One Way Ticket to Paris: An emotional, feel-good romantic comedy

by Emma Robinson

  ‘Are you sure he is the right man for you, Laura?’ He always used her name at the end of every sentence like this. Was it an Italian thing? If it was, it was definitely effective. Her name seemed to have extra syllables on his tongue. ‘Does he make you happy?’

  That particular week James hadn’t made her happy at all. Late home most nights with no real apology except, ‘It’s work, you know how it is’ and the final decision that he wasn’t going to come to her parents’ for the weekend because he ‘just needed some time at home to relax.’ Before she’d had a chance to answer, Paolo had stood up and was holding out his hand.

  ‘Come on. Dance with me. We need to make you smile.’

  Thankfully, he didn’t take her in his arms and sweep her around the dance floor. Which was a relief, because she’d never been good at couple dancing. Some of their other colleagues were on the dance floor and they joined them, the abandon in their dance styles driven by the pressure of the day they’d just had. Paolo was laughing and joking with everyone as he usually did and Laura felt a curious mixture of relief and disappointment. Then he leaned in towards her as he passed on his way to the bar and said, ‘I think you are absolutely beautiful.’ And her stomach flipped again.

  Somehow they had ended up in different taxis getting back to the hotel and then everyone had headed up to their rooms, but the next day there had been this kind of a… crackle between them. Paolo had caught her eye more than once and her face had burned every time he discovered her looking at him.

  Once they were back at their respective local offices, their contact had been purely professional: conference calls and threads on Slack. He always had her back in the weekly virtual sales meeting with Robert and the rest of the team, though. Supporting her against an interrogative Robert when she argued that it was the consecutive sunny weekends which had caused a dip in retail sales, and emailing her with his contacts at software companies for bundle promotions.

  There had been no private conversations until the brief one they’d just had on the phone. But she’d been thinking about him. A lot.

  This was ridiculous. She’d been speaking to James less than twenty-four hours ago about their future and even the possibility of starting a family, and here she was daydreaming about a man she hardly knew. Now it was her who was being unfair and unreasonable. James didn’t deserve this… this… mental unfaithfulness.

  Paolo was just a man she worked with. A man she had only met on a handful of occasions and for only two days each time. A handsome Italian man. What a cliché.

  Laura put the rest of the Toblerone back into the minibar, surprised to find there were only two triangles left. There was just enough time to call Shannon quickly before she met up with the others. She needed to focus on damage limitation on her sales figures and Shannon would help. Calm, clever, comforting Shannon. Laura wouldn’t have survived at all in this job without her. As she picked up her mobile, there was another WhatsApp from her mother – Look at the length of the garden on this one! Xxxx – but there was no reply from James.

  Chapter Seven

  Kate

  The platform behind Kate had completely emptied out. Even the family of twenty people who had all wanted to kiss and hug each other several times had disappeared, and Kate was starting to feel nervous. Shannon had said she would meet her, hadn’t she? What would she do if Shannon didn’t turn up? Kate had no actual plan other than to meet up with her friend. What if she was stranded here alone and couldn’t find a hotel, or get a ticket back, or… Then she saw her.

  Shannon, walking so fast she was almost running in Kate’s direction, was waving frantically. Men were turning their heads appreciatively. Shannon was obviously as popular in Paris as she had been in London.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re actually here!’ What was it about an American accent that made people sound instantly cool, like they had just stepped off the set of a sitcom? Jokes just sounded funnier when Shannon told them in her smart East Coast accent. ‘How long have I been asking you to come, and then you just turn up without warning and expect me to drop everything and change all my plans to collect you from the train station!’ She grinned, threw her arms around Kate and squeezed hard.

  Her hug was so tight that Kate could hardly breathe. ‘I know, sorry. It was a spur of the moment decision.’

  Shannon kept hold of her for longer than Kate was expecting and, when she pulled away, her eyes were bright. If she hadn’t known that Shannon never cried, Kate would have sworn there were tears there. She still had hold of Kate’s arms as she frowned into her face. ‘Is everything okay?’

