by Mandy Baggot
Julien took the lock from her hand and slipped the end first through her padlock and then through his, until the new lock was dangling in between them.
‘This is you,’ he said, picking up Ava’s lock. ‘Strong, fearless, Ava, finding out what path she wishes to take.’ He picked up his lock. ‘This is me, Julien Fitoussi, living free.’ He picked up their lock. ‘And this is us. Connected. Strong apart. But even stronger together.’ He snapped the lock closed.
Tears were streaming down her face now and she shook her head. ‘The very best thing I did was come to Paris,’ she sobbed. ‘And the next best thing I did was ripping up that wish list... because if I made one today it would be so, so different... and every single line would have your name written there.’
‘Madonna,’ he said, pulling her into his arms.
‘Monsieur Fitoussi.’ She clung to him, breathing in the musk of his cologne, letting the warmth of his body wrap her up and realising what true love was for the very first time.
71
Gare Du Nord
‘So, things that we’ve missed while we’ve been in Paris,’ Debs said.
Ava, Rhoda and Debs were standing near the Eurostar area at the station, waiting. Around them people rushed to and fro, heading for trains out of the city, others arriving with their suitcases and parcels wrapped in Christmas paper. There was music provided by a string quartet and someone dressed as a cheery, furry robin giving out leaflets. Ava checked her watch again.
‘Is this a little like I-Spy?’ Rhoda asked Debs.
‘I’ll start if you like,’ Debs offered. ‘I’ve missed EastEnders obviously. That BBC World War I drama everyone has been raving about on Facebook and—’
‘Anything that isn’t on the television?’ Rhoda asked. ‘Perhaps your hair straighteners?’
‘I don’t have hair straighteners,’ Debs replied.
‘Hmm,’ Rhoda said. ‘Ava, it’s getting very close to boarding. We are going to have to go down.’
‘Not yet,’ Ava answered. ‘Julien said he would be here and he’ll be here.’ She drew her phone from the pocket of her jeans. ‘I’ll call him again.’
‘What have you missed about the UK, Rhoda?’ Debs asked. ‘Slim Fast?’
‘You realise that is full of hidden sugars,’ Rhoda snapped back.
Ava turned away from her friend and mother and pressed her phone to her ear. It was ringing and ringing but there was no reply. It went to voicemail. It was pointless leaving a message. Where was he? After the Eiffel Tower they had walked the whole way back to the Hotel Agincourt, holding hands, breathing in the essence of Paris, trying to embed as many memories as possible until they could see each other again. Paris had been in love today. The day before Christmas and the Invalides had been filled with photo-worthy couples, all getting ready for a special day together. She ended the call and slipped the phone back into her pocket. She had wanted Julien to be the very last thing she saw when the train pulled out. His smile, the way his dark hair was never set in the same way twice, those full, gorgeous lips that had kissed her all over...
‘Ava,’ Debs said. ‘I know you think your mother is being overcautious but we really ought to go down now.’
Ava looked at her watch again, willing the second hand back a bit. ‘One more minute?’
‘Ava, I do think you’re being a little unfair expecting Julien to come here,’ Rhoda stated. ‘His father has just got married. He was the best man. He can’t really just up and leave to say goodbye to you. Didn’t you say goodbye earlier? At the hotel?’
Ava nodded. ‘Yes, but—’
‘Well then. There we are,’ Rhoda said. ‘You can call him from the train. You can call him when we get back to St Pancras and you can call him when we get home.’
Debs put an arm around Ava’s shoulders. ‘I told Didier not to come,’ she said.
‘You aren’t going to see each other again?’ Ava asked.
‘Well, I wasn’t sure he would want to so I told myself I didn’t want to and then...’
‘Then?’ Ava asked.
‘He’s invited me to come and stay next month.’
Ava smiled. ‘I do like him.’
‘Me too,’ Debs said. ‘But he knows I take my career very seriously and, at this stage in the proceedings at Diversity, I can’t be setting all my articles in France.’
‘Not until the first desk massage anyway,’ Ava said.
‘It’s been more than a minute and if we don’t go now we will be marooned here for Christmas,’ Rhoda announced so the whole of the concourse could hear.
