Lisette's Paris Notebook

by Catherine Bateson

  ‘I know. It’s stupid.’

  ‘Just a bit,’ Ami said. ‘It could just be a weekend – or even a week sightseeing and then you could come back to Paris and then he might come back to Paris to see you the next weekend.’

  ‘He’s got a job. In Yorkshire. It won’t be the next weekend. And then, anyway, I come back to Australia – and people don’t do that all the time, do they? They don’t cross back and forth to the other side of the world for the weekend.’

  Ami examined her nails and then she waved them at me. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘glittery, aren’t they? But you know what? I can change nail polish it if it’s too much after a week.’

  ‘You’re saying that you can change your feelings if they’re too much? Shallow, Ami.’

  ‘No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying you need to put things in perspective, Lise. Nothing needs to be permanent. Decisions don’t. You have the power.’

  Except Ami was wrong. I didn’t have any power. Hugo had walked off without even waving goodbye. He’d left me for another appointment. Probably with his distinguished client. Who was probably a woman. That’s what Edouard had implied: I remembered the wink. I hadn’t had a chance to ask Hugo about that. It had slipped to the back of my mind, lost in the whirlwind of museum-going and park-kissing.

  The more I thought of it, though, the more it made sense. He had a back-up plan. I had nothing, only French lessons, Madame Christophe (and Napoléon), a return ticket to Australia and work for the rest of the year – work so I could afford to go to uni to study something I wasn’t sure I wanted to study. Hugo had a distinguished client who was probably pouring him champagne and clinking crystal glasses with him as I cried at my computer.

  ‘You have the power,’ Ami repeated stubbornly. ‘What do you want, Lise? What do you really want?’

  ‘I want Hugo,’ I whispered. ‘I want him but it’s impossible, Ami. It’s just not going to work out.’

  Ami shrugged. ‘You don’t know that, Lise, you don’t know anything. Anyway, I’ve got to go. I don’t think I do want to sparkle for much longer. I’m going to ring the nail place and make a booking. Blue glitter is for mermaids. I want to be tougher than this. Lise, why don’t you get your nails done? Or buy some more boots? Remind yourself that you are in control. That you can be tough – what happened to the girl who stomps around in her Docs? What happened to her?’

  She’s falling in love, I said to myself. She’s falling in love and she’s really confused. It’s just a phase, like blue glitter or ox-blood Docs. Or is it something more?

  When Mum was a little girl, she had a collection of foreign dolls. One day she’d planned to give them to me, but when my grandmother died we discovered she’d got rid of them. ‘Probably just op-shopped them,’ Mum had said bitterly. She’d described the little Japanese doll with her collection of wigs. ‘I’d change her wigs,’ she’d told me. ‘I’d make her kneel for the tea ceremony. She could have just saved her. Just her.’

  I tramped through the Louvre all the next day – so huge. So exhausting. I’d woken up to a text from Hugo apologising and asking me to forgive him but I’d deliberately left my phone at home so I wouldn’t text him straight back. I wanted him to be sorrier. I wanted him to suffer. When I got home I had the beginning of a headache and my feet were hurting. Hugo was waiting outside with a shopping bag of food.

  ‘Please,’ he said, ‘let’s call a pax?’

  ‘Pax?’

  ‘Peace. Let’s break bread together. I’m sorry I was an arse.’

  I let him follow me up the stairs. ‘You just seemed to change,’ I said. ‘I thought we were being brave and bold and not worrying about the future?’

  ‘It sounds okay in theory’ – Hugo sounded gloomy – ‘but in real life it’s crap. Let’s face it, Lisette. It’s crap. I think . . . oh, never mind.’

  ‘I don’t know where we’re going to eat this. On the bed?’

  ‘Cosy,’ Hugo said. ‘That’s one advantage of these maid’s rooms. Very intimate.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘If we don’t want intimate contact with crumbs, we’d better get plates.’

  ‘So what do you want intimate contact with?’ Hugo did a pretend leer as we settled cross-legged, facing each other on the bed.

  ‘I think you know.’

  Our knees were touching and I knew my skirt had ridden more than halfway up my thigh. A picnic in bed – that was practically an invitation, wasn’t it? I wanted it to be, but I was also nervous.

  ‘Is this how you’ve seduced all your other boyfriends?’ Hugo fed me a piece of baguette.

  ‘I thought you were seducing me,’ I asked, putting an olive in his mouth. ‘Also I haven’t had many boyfriends, actually.’

  ‘What about Anders?’

  ‘He was never a boyfriend,’ I said, ‘he was just charming. For the wrong reasons.’

  ‘But in Australia?’

  Here was the talk I’d been avoiding. I’d alluded to boyfriends. Well, a boyfriend. I’d kept my inexperience secret. I’d let Hugo tell me about Maxine and the Camden girl while I’d evaded his questions. All he really knew was that I was single. He also knew that my home life hadn’t been conducive to boyfriends, but I suppose he thought – as anyone would – that teenagers would get around that.

  ‘Look,’ I said to distract him. ‘My blister! I told you I’d walked forever.’

  Hugo cupped my foot gently in his hand. ‘Poor foot,’ he said. ‘So, boyfriends?’

  ‘Do you want some wine?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll open it,’ Hugo said, ‘you keep talking.’

  ‘I don’t know what to tell you.’

  Hugo prised the cork out of the bottle and poured the wine. ‘Have you been in love?’

