by Mandy Baggot
Sue looked a little taken aback and Ava moved then, putting an arm around her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, resting her head against Sue’s. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but she can’t know where I am until it’s too late and Goa’s not a goer.’
‘’Til Goa’s a goner,’ Debs suggested.
‘But,’ Sue started, ‘if you tell her how you feel then…’
Ava sighed. ‘My mum isn’t into feels.’ She smiled then, letting Sue go. ‘And she would probably have a stroke if she knew what goodies you’ve given us for the journey.’
Debs put her hands to her mouth. ‘I don’t remember packing my Christmas-tree jumper with the talking elf.’
‘What?!’ Ava exclaimed. ‘Go and get it!’
Debs about-turned and headed out into the hall, boot-clad feet thundering up the stairs.
Before Ava could turn her attention to anything else, Sue swept her up into a hug, squeezing tight and patting the space between her shoulder blades. The familiar scent of something by Impulse, not something uber-exotic or expensive, was comforting.
‘Debs told me about Leo,’ Sue said softly.
Ava swallowed. ‘She did?’
‘He doesn’t deserve you,’ Sue continued. ‘And you don’t deserve to be treated like that. You’re a lovely, lovely girl and you’re better off without him.’
‘I—’
‘Cheating on someone... going behind someone’s back... taking your trust and throwing it away as if it doesn’t mean a thing...’
The squeezing was getting tighter. ‘I—’
‘No one should have to go through that.’ Sue sniffed and drew away quickly, turning towards the kitchen roll and tearing a piece off.
‘He didn’t even like Coldplay. I should have seen the signs,’ Ava said.
She swallowed. She hadn’t been sure Leo was ‘the one’, but having him signal their relationship meant so little by sleeping with a colleague who looked like Heidi Klum and gave office doughnuts a look of disdain every Friday really hurt. She hadn’t been good enough. The memories of the times he’d held her and told her she was beautiful were all tarnished like cheap earrings.
‘One Christmas-tree elf jumper,’ Debs said, coming back in and holding up the item of clothing before squashing it into a gap in her suitcase.
‘You’re going to have a lovely time but don’t forget to eat. I remember what Paris is like,’ Sue said with a sigh. ‘You two will be so overawed by the beautiful sights and the sounds of the accordion playing, the coffee, the—’
‘Mini bar in our room,’ Debs added with a grin.
‘I know the last time I went there I didn’t eat for twelve hours and felt a little bit giddy when I rode on one of those merry-go-rounds with the gurning horses.’
‘Note to self... no gurning horses,’ Ava stated.
‘And keep your energy levels up for all that shopping,’ Sue added.
It was the complete reverse of a pep talk from Rhoda. That would have been don’t eat before shopping so you can fit into a size zero.
‘Shopping!’ Debs exclaimed. ‘My totes favourite word.’
‘Apart from “totes”,’ Ava teased.
‘Come here,’ Sue said, opening her arms to her daughter and almost inhaling Debs into her bosom. ‘Now, listen to me, no worrying while you’re away. Concentrate on your work. Everything is fine.’
‘I know,’ Debs answered.
Ava’s interest was piqued. Debs hadn’t indicated everything wasn’t fine. Or perhaps she had been so caught up in her break-up with Leo and her break away from her mother she hadn’t been taking enough notice.
‘You too, Ava,’ Sue said, opening her arms to release Debs and welcome Ava in. Ava stepped into the hug and closed her eyes. Who needed Leo when she had her best friend, her best friend’s mum and Paris in her sights?
A loud blast of a car horn broke up the hugging and Ava forced a smile. ‘I guess that will be the taxi.’
‘Uber actually,’ Debs answered. ‘I’m trying to save money before we get to Paris and are at the mercy – that’s with a “y” not a “ci” – of the Paris taxi drivers.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Sue said. ‘I remember them too.’ She smiled at the two women. ‘Bon voyage!’
‘More like bon appetit,’ Ava said. ‘The cheese straws are all for me, aren’t they?’
‘Come on, Ava,’ Debs ordered, heading out of the kitchen towards the front door.
