by Mandy Baggot
He had been surprised to get the text message from his step-mother this morning after what had happened a few nights ago. He could see her now, sat at the very back of the restaurant, toying with something on the front of her blouse, her long dark hair set on her shoulders as usual, her demeanour appearing a little tight. He liked Vivienne. She had been in his life for so long. It was time his father married her. His mother had left them without a second thought, just packed a bag one day and never came back... until Lauren’s funeral. Then she had appeared, feigning grief and loss, when she had had no part of their lives since deciding to leave them. Julien bristled now, remembering his mother closing her arms around him, her tears wetting his jacket. He had stood stock still, shown no emotion, saying nothing. What was there to say? It was Vivienne who had rescued him. She had taken hold of him and made excuses about seeing other family members, leading him away from a reunion he hadn’t needed that day. He hadn’t seen his mother since.
Taking another breath he pushed open the door. A wave of heat and the smell of freshly baked bread and croissants hit his nose. As the bell chimed he saw Vivienne look up. She smiled and he began to weave his way between the tables towards her. As she rose from her seat he quickly waved her back down.
‘You would like another coffee?’ he asked, gesturing towards her cup.
‘No, thank you,’ she answered.
‘Something to eat? They do good eclairs here,’ Julien said, still hovering by the table and filling the space with words.
‘No, Julien, thank you. Please, sit down.’
He watched her hands stray to a brooch on her blouse. He remembered it at once. It was a diamante cat, a red crystalline bow around its neck. He had been with Lauren when she had bought it for Vivienne at a Christmas market the year before last. Vivienne’s sadly deceased bright white cat, Pepe, had been much loved and Lauren had said the brooch looked just like the animal. Julien swallowed back the memory and sank into the seat opposite her. As he did so, the camera, still around his neck, caught the edge of the wooden table.
‘Your camera,’ Vivienne said, her hands going to her mouth.
‘Yes,’ Julien replied, taking the strap from around his neck and placing the camera on the table.
‘You are taking photos again?’ Vivienne breathed.
He nodded. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Even though he knew it was a big deal, a huge thing just to have his hands on a camera again.
‘That is so good,’ Vivienne said, her eyes alive. ‘So good.’ She paused. ‘After the party...’
Julien cleared his throat, looked into the candle on the table. ‘I must apologise for that.’ He looked up at her. ‘I should not have said the things I said. I should have said a lot of other things that I did not say.’ He paused. ‘I was rude.’
Vivienne shook her head. ‘No… I should not have tried to push things your way with Marcie. It’s just—’
He watched her fingers tighten around the cup of coffee, losing herself in her thoughts.
‘I am worried… about your father.’
His heart stepped up a gear. ‘There is something wrong?’
She shook her head. ‘I do not know. I only know that, despite how he is, so controlled in public, so blasé... Julien, I know it is not what you think, but he is still very much grieving for Lauren.’
Julien swallowed, the deep despair in his step-mother’s tone biting him.
‘He barely eats and he does not sleep.’ She shifted in her seat. ‘I thought he was coming out of it earlier this year but then we had the anniversary and...’
‘But you are getting married soon,’ Julien said, as if that were some sort of answer.
She nodded and he noticed her eyes were moist. ‘I know.’
‘And at the party, he was himself... with his business contacts... snarling at me.’
‘It is nothing but a front and, he worries about you too,’ Vivienne stated.
Julien shook his head. ‘He hides from what happened to our family. Then, when he is forced to confront the fire, he calls me lucky.’ He swallowed. ‘I am not lucky because I lost my sister. And I failed to help save eleven other people.’
‘Oh, Julien, why do you think he does that?’ she asked, putting down her cup.
He shrugged.
‘It is because he cannot bear to think of what he lost. Focussing on your survival and what you did for the others that night stops him from remembering...’
‘Lauren,’ Julien said. ‘Her name was Lauren.’
Vivienne’s fingers went to the cat on her blouse, the tips brushing over the stones, nodding slowly. ‘I miss her too, Julien.’
