoops up the stew so I follow suit.
The flavour is quite unusual, not at all how I remember the dish, though whenever I’ve made it, I’ve used one of those sachets that you just add water and raw ingredients to. I don’t have a crockpot either so it goes in my Pyrex dish in the oven.
‘This isn’t your worst. It actually has flavour this time,’ Olivier says chewing a piece of bread. ‘Though your beef would make a sturdy pair of boots.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment because at least you’re eating it this time. I used all the herbs I have. Parsley, basil, rosemary, sage. You name it,’ Elena says.
That’s why it tastes so odd. The beef is very chewy but no worse than how mine sometimes comes out. After a few mouthfuls, the odd taste starts to become sickly, so I adapt my bread-to-stew ratio accordingly.
Julien pushes his plate away when he’s about half-done. ‘I’m sorry, my love. I can’t finish.’ He stands up and walks over to a disappointed-looking Elena and wraps his arms around her. ‘You have many talents, my dear, but cooking isn’t one of them. I know you tried your best.’ He kisses her on the neck and she feigns hurt and then giggles.
‘I tried.’ She sighs. ‘Sorry, Cath.’
I feel terrible for her, but she’s taking it in her stride.
‘I was always more interested in boys than cooking.’ She looks to Julien and grins, and I’m glad she gets that little sliver of a dig in. ‘Anyway. I thought this might happen.’ She walks into the kitchen and returns with a brown paper bag. ‘So I got these.’ She pulls out some ham, cheese, and tomato baguettes and the men cheer. Elena shrugs. ‘One day, I will cook a meal that leaves you begging for more.’
The informality of the baguettes changes the dynamic of the meal and soon we’re sitting back in our chairs, chatting and laughing. Julien tops up the wine glasses but Olivier covers his glass with his hand, refusing another drink. ‘I’m driving Cath home.’
I feel guilty he can’t just relax and have a drink so I offer to get a cab. The horrified look on his face suggests that it won’t be an option.
‘Why doesn’t Cath just stay at your house?’ Elena suggests, sending my thoughts into a crazy spiral of morning breath and clean pants all over again, never mind the tension it might create now things have progressed. We still haven’t talked about our kiss.
‘I couldn’t intrude,’ I say.
‘It’s fine, Olivier has the space and you guys can walk from here. Come on, Olivier, then you can have some fun with us.’
He looks a little unsure and I watch him nervously. I’ve already protested so the ball is now in his court.
‘Of course. You’re more than welcome to stay,’ he says eventually.
‘Okay then. That’s settled,’ Elena says, sloshing wine into Olivier’s glass.
The evening continues to be one of warmth, love, and laughter. There are points where I feel like an outsider, looking in. Especially as Julien slips into his mother tongue as the alcohol takes effect. But being an outsider isn’t a bad thing. It’s been a long time since I’ve shared a family meal. Gary grunting across the breakfast bar about corned beef hash and being skint doesn’t really cut the mustard.
At midnight, we decide to call it a night.
‘It has been lovely having you over, Cath,’ Elena says.
‘Perhaps she’ll come again if you promise not to cook,’ Olivier says in jest but a pang of sadness hits me because I know there probably won’t be a next time.
‘Ha-ha, brother. I think I’ve found the one thing you suck at.’ She smirks as Olivier frowns.
‘Comedy!’ We all laugh.
‘Goodnight, sister.’ He leans in and kisses her on the cheek. ‘Night, Julien.’
‘Thank you both for a wonderful evening.’ I hug them both.
Outside, there are no street lamps. It’s pitch black bar the light coming from the downstairs window of Elena’s home and the moon above. We walk side-by-side in silence, listening to the chirping of crickets. The red wine dances through my system, making me feel giddy and excitable.
Olivier slows to a standstill and puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘Look up.’
‘Oh my.’ I gasp at the number of bright stars filling the inky black sky.
‘There’s no light pollution here – it’s great for stargazing.’ We stand still for a moment, looking at the sky. I don’t know about Olivier but my head is full of wonder. Wonder for what’s actually out there, what space is, and the mind-boggling concept of it going on for infinity.
‘Space is the biggest mystery known to man.’ Olivier speaks quietly as if reading my mind.
A breeze comes from nowhere sending a chill over me. ‘Here, take my jacket.’ Olivier has already taken it off and is draping it over my shoulders.
‘Thank you.’
‘That bright star there is Jupiter.’
I squint. ‘Where?’
He leans in close, so his cheek is pressed against mine, and he points to one of the brighter stars. The feel of his skin on mine is like little jolts of electricity.
We continue to walk down the quiet road until a large co
untry farmhouse-style building comes into view. ‘Home sweet home.’ He waves an arm towards the property.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, taking in the giant version of Elena’s house. It’s a rustic, two-storey, double-fronted property with a long driveway in front.
Inside, it’s homelier than Elena’s. Family photographs adorn the walls and evidence of Olivier’s parents is everywhere, from the Welsh cabinet filled with china, to the numerous floral oil paintings; so it comes as no surprise when he tells me it was their house.
‘Elena wanted me to have the house to show her gratitude to me. We inherited it jointly but she wouldn’t hear of keeping it in her name. I have tried to pay her half but she won’t accept it.’
‘She really looks up to you,’ I say.
‘I know. But she doesn’t know what a mess I was.’
‘Why didn’t you tell her then? It might have made you feel better.’ She doesn’t seem unable to cope with the truth to me.
He sighs. ‘At the time, I had to look like I was keeping it together. I was all she had, and if she knew I was hooked on pills, she might have worried unnecessarily. By the time I’d got myself off them, too much time had passed, and I think she would have been upset that I’d kept it from her for so long.’
‘That makes sense. It’s in the past.’
‘The problem is, she blames herself for the fact I didn’t travel the world or meet someone else after my ex had left. But the truth is, I didn’t meet anyone because I was in a fog. My eyes were open but I couldn’t see what was going on around me.’
My stomach clenches. He’s right. Elena does carry that guilt. I’ve known her all of two minutes and I know that. ‘You should just come clean. She’ll understand.’
He nods. ‘Would you like a coffee or anything before bed?’ The conversation is closed, and it definitely isn’t the time to bring up whatever our thing is.
‘A coffee would be great.’
While he’s in the kitchen, I sit on the sofa and take in the well-lived-in room. There’s a photo on the oak TV cabinet of Olivier, Elena, and two other people who I assume to be their parents. Elena has certainly got her mother’s elegant beauty, and Olivier has his father’s boyish good looks and mischievous glint in his eyes.
It Started With a Note Page 20