‘She says that like it’s a bad thing,’ Debs stated.
Ava looked at her watch again and put one hand on her case. ‘We should go.’
‘Are you sure?’ Debs asked. ‘We could wait a few more minutes.’
‘No... we can’t afford to miss the train and it isn’t like I’m never going to see him again.’ She sighed. ‘It might be a couple of months until I have enough money but—’
‘Ava, we need to go!’ Rhoda called.
Debs hugged Ava to her. ‘Listen, as soon as we’ve both done Christmas with the family come round to mine and we’ll pickle our livers with Kopparberg and Ethel’s wine.’
Ava smiled. ‘It’s a deal.’
‘I can’t wait to see everyone’s faces when they open the presents I got at the Christmas market,’ Debs said, wheeling both her cases up the platform.
‘You don’t have to pretend to me, Debs,’ Ava said. ‘I think we both know all those “gifts” were for you.’
‘They totes weren’t!’
‘I got myself a nice little designer number from a delightful little boutique,’ Rhoda commented.
‘I bought this hat,’ Ava said, indicating the beanie on her head.
‘You come to the very capital of European fashion, Ava and you buy a hat you could have got in Portobello market?’ Rhoda shook her head.
‘I bought Julien one too,’ she stated sadly.
‘I have to admit, Didier does look hot in a hat,’ Debs said.
‘I do like a man in a hat,’ Rhoda agreed. ‘Particularly James Spader.’
‘Ooh yes,’ Debs agreed.
‘This is us,’ Rhoda said, stopping at the open door of the train.
‘Are you sure?’ Ava asked, her eyes looking down the platform.
‘Yes, Ava, I’m sure. Come on, let’s get on board and get out of the cold.’
She didn’t want to get in out of the cold. She didn’t even want to get in. She had taken a liking to the cold, always having to layer up and knowing that by the end of the day her bones were going to feel like they belonged to some ancient T-Rex with arthritis. The coffee here was better. The chocolate was better. Snail butter was going to be impossible to locate in the UK, even at one of those artisan shops that seemed to only sell seeds or things that were pickled.
Rhoda stepped up onto the train. ‘Ava, come on. Get on the train.’
‘I can’t,’ she answered.
‘What?’ Rhoda screeched.
‘Ava,’ Debs said, rubbing her shoulder.
‘I have to wait and say goodbye first,’ Ava answered. ‘Then I’ll get on the train.’
‘Ava, he isn’t coming. It’s half an hour past the time he said he would be here and the train leaves in minutes, Ava, minutes!’
‘He said he would be here,’ Ava repeated. ‘And I trust him. He wouldn’t let me down.’
‘Oh, Ava, you know what the traffic is like and maybe he had to do something at the wedding like your mum said,’ Debs offered.
She wanted another goodbye. She wanted to hold him again, kiss him again, let his lips be the last thing she tasted before this train took her back under the water and home.
‘Get on the train, Ava,’ Rhoda said again, her hand reaching for Ava’s arm.
‘Listen, why don’t I start hauling my cases up there and that will give you a few more minutes of waiting,’ Debs suggested. ‘Here, Mrs Devlin, can you manage to get hold
of this one.’
‘I do do callisthenics you know.’
Ava stood, looking at the buzz of activity around the concourse at the end of the platform, travellers rushing like ants running towards a picnic. This was going to be her last memory of her time in Paris, looking at other happy people, searching for someone who wasn’t going to come. She turned back to see Debs’ last case being dragged up the step and onto the train by her mother.
‘You can text him from the train,’ Debs suggested. ‘Or call him again. I suspect the band at the wedding are getting loud now and he can’t hear his phone.’
She was going to have to give in. She was going to have to be happy with their kisses at the Eiffel Tower next to their love locks and the final farewell at Agincourt. She drew in a breath as Debs stepped up onto the train.
‘I’ve got some pastis in my bag,’ Debs said. ‘I was going to give it to Auntie Reenie for Christmas but maybe we should just drink it.’
Ava stepped up onto the train behind her. ‘I think we should.’ She took one last look at the arched windows over the station, a little light still left in the darkening sky then moved on into the train.