He swallowed, Vivienne’s words trying to seep under his skin. ‘Why did you need to see me, Vivienne?’
She met his eyes. ‘I have arranged the final suit fitting for the wedding.’
He looked back, confused.
‘You can do this alone, of course, but... I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to talk with your father.’
Instantly he was on edge. ‘I don’t know. After last week...’
‘We all say things in the heat of the moment, Julien. Sometimes our concerns get smothered by other things, no?’
‘Like rage?’ he suggested.
‘Like refusing to work again?’ she countered.
His eyes strayed to the camera on the table for a second before going back to her.
‘Julien, I will postpone this wedding if I think your father is not going to fully be there.’ She shook her head. ‘Right now it is like his mind is locked and he can’t move on and... I just don’t know what to do.’ A sob left her and she muffled the sound with a hand over her lips.
Julien reached across the table then, taking her other hand in his. ‘I will go to the suit fitting,’ he said, squeezing her fingers. ‘I will try to talk to him.’
‘You will?’ Vivienne said, looking relieved.
‘I will try but I cannot promise he will listen,’ he said. ‘And I do have one condition.’
‘What?’
‘I really do not want to take photos for Parisian Pathways.’
She smiled then and nodded her head. ‘OK.’
‘Good,’ he replied. ‘Then we have a deal.’ He regarded a pair of plates being carried by a waitress. ‘Eat a pain au chocolat with me?’
She nodded. ‘Yes... but we must share. I have a wedding dress to fit into.’
10
Hotel Agincourt
4. Put on weight
5. Get drunk again
6. Make number 5 number 4
7. Climb the Eiffel Tower and kiss a random man at the top of it
8. Get surgery – the three Bs – boobs, bum and belly
9. Grow real eyebrows
Ava couldn’t read any more. Her eighteen-year-old-self sounded unhinged. She took a long suck of the cocktail in front of her. She wasn’t sure what it was but it contained a cherry and a glittery angel on a stick, a real holly leaf attached. She turned the paper over and looked at Debs.
Debs was hunched over a notepad, scribbling away, earrings still flashing, making satisfied noises as pen hit paper. Ava didn’t even know where to begin. Her gaze went around the hotel bar. With its wide, black-and-gold Christmas tree in one corner, beautifully wrapped gifts stacked underneath like they were waiting for a child to unwrap them, and a roaring log fire beneath a marble mantelpiece, it was the perfect pre-Christmas scene. She settled herself back into the chair. She needed to relax. She was here in France with her best friend in a city she truly loved. She just needed to forget that the last time she came here was with Leo in the spring and he’d told her he loved her. More lies. She sat forward again, refocussed on Debs.
‘What have you put?’ Ava asked.
Debs pulled her paper towards her like she was protecting a government secret. ‘I can’t show you yet.’ Debs’ eyes went to the blank piece of paper and reindeer-shaped pen she’d given Ava. ‘Why aren’t you writing?’
&nb
sp; Ava shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to write.’
‘But, we’re in Paris,’ Debs emphasised. ‘There must be things you want to do here.’
‘I only knew I was coming here a few days ago. I suppose I just thought I’d do whatever you were doing.’
‘And that’s what needs to stop,’ Debs said forcefully.
‘What?’
‘You not doing what you want to do.’
‘I do what I want to do. I did this to my hair, remember?’ Ava pulled at a lock of white to emphasise the point.
‘But you did that because you were upset. And you took the job selling apartments just because your mother wanted you to audition for a tinned meatballs commercial and you needed an excuse.’ Debs huffed. ‘You shouldn’t need an excuse. I know it’s hard but you just need to tell her, once and for all, you’re not interested.’
It was easy to say and Ava knew that’s what she should be doing but it was a lot harder to put it into practice.
‘That wasn’t why I took the job,’ she said quickly.
‘No?’ Debs looked unconvinced.
‘No,’ Ava said, a little overdramatically. ‘I took the job because I’ve always wanted to sell luxury apartments.’ Her mouth struggled to make the words sound anything close to sincere. ‘You know what, if you want me to make a list, fine, I’ll make a list.’ Ava grabbed the reindeer pen and started to write.