  No. Everything was not okay. Looking into Shannon’s kind blue eyes made Kate want to cry. But how could she explain how she was feeling without sounding like a petulant child? Shannon would think she was crazy. Or pathetic. Or ungrateful. Maybe she was. ‘Yes, everything’s fine. I just wanted to surprise you. Spend some time on our own. Have a girly dinner like the old days.’

  Although Kate hadn’t actually asked, she was hoping that she could stay overnight with Shannon. She hadn’t booked a return ticket yet and, in the last half an hour, had formed the beginnings of a plan for tomorrow. Tonight she would hang out and have fun; tomorrow she would sort out her other problems. Once she’d worked out exactly how to do that.

  Shannon stuck out her bottom lip. Close up, she didn’t look that well herself. She was terribly pale. ‘I can’t do dinner tonight; I have a work thing, I’m so sorry. Although I don’t know why I’m apologising as you are the one who has given me absolutely zero notice. How long are you planning on being here? Maybe you could come and meet me at the hotel after dinner?’ She looked at her watch. ‘I can’t even stay very long now; I have to meet our team of sales managers at the Louvre.’

  Kate felt a stab of jealousy. Shannon’s life was clearly a world away from her own ‘meetings’ at Jungle Madness soft play and adult torture centre. Shannon’s life was probably a whirl of stylish bars and clubs and nice restaurants which didn’t supply free activity sheets and crayons. What the hell was she going to do tonight if Shannon was busy? And where would she stay now? What had she been thinking, just turning up like this? Should she just turn around and try and get a ticket straight home? A familiar heat rose up in her. Just breathe. And smile. ‘That’s okay. I know your life is crazy busy. I was kind of hoping to stay until tomorrow, maybe get a late train back in the evening? I haven’t really… Do you have time for a quick coffee?’

  ‘A super quick one. This is not a great area but there’s a tolerable café just around the corner, where the waiters don’t roll their eyes at you if you pronounce things wrong. Let’s go there.’ Shannon pulled Kate’s arm through hers and started to lead her towards the road, ‘And when we get there you can tell me what this is all about. I’m not buying this surprise story.’

  That was easier said than done. Kate didn’t really know herself. Unhappiness wasn’t the right word, but she wasn’t sure what the right word was in English, American or French. The Germans would have a good word for it – they seemed to always have a perfect word for everything. But as her one year of school German had left her able only to say how many brothers and sisters she had and to order a cup of tea, she didn’t know what the word was in German either.

  The café was typically French: small round tables and wooden chairs packed together inside and spilling out onto the pavement, followed by the aroma of strong, dark coffee and the strains of Bruch’s Violin Concerto No. 2. Kate closed her eyes for a moment to absorb the warm, smoky smell and mournful sounds – the violin was not her instrument but no one could listen to this particular concerto and not be moved. It touched you. Her heart rate started to slow and her shoulders moved down from her ears. Breathe.

  Shannon smiled at her, then leaned back in her chair and raised an eyebrow at a young handsome waiter. He came straight over. They always did for her.

  ‘Qu’est-ce que je vous sers?’ Even the most ordinary-looking man could be transformed into an objec
t of desire when he spoke like that. How could Kate have left it so long to come back to Paris? The language, the music, the food: she loved it all.

  Shannon ordered two coffees and a croissant for Kate – apparently she’d just eaten and wasn’t hungry – and the waiter nodded and left. ‘So, come on, spill. What’s going on? The last time you did something this impulsive, I ended up cutting my head open on the glove compartment of your car.’

  A giggle bubbled in Kate’s stomach. That had been pre-Luke. Convinced the guy she was dating was two-timing her, she’d made Shannon accompany her on a stake-out of the pub he’d gone to. When he’d come to the door of the pub, Shannon had shouted ‘Go! Go! Go!’ and Kate had stuck her foot on the accelerator so hard that Shannon – who had been crouching forwards, taking her undercover role seriously – had ended up headbutting the glove compartment.

  ‘I’d forgotten about that! Your poor eye!’

  ‘Yeah, well. It wasn’t the only time a night out with you ended in physical harm. Good job I love you.’