‘Madonna!’
Ava bristled and looked over her shoulder at a man moving into the carriage behind her. Had she heard that?
‘Madonna!’
She looked to Debs. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’
‘Madonna! Wait!’
‘It’s Julien!’ Ava said. ‘He’s here!’ She bundled into the man behind her, moving one way then the next in a bid to get past him and out of the carriage. ‘Excusez-moi! Please! Get out of the way!’ She forced herself through the gap, panting and desperate to get off of the train. She ran out of the door, almost slipping down the steps until her feet finally met the concrete of the platform.
And there was Julien, sprinting from the end of the concourse towards her, coat flapping in the breeze. She ran too and within what felt like the longest seconds of her life they met, colliding in an embrace that knocked the air from her lungs. She held him tight, kissing him over and over.
‘I thought you weren’t coming. I thought I would have to leave Paris without you being the very last thing I saw.’
‘I said I would come. I said I would be here,’ he breathed, kissing her back. ‘I am so sorry I am late.’
‘Was it the traffic? I hate the traffic here,’ she said, kissing him again.
‘No,’ Julien said. ‘I had to go back to my apartment.’
She kissed him once more then looked at him, questioning his response.
‘I had to go back to my apartment for this.’
She watched as out of his pocket he drew his passport. Her heart jumped and twisted like a pole-vaulter.
‘I do not know if you want this but I am taking a chance and I have nothing...’ he said, ‘I have nothing but my passport, a ticket for this train and my camera. I had no time to get anything else.’ He breathed. ‘I suppose what I am asking is... Can I spend Christmas with you, Ava?’
She threw herself at him, holding him close and whispering in his ear. ‘Oh, Monsieur Fitoussi, yes. And,’ she smiled, ‘just so there is nothing lost in translation. Oui, Monsieur Fitoussi. Je suis Java.’
Epilogue
Christmas Day – Rhoda Devlin’s house
‘Would you like some more, Julien?’
Ava tried to suppress her laughter, smothering her mouth with the glass of low-calorie, low-alcohol beer her mother had poured for her. She was heading off to the corner shop that opened all days and all hours as soon as Rhoda was sat comfortably commenting on the make-up and fashion faux pas of Christmas Strictly.
Poor Julien. The tofu roast Rhoda had served up was as dry as the Sahara but he was slowly munching through it probably wondering why he had left the cuisine capital of the world for this festive ‘treat’ in England.
‘No,’ Julien said a little too quickly. ‘But thank you. It was delicious.’
Rhoda frowned. ‘I don’t know... I think there’s something missing.’
Ava opened her mouth to suggest roast instead of boiled potatoes might have been it or perhaps half a plate of sage and onion stuffing, but Rhoda spoke again.
‘The gravy! Oh my goodness! How could I have forgotten the gravy?!’ She leapt out of her chair like she was late for her cue on the runway of London Fashion Week, heading into the kitchen.
‘My throat,’ Julien said, a hand going to his neck.
‘I know!’ Ava exclaimed. ‘If the tofu doesn’t get you good, then the spiky okra will finish the job. I really don’t think vegetables should be furry.’
Julien smiled and slipped his hand over hers, squeezing her hand. ‘Perhaps a little gravy will...’
Ava laughed. ‘There won’t actually be gravy.’
‘Non?’
‘My mother doesn’t do gravy, even on Christmas Day,’ Ava said. ‘It will be a gravy substitute. My money is on some sort of watery balsamic sauce.’
Julien squeezed her hand again. ‘Even with this sauce I am glad I am here for Christmas... with you.’
‘Me too,’ Ava replied, leaning towards him, longing to feel his lips on hers again. And there it was, his gorgeous, hot mouth on hers as Frank Sinatra warbled ‘Ave Maria’ from the Bluetooth speaker.
Christmas Day with Julien here was different. She felt different. Everything was warmer, cosier... lovelier than it had ever felt before and she was starting to get used to that feeling.
‘Here we are!’ Rhoda announced.
Ava broke away from Julien, looking up to see Rhoda re-entering the room, carrying a tray that was holding the biggest gravy boat she had ever seen.