‘Bye, Sue,’ Ava said, waving a hand. ‘Oh, just to say, if you fancy some of that purple wine in the fridge, I really wouldn’t have more than one glass.’
8
Paris, France
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Debs started. ‘You really shouldn’t give up your job.’
Ava peeled her cheek off the taxi window and came to. The Eurostar trip had zapped her. Now she was crushed against the door of a Parisian cab next to Debs’ giant suitcase, even bigger handbag and Debs herself.
‘Which one?’ Ava asked, her eyes going to the wintry scene through the glass. ‘Because I’m thinking of telling my mum where she can stick her Twitter and Flickr.’
‘Not that job,’ Debs stated. ‘The other one. Ending things with Leo doesn’t mean you should give up everything.’ Debs sniffed. ‘You were totes amazing at that job. And why should you run away from it when it’s Leo’s fault? The... philanderer.’
Ava looked at her best friend. Debs liked to talk. In fact she loved to talk, but she had been decidedly quiet on the train. And every syllable of the word ‘philanderer’ had been sounded out.
‘Is everything all right, Debs?’ Ava asked.
‘Of course,’ she announced, shaking her hair off her shoulders and smiling. ‘Just looking forward to spending some time with my best friend in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.’ She breathed in noisily.
Ava supposed Debs had a point about the job. She had just thought it was easier. Throw in the towel, never have to see the guy again, move on and away from the awkward situation and avoid wanting to slap Cassandra the next time they brushed shoulders in the ladies’ toilet. Plus, what else was there for her? Giving up flogging luxury apartments was a step closer to her mother’s clutches and modelling aspirations.
‘I’ll need to think about the job,’ she answered, her attention back to life outside. ‘The very last thing I need right now is to have to move home.’
‘What about your dad?’ Debs suggested.
She shook her head. ‘No, I couldn’t do that either. I think Myleene is good for him and I like her but she’s so...’ The words beautiful, great at cooking, slim, clever were all there waiting to be picked. ‘You know.’
She looked out of the window. The traffic was manic. Bumper to bumper, crawling at the pace of a tortoise through a dusting of white on the ground, each vehicle taking it in turns to beep their horn. It didn’t achieve anything, nothing moved quicker, but it was the Paris way. She looked past the traffic, to the buildings each side of the street. Arches and decorative sconces, large brightly lit windows full of French chic, boutiques oozing style and expense, everything draped in a much classier festiveness than at home.
‘Well, I think you should totes stop worrying about your mum,’ Debs added. ‘I can tell, you know. For a second the other night, after the third glass of Ethel’s homebrew, you were considering going to Goa just so she would stop messaging you about it.’
‘I wasn’t considering it,’ Ava insisted. She turned to her friend, ears adorned with flashing Christmas trees blinking on red and green, a Norwegian knit jumper on underneath her coat. ‘Besides, I’m here, aren’t I? With you, in Paris. Marked safe from Rhoda Rhinestone.’ She paused. ‘And you still haven’t told me exactly what we’re going to be doing.’
Debs smiled, her cheeks puffing up the way they always did, a dimple on each one. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘You’re going to love it.’
‘It isn’t dressing up like a Dalmatian again, is it?’
Debs laughed, shaking
her head. ‘No.’
‘Or getting people to try three different kinds of mustard.’
‘I liked that task,’ Debs said as if it were a challenge from The Apprentice.
‘Promise me there are no costumes involved at all.’
‘Well...’
Ava looked at her best friend, adorned in Christmas-themed tat, face rosy, eyes bright. They were in Paris. The city of light. Whatever Debs was going to make her do, it was better than wallowing in self-pity at home... or being forced onto a flight to a retreat then an assignment where she would be contorted into sexy poses wearing something skimpy she hated herself in.
Debs grinned. ‘No costumes,’ she said. ‘I’m aiming to write two pieces. One’s on Christmas shopping and the other is even more fun than that.’
‘I’m interested to hear what you think is more fun than your ultimate hobby.’
‘Dating and the rise of foreign hen weekends,’ Debs said, eyes widening. ‘You and I are going to visit all the top spots singles ladies go to for a piece I’ve provisionally entitled “Singles, Sex and the City”.’