  This was what Kate needed. Less than an hour in Shannon’s company and she already felt better. It had been a good idea to meet Shannon and talk things through, get her head straight, but she couldn’t do it on a time limit. What was she going to say? That she felt… lost? Finding yourself was something that happened on a gap-year break in Asia at eighteen. It was more than a little careless to be forty-one, married with kids and a mortgage, and realise you’d lost yourself again.

  ‘Let’s talk about that later. Tell me about you: what have you been doing since you moved here? How’s the job going? How’s it going with Robert? It’s been a year now – isn’t that a record for you?’

  Shannon blew on her coffee. She hadn’t actually drunk anything yet. ‘Yeah, everything’s great. Work is good – super, super busy, but good. Weekends are lazy, though. I still haven’t found a gym I like here so I seem to spend most of the time drinking coffee and reading.’

  Kate felt a wave of unbridled jealousy. This was what she missed. This easiness, this ability to do what you wanted, whenever you wanted. To be able to get up late on a Saturday, wander out for breakfast and spend all morning with the newspaper. When was the last time she’d read a newspaper? Not counting reading the headlines whilst in the queue in the supermarket. Sometimes Luke would come home and ask what she thought about some international disaster and she hadn’t even been aware that it had happened. The country could be at war and she wouldn’t even know until the tanks drove up the path.

  Shannon reached forward and squeezed Kate’s arm. ‘I haven’t met any good party buddies though. I’ve missed you so much. I can’t find anyone here who wants to take their heels off, walk home, cut their foot on a broken glass, end up in A&E and serenade the cab driver on the way home. I mean, these French chicks, they just don’t know how to enjoy themselves.’

  Kate screwed up her eyes and laughed. Had that really been her? If felt like another life. ‘I’m amazed we’re still alive sometimes. When Alice gets to that age I’m going to put a GoPro on her head and watch it like a hawk. What about Robert? I bet he takes you out to some fabulous places. Or do you stay in?’

  ‘He does take me to fabulous places. Although, there’s only so much champagne and oysters a girl can take,’ Shannon winked at her, her eyes bright, then took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair, stretching her long legs under the table. ‘You were absolutely right about Paris; it’s a great place to live. The fashion. The art. The amazing food.’

  At the mention of food, Kate felt a cold trickle down her back. Dinner! She hadn’t got any food out of the freezer for dinner. She smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand.

  Shannon put her head on one side. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Kate groaned. ‘You talking about food made me realise that I haven’t got anything out for the children’s dinner.’

  Shannon frowned. ‘Surely Luke can feed his own children?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Well, yes he can feed them. It’s what he will feed them that’s the problem. He’ll probably take them to Café M’s.’

  Shannon raised her coffee cup to her lips and took the tiniest sip before putting it down again. ‘Well, that sounds civilised.’

  ‘It’s not. Café M’s is McDonald’s.’ Kate paused for emphasis. She’d discovered this code name by accident when Alice had been overly keen for Luke to ‘take us to Café M’s again, Daddy’. Kate had asked Alice where Café M’s was and had been told, ‘It’s the place with the big yellow “M” on the front.’ After that, Luke had sheepishly confessed.

  Shannon didn’t seem shocked. ‘Surely that’s okay now and then? Anyway, how is lovely Luke? How are the children?’

  ‘Yeah, good, great.’ Kate fumbled in her bag for her mobile as her brain ran through dinner suggestions she could text to Luke. She also knew better than to get her phone out and show photos to Shannon. Of course Shannon would pretend to be interested, but…

  Shannon leaned forwards. ‘Have you got any photos of the kids?’

  That was a surprise. ‘Of course.’ Kate thumbed through her mobile and found a really cute one. The two of them at the bottom of a slide, Alice holding Thomas between her legs. They were so beautiful. Stop feeling guilty.

  ‘They’re gorgeous, Kate. Like mini versions of you and Luke.’ Shannon continued to stare at the photo as if she was searching for forensic evidence. ‘How did you know that you wanted kids?’