‘What’s in the gravy boat, Mum?’ Ava asked.
Rhoda looked at her as if she had just announced that Max Factor were going from liquid eyeliner to liquidation. ‘What do you think is in the gravy boat, Ava?’
‘Balsamic sauce?’ she offered. ‘It was quite tasty... well... kind of.’
‘It’s gravy,’ Rhoda stated, putting the tray on the table, the red taper candles almost setting fire to her favourite Chanel jacket.
‘Gravy?’ Ava exclaimed, sitting forward in her seat. ‘Real gravy? The type Bisto make?’
‘The type Waitrose sell in convenient pots if we need to be precise,’ Rhoda stated.
‘Not the vegetarian stuff?’ Ava checked, regarding the thick brown liquid. She could smell it. That strong, comforting, beefy goodness that could probably coat your arteries in one sitting. This was a virtual alien on her mother’s table. This was like Rhoda suggesting a Burger King for a quick bite instead of a multigrain bar.
‘Are you a vegetarian now?’ Rhoda asked her.
‘No!’ Ava scoffed.
‘I thought not,’ Rhoda said. ‘In that case I can announce it is the full fat, non-vegetarian, beef version that contains more calories in one portion than I would normally eat in two days.’ She let out a nervous breath before appearing to regroup. ‘It’s Christmas. We can “let go” a little bit at Christmas, can’t we?’
Ava smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. It was such a small gesture but it meant everything. Her mum was getting it. She was really trying. Proper gravy this year. Who knew what was to come?
‘Well, let’s not just sit and look at it. One thing I do know about gravy is it goes cold quickly and... the tofu was a little dry,’ Rhoda admitted. ‘Gravy, Julien?’
‘Please,’ Julien accepted.
‘Can I eat mine with a spoon?’ Ava asked, picking up her spoon.
‘You might want to go a little careful with your portion, Ava,’ Rhoda suggested.
Ava swallowed. Controlling mother appeared to be back already.
‘There’s strawberry trifle for pudding,’ Rhoda announced.
Ava dropped the silverware to the table and grabbed her mum, throwing her arms around her and hugging her close, the gravy boat almost toppling to the tablecloth. ‘Thank you, Mum,’ she breathed. ‘Merry Christmas.’<
br />
‘A photograph,’ Julien said, picking up his camera from the spare seat next to him.
‘Oh no!’ Rhoda exclaimed. ‘Not with me looking like this. I need to refresh my lipstick.’
‘Just smile, Mum,’ Ava encouraged, facing Julien and grinning with happiness. ‘Smile and say “Java”.’
She caught Julien’s eye before he held the camera in position, and he shared a knowing look.
‘Java,’ he replied.
‘What is this “Java” business?’ Rhoda asked. ‘Why are we talking about Indonesia? Are you two planning a holiday?’
Ava smiled even more then. ‘Say cheese instead. After three. One... two... three... Camembert!’
Epilogue
Eiffel Tower – Spring
‘I haven’t been up here in years and I had completely forgotten how many steps there are. Goodness there are seriously totes too many,’ Debs said, her hair in her face as she scrambled up the very last flight of stairs to the top of the tower.
‘There are a trillion at the very least,’ Didier remarked.
Ava smiled, squeezing Julien’s hand in hers. ‘Seeing them struggle so much is making me feel really fit.’
‘You are now a master of this, even when you have eaten three or more pieces of cake.’
‘I hope you have got this right, Didier. I don’t know if I can walk up these stairs again at all over the next week,’ Debs said.
‘I have this right. My contact provides good information as always,’ Didier assured. ‘We now just have to wait.’
Ava moved towards the barrier and leant against it looking out at a very different Paris from the one she had left in December. Gone was the snow and the bare trees, now there were green lawns, trees in bud with blossom and the sun shining hot. Paris was now her home and next week she was starting an art course at college. She also had a part-time job at a coffee shop near her and Julien’s apartment. It didn’t pay as well as selling apartments but it was enough to keep her in strong coffee and Camembert each week and who knew what was in her illustrating future?