‘Whoa!’ Ava exclaimed. ‘I hope that isn’t for People’s Friend.’
‘It’s for Diversity… hopefully.’
‘Didn’t they win Britain’s Got Talent?’
‘Not the dance troupe. It’s a new magazine for twenty-something women like us. I’ve got a copy’ – Debs delved into the giant bag on her knee – ‘somewhere in here.’
‘It’s fine,’ Ava said, looking back to the window. ‘It’s probably better I don’t see it.’ If she was honest the thought of behaving like a tribal hen-weekend goer wasn’t filling her with joy. She wasn’t sure she was up for the singles hot spots of Paris either. The tequila shots would be quite welcome. The men, well, she might want to punch them just for being the same gender as Leo.
‘Ooo!’
The squeak of excitement had Ava turning back from the window as Debs pulled something out of her bag.
‘I can’t seem to find the magazine but I’ve found this!’ Debs shook the piece of paper, a little scrunched up with the ragged holes at one side like it had been torn from a notepad. ‘I was looking through some old school books the other day...’
‘Like you do.’
Debs laughed. ‘Memories!’
Ava looked at her, confused. ‘That doesn’t look like any sort of note you would have written. It’s far too creased.’
‘This one isn’t mine,’ Debs said, grinning. ‘Mine is being pressed back to perfection in between the pages of a hardback copy of Anne of Green Gables.’
Ava shook her head. ‘You’re not still re-reading that, are you?’
Debs pulled her lips into a firm line. ‘Until I find my own Gilbert Blythe, then, yes.’
Ava made a grab for the paper but missed and let out a grunt of frustration. ‘Well, not that I’m really interested but… what is it?’
‘This one is yours,’ Debs stated.
‘My what?’
‘Your wish list.’
Ava sighed. ‘I still have no idea what you’re talking about.’ She folded her arms across her chest in a bid to keep some warmth in. The taxi driver had opened his window and smoke from his cigarillo was swirling out of the three-inch gap as well as letting in all the freezing air.
‘You must remember!’ Debs unfurled the notepaper. ‘You, me and Stacey Edwards. We lay out on the grass after our A-level geography exam and wrote these.’ Debs sighed as if her mind was drifting back. ‘We were high on the end of study and the knowledge there would be no more Mr Morton’s B.O.’
Ava remembered the teacher with the body odour issues but not this... had Debs said ‘wish list’?
Debs cleared her throat. ‘Shall I read it out?’
Ava shrugged. ‘I can’t remember even writing it.’
‘OK,’ Debs began. ‘Ava Devlin’s Wish List.’ She stifled a laugh with the hand that wasn’t holding the paper. ‘You’ve underlined the title twice, which means you were totes serious.’
‘Or that you made me do it,’ Ava suggested. ‘You were always the queen of underlining... and bubble writing.’
‘I still am,’ Debs answered. ‘But we are digressing.’ She cleared her throat again. ‘So, Ava Devlin’s Wish List, underlined twice... Number one... get very drunk.’ Debs stopped reading. ‘Wow, I thought you might have actually taken this seriously.’
‘Didn’t you say I was eighteen?’
‘Well, I didn’t write that sort of thing on my list.’
‘What did you write? 1. Marry Gilbert Blythe?’ Ava straightened herself in the seat as the taxi driver swerved to avoid a cyclist. ‘What’s my number two? Killing my mother?’
Debs put her eyes back to the page. ‘Number two... shave my hair off and dye my head green so I don’t have to model any more.’
Ava touched the platinum strands still holding their spiky position. It wasn’t completely shorn or green but it was definitely modelling repellent. She smiled at Debs. ‘I’m quite liking my eighteen-year-old self.’
‘Number three... oh I like this one... get a dog... oh that’s sweet... oh.’ Debs stopped.
‘What? I like dogs.’
‘Get a dog... to annoy my mother. I’ll put it in her bed and never give it flea treatment.’
Ava grinned. ‘That’s still quite a good idea.’
Debs put the list down. ‘This is sad,’ she announced. ‘All these things you’ve written down... they’re all things you needed to do because you felt your life was horrible.’ Debs sniffed.