  How had they known? They’d been married for three years. Luke had his promotion in the offing. Kate had been bored senseless with her job and more than happy to have a reason to leave. ‘I don’t know, really, Shan. We just kind of thought it was a good time. Why?’ Kate narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you’re getting broody?’

  Shannon snapped her attention away from the screen and handed the phone back. ‘Me?’ She frowned and shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly!’

  Kate’s phone pinged. A text from the school. Her stomach plummeted. She sucked in a long breath and let it out slowly. Be rational. If one of the children had nose-dived off the play equipment or caught norovirus they would be calling, not texting. Don’t panic.

  But when she saw the message, it was almost as bad. She let her head fall down on the table.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Shannon put her drink down and her hand on Kate’s arm. ‘Is everything okay?’

  Kate lifted her head and groaned. ‘It’s a text from the school ParentCall system. To remind all the crap parents like me that it’s dress like a frickin’ farmer day on Monday.’

  Shannon sat back in her chair and laughed. ‘What the hell is that craziness?’

  Kate pressed her fingers into her eye sockets. How the hell had she not known about this? She had a vague memory of some paper mashed up in the bottom of Alice’s bag last week, sodden from a leaky water bottle accident. She’d been swearing about it under her breath – Why the hell do they have to bring those bottles to and from school and not just leave them there? They’ve got taps, haven’t they? – and she definitely remembered scraping out the bottom of the bag and slapping what had looked like a failed papier mâché project into the recycling bin. There had been some choice ‘square words’.

  She split her fingers apart and looked through them at Shannon. ‘Apparently they are planting seeds and the kids are dressing up.’

  Shannon screwed up her face. ‘In heaven’s name, why? I mean, the planting thing I get, but why do they need a costume?’

  Kate took her fingers away from her face and shrugged. ‘To make it fun, I guess. Or possibly just to torture the parents who now have to run around like headless chickens to find a damn costume.’

  Shannon picked up her coffee, sniffed it and put it down again. ‘What do farmers even wear? Jeans? Overalls? Doesn’t she have a pair of jeans?’

  Kate shook her head slowly. ‘It’s not as easy as all that. I’ll need to get a checked shirt from somewhere. A straw hat, maybe.’ She started to tap on the desk. �
��It’s too late for eBay. And if I get the last train home tomorrow our local Primark will be closed and I don’t think it’s open on a Sunday. I wonder if Sainsbury’s would have something suitable? And cheap.’

  Shannon laughed. Kate had forgotten how deep and sexy her laugh was. It wasn’t wasted on the two guys who looked over from the table by the door. ‘Are you insane? Why has she got to have a checked shirt and a hat?’

  Kate sighed deeply. It was like explaining it to Luke. ‘Because I would stake my life that the rest of the children will have that already sorted out. And hair! What do girl farmers do with their hair? Plaits? I am totally crap at doing plaits.’ And she would also stake her life that Melissa’s daughter would have some sheaves-of-wheat-entwined hair construction. Harvest festival hair. Dammit.

  Shannon leaned forward and patted her hand. ‘Okay, crazy lady. That’s enough now. Stick her in jeans and a T-shirt and be done with it.’

  Kate didn’t try to explain. Shannon didn’t have kids. She wouldn’t understand. She pressed down the butterflies in her stomach. She’d call Nina as soon as she got to her hotel. Or as soon as she actually found a hotel. This last-minute thing was a little bit stressful.

  Shannon reached over and squeezed Kate’s hand. ‘What are you going to do tonight on your own? I feel really guilty leaving you, and we haven’t even talked properly yet.’

  Kate opened her mouth to reassure her that she’d be fine, when a rather tall gentleman made his way over.

  ‘Well, well. Shannon Ryan! How are you?’

  Shannon stood and hugged him. ‘Graham! I’m great, this is my friend Kate – she’s from England, too. Kate, this is Graham Sparks. He used to work in the office on the same floor as mine.’

  Graham nodded hello at Kate. ‘I’m back in the UK now. Although I seem to be over here more often than when I lived here. Do you live in Paris?’