‘1. Get drunk?!’ Debs exclaimed. ‘No! Don’t copy the other one!’
‘Why not? Why do I have to have plans and dreams and know what direction I’m going in?’ Ava asked. ‘We’re not all the same, you know. We don’t all have to have a job we love, travelling to exciting cities and writing about them, with parents who love us, and a great house with neighbours who bring round homemade wine.’
The second she got to the end of the sentence, probably before, she realised she hadn’t wanted to say any of those things and she sounded like a complete idiot.
What was worse was when she looked back over at Debs and saw her friend’s bottom lip wobbling, tears ready to spill like a melting glacier.
A stab of guilt hit her square in the chest. Why was she taking all this out on Debs?
‘Oh, God, I’m horrible,’ Ava announced. ‘Truly horrible.’ She looked around for something to pass to Debs – serviettes, a beer mat. She settled on the map she had picked up at Gare Du Nord. ‘Here, blow your nose on the Metro then tell me what’s going on.’
Debs took the offering and dabbed at her nose with the shiny paper, shaking her abundance of hair. ‘I can’t.’
‘You can’t, what? Tell your absolute best friend in the world what’s making you cry? I’m the one person you can tell.’ Ava swallowed then whispered. ‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’
‘No,’ Debs replied, wiping her eyes on a photo of Versailles.
She was now so worried she really didn’t want to ask the next question. ‘You’re not ill are you?’
‘No,’ Debs blubbered.
‘Well, is it work?’ Ava asked.
Debs moved her head in neither a nod nor a shake, but the expression on her face told a tale. Ava had only seen the look once before. When Debs’ parents had split up. Sue and Jon had divorced less than a year after Ava’s parents had split. For weeks back then there had been days and nights of boxes of Kleenex, comfort eating and almost stalkerish watching of every Johnny Depp film ever made – Debs had poured her heart out, Ava had poured the Diet Coke out, held her and told her everything was going to be all right... eventually. But until then they had each other and Ava had been through it and there was light at the end of the divorce tunnel.
‘Debs, just tell me,’ Ava begged.
‘It’s... Gary,’ Debs finally sniffed out.
‘Step-dad Gary?’ Ava queried. ‘The best step-dad in the world who always picks us up at two in the morning and brings kebabs? Taxi Dad?’ Ava put her hands to her mouth. ‘God, Debs, he’s not ill is he?’
‘No,’ Debs sniffed. ‘But he might be after this trip.’
Ava blinked. ‘You’d better explain.’
‘I think he’s having an affair.’
The absolute shock of that statement had Ava tightening her hold on her glass. She shook her head straightaway. ‘No... that’s just mad. I mean, Gary is the best,’ Ava said.
‘I know.’
‘He might work a lot, away sometimes granted, but he adores your mum.’
‘I thought so.’
‘Come on, Debs, he does,’ Ava said. ‘Remember their wedding? He swayed her around the dance floor to that awful, ancient Bryan Adams song. No one does that unless they’re really in love.’ Ava folded her arms across her chest. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘I don’t want to believe it either but the things Mum said...’
‘Tell me,’ Ava said. ‘Having just been involved with a cheater myself I think I might know the signs.’
Except she hadn’t known or seen the signs. Any of them. She still didn’t know if there had been any.
‘It’s the usual clichéd stuff,’ Debs said, wiping her nose in the direction of Place de la Concorde. ‘Whispered phone calls. No one there when Mum answers the home phone.’
‘Well, that’s not suspicious. I get calls like that all the time. It’s usually one of those telesales people trying to find out the times of day I’m in.’
‘He’s Skyping.’
‘And…’
‘It’s someone called Francine.’
‘Maybe it’s someone he works with,’ Ava suggested.
‘Yes,’ Debs agreed. ‘It is.’
‘Yes it is, what?’ Ava asked.
‘She does work for his firm in one of the offices in France,’ Debs admitted. ‘The office in Paris.’