‘The half I lived with you and your mum was pretty cool.’ She sighed. ‘And like you said, I obviously didn’t take the list thing seriously.’ She nudged her friend’s arm. ‘I do Wish Number One quite a lot and it only ends up horrible first thing in the morning if I’ve really gone for it... like with Ethel’s wine.’
‘Well, I think you should make a new one,’ Debs instructed.
‘A new plan to frustrate my mother? I think the Waitrose incident and running away to Paris have probably done enough.’
‘No, silly, a new wish list.’
She faced the window again. What was the point? Right now, travelling through a Parisian winter wonderland, she had no idea where her life was going. She didn’t need a wish list to add to the confusion. Her mind went to Leo. When had he realised she wasn’t pretty enough or funny enough? Maybe she should have appreciated him more. Perhaps it was her fault. Maybe she had done something to make him need Cassandra.
‘So?’ Debs said.
‘What?’
‘We need to get you a new wish list.’ Debs pulled in a breath. ‘One a little more mature.’
‘What did you put on yours after marrying Gilbert Blythe?’ Ava asked. ‘Seeing the sunrise over Ayers Rock? Parachuting into the Grand Canyon?’
Debs shifted in her seat.
‘You did, didn’t you?’
‘And I still haven’t got to Australia. It’s probably one of the only places I haven’t written an article about.’
‘Well, I don’t need a wish list,’ Ava stated.
‘Come on, it doesn’t have to be a road trip across America or skydiving. It can just be a list for Paris,’ Debs suggested. ‘Just something to stop you thinking about Leo.’
‘I’m not thinking about Leo,’ Ava snapped.
‘Or your mother.’
‘I wasn’t thinking about her... but now I am.’
Debs passed the ancient notepaper across to her. ‘Come on, it will be fun. A Paris wish list. I’ll make one too.’ Debs grinned. ‘Number one, highly intoxicating cocktails like singles in the city.’
Ava screwed up her nose. ‘Number two, line stomach with more than snails and frogs legs.’
Debs laughed. ‘Do you remember the time we let the frogs loose in science class?’
Ava smiled. ‘How were we supposed to know that Damian Cranbourne had an allergy to frogs? I mean, seriously, who has an allergy to frogs?’
‘It was
n’t just frogs though, was it? The poor thing was allergic to everything.’
‘Eggs.’
‘Which ruined the fun we used to have stinking out the coach on trips.’
‘Stones.’
‘He wasn’t allergic to stones,’ Ava remarked. ‘No one can be allergic to stones.’
‘He was, I swear!’ Debs said laughing. ‘And feathers.’
‘Now you’re making it up!’
‘I’m totes not, honestly.’
‘Damian Cranbourne,’ Ava mused. ‘I wonder where he is now.’
‘Living in a house made of straw, not stroking birds or eating omelettes?’ Debs suggested.
The taxi screeched to a halt, shooting Debs’ suitcase forward and crushing Ava’s Converse-clad feet.
‘We are here,’ the taxi driver announced. He gestured to the snowy outside, golden fairy lights twinkling from the trees at the edge of the pavement. Ava looked through the condensation of the window and read the sign. Hotel Agincourt. She really hoped there wasn’t going to be any battling. She could do with a rest.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Debs said, collecting her bags together.
‘I hope there’s no fifteenth-century weapons at the bar?’
‘What?’
‘Hotel Agincourt?’
‘I know!’ Debs said, grinning. ‘A hotel with gin in its name! Shall we go and get one? We can make our wish lists!’
‘Don’t you have articles to write?’
‘Oh, Ava, research is all important,’ Debs responded with a giggle.
Ava offered the taxi driver a smile as Debs opened the cab door and stepped out. He thrust out his hand. ‘Cinquante.’
She pressed a note into his hand. ‘Merci buckets.’
9
Tuileries quarter
Julien blew out a breath that was visible in the air. The bright, clear, cold morning had given way to a snow storm that had the clouds darkening and flakes whirling around in a stiff wind. As he stood outside the brasserie in the Tuileries quarter, tiny snow crystals gathering on the shoulders of his coat, he looked in through the window, eyes skipping past the Christmas adornments to the people at the tables inside.