Ava sucked in a breath. ‘Whoa, wait. You’re not about to say something crazy are you?’
‘I don’t know?’ Debs said. ‘Am I?’
Ava took a suck of her cocktail. She knew how the idea of her step-dad having an affair would hurt Debs. Jon had had an affair with someone he worked with. If Gary was doing the same, putting Sue and Debs through something they had already lived through once, she was probably going to want to slash his tyres.
‘I want to follow her,’ Debs stated.
‘What? Like private-I style? Mireille Enos in The Catch?’
‘Gary is in France this week,’ Debs added. ‘He told Mum he’s at the office in Toulouse but—’
‘You think he’s having sex with Francine in Paris.’
‘I don’t know!’ Debs exclaimed. ‘But it’s like Dad all over again. Mum tells me not to worry but how can I not worry? She didn’t tell me anything at first... she told Lindsay from Ladbrokes and Lindsay told me... and... I just want to get to the bottom of it.’ She sighed. ‘Whatever it is. Good or bad.’
Ava sat forward in her chair. ‘Just a thought... but have you or your mum considered just asking Gary?’
Debs looked at her as if she had just said the world was in fact not a sphere but octagonal and the sea was actually blue Curacao.
‘Oh, Ava, how can she ask him? After what happened with Dad... she’s just terrified.’ Debs pulled in a breath. ‘She made me promise not to say anything to anyone and—’
‘OK… you’re right… I get it.’ Ava sighed, mind working overtime.
Debs looked incredulous and shook her head.
‘So, what are we going to do? Apart from trail this woman?’
‘Oh, Ava, I really didn’t invite you with me for this. I—’ Debs began.
‘Just you try and stop me helping,’ Ava warned.
Debs sighed. ‘She’s got a mystery meeting scheduled in her diary for the day after tomorrow and… well… who’s to say it isn’t with Gary?’
‘Or it could be a salon appointment,’ Ava said, her fingers going to her hair. ‘Or meeting someone... a friend... a colleague... not a married man.’
‘It’s not a hair appointment,’ Debs said confidently. ‘She writes that in pink a
nd her hairdresser is called Delphine.’
She watched Debs swallow.
‘You hacked her calendar, didn’t you?’ Ava said.
‘Maybe... but I didn’t mean to... I was trying to hack her email and who knows, if I had, I could have had my answer already and I wouldn’t be thinking about what disguise to wear.’
‘You promised me no dress-up!’
Debs gave her a watery smile. ‘I just hope that I’m wrong about this. If Mum’s been duped again then—’
Ava reached forward and took hold of Debs’ hands. ‘It won’t be that. Gary...’ She drew in a breath, stopping herself from launching into a speech about how everything was going to be all right. She really didn’t know that, couldn’t guarantee it. She smiled. ‘Whatever happens, Debs, I’m here for you.’ She let go of her friend’s hands and picked up her glass, raising it in the air. ‘To Agincourt.’
Debs picked up her glass. ‘Agincourt.’
Ava took a large swig of her drink, put it down again and looked outside where the snow was battering against the window. She hoped the storm eased up a little overnight. Snow was nice when it was white and shiny and not six feet deep; it wasn’t so nice when it burned your cheeks and was accompanied by a gale-force wind. Evil snow would also make it harder to appreciate the beauty of the city.
From the table her phone began to trill. Ava’s eyes went to the screen. Leo.
11
Outside Brasserie Du Bec, 8th Arrondissement
With his winter coat pulled up around his neck, Julien looked across the street at the brasserie just visible through the swirling snow. He could see Didier, the outline of his friend’s chocolate-coloured shaved head, sat at a table by the misted-up front windows. His stomach took a dip. Picking up the camera was one thing, meeting his friend after months of declining invitations was another, but Didier had chosen a seat furthest from the fire exit.
The biting cold nipped every exposed inch of skin and he pressed his lips together, shielding them from the elements and deliberating some more. He sighed. What were the chances really? Of history repeating itself? Life was going on, had to go on.