  The question caught me off balance. I’d expected something different. I thought of Ben, how my heart had beaten faster when he’d walked into the classroom. ‘Yes,’ I said finally, ‘yes, I’ve been in love.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, it didn’t work out. Obviously.’

  ‘But while it did?’

  ‘It wasn’t like what you had with Maxine or the Camden girl. It was just a school thing. Everyone knew we were together but we didn’t go on proper dates. Sometimes I watched him play footy and then his mum or dad would drop me home after the game. Sometimes we went to the movies and my mum would drive him home. It was like that. He wasn’t comfortable at my place with Mum always there. And his younger brothers wouldn’t leave us alone at his house.’

  Hugo looked confused. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘He got his licence,’ I said, ‘then we broke up.’

  ‘Then you came to Paris? It must have been some break-up.’

  ‘It was last year!’

  ‘And then you had his love child, decided to adopt it out and have regretted it ever since?’ Hugo waggled his eyebrows at me. ‘Which is why you never talk about him?’

  ‘I said it was a school thing.’

  ‘He cheated on you with Shari who had a nose ring and you murdered them both and were subsequently expelled?’

  I knew he thought he was making it easier. ‘I don’t know if I want to tell you.’

  Hugo put his wine on the floor, rummaged through his backpack and took out a package that he unwrapped. He held up a small doll wearing torn undergarments. She had a painted face and her body was made from some kind of fabric. Her mouth was surprised and her dark hair slightly unruly. I leant over and smoothed it down. It was real hair.

  ‘Oh, Hugo, where did you get her?’

  ‘Lise, meet Babette. Babette, this is Lise. I’ve told you about her.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Babette,’ I said. Hugo’s attention was firmly placed on the doll he’d balanced on his knee.

  ‘About time he introduced us,’ the doll said. ‘I’ve been saying, you ashamed of me or what?’

  I laughed. ‘Hugo, I didn’t know you were a ventriloquist!’ ‘Here!’ Babette said. ‘Don’t pay him no attention. He’s just alo
ng for the ride.’

  Even though she wasn’t a proper ventriloquist’s doll and Hugo was holding her on his knee, there was something about her that was real in the subdued light of the apartment. ‘I’m sorry, Babette.’

  ‘That’s orright, darling, you weren’t to know. Come on, tell us the whole sorry story, then.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I glanced nervously at Hugo. ‘You promise not to laugh?’

  ‘I can’t answer for him.’ Babette’s head jerked towards Hugo. ‘But I won’t, luvvie. Us girls have to stick together.’

  ‘I won’t promise,’ Hugo said. ‘But I’ll try my best not to.’

  ‘I’ll bash him if he laughs,’ Babette offered, ‘and that’s a promise.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Well, because my dad didn’t stick around to see me born, there was always an anti-boy vibe at home.’

  ‘Boys,’ Babette said, ‘can’t live with them, can’t live without them.’

  ‘Except my mum did – and I lived with her lectures about being careful and how you just couldn’t trust men. In Year Nine Ami and I pretended we were lesbians just so we didn’t have to produce a boy to moon over. It was funny at first and then it got a bit old. I grew my hair and Ami started wearing skirts, but it didn’t change anyone’s mind so we just lived with it. Then Ben came along in Year Ten. He was new to the school, kind of dorky.’

  ‘There’s hope for me. I’m the original dork.’

  I remembered what Ben had been like in Year Ten: a weedy nerd with acne. He wouldn’t have even made it onto my radar except that we’d been put on the same debating team and I felt sorry for him. He was so obviously at a disadvantage. Then I heard him argue – he was dynamite. Irritating dynamite because he thought he knew everything. That made me try harder to prove him wrong. We debated everything and realised we’d become friends.

  ‘By Year Twelve,’ I said, ‘Ben had turned from an ugly duckling into a swan.’

  ‘No hope for you.’ Babette turned her head slightly towards Hugo. Her expression took on a slyness. ‘You’re still in the duckling phase, boyo.’

  ‘Anyway, that’s when he asked me out, at the beginning of that year. We made out a lot at school but it didn’t go any further than that. Then Ben got his licence. We decided we should, you know . . . do it.’ This was the part I didn’t want to talk about, but I ploughed on. ‘He borrowed his mum’s car and we drove up the mountain – that’s where you go, if you can’t do it at home.’

  ‘The old shag in the back seat. Doesn’t happen where we come from, does it boyo?’

  ‘No.’ Hugo shook his head at Babette. ‘Not so much. A knee-trembler after Friday night at the pub, maybe?’ He sounded amused but he wasn’t laughing. That was something. Anyway, I wasn’t telling him – I was telling Babette.

  ‘It should have been fine,’ I said. ‘Ben and I were excited but a bit scared. We talked about the future. Taking a trip together.’

  ‘They do that,’ Babette said. ‘Let me tell you about the promises boys have made to me. Oops, sorry – it’s not all about me.’

  ‘It was Noosa,’ I said, ‘just a trip to Noosa.’

  ‘It wasn’t London.’ Babette cackled. ‘You’ve got the edge there, Hugo-boy.’

  ‘Shut up, Babs.’ Hugo was stern.

  ‘Ooh, he called me Babs. He must be riled.’

  ‘We’d been sitting outside but then it got a little cold, so we moved into the car.’

  I remembered the aftershave he always wore. Everything was familiar and everything was new. The car had been cramped but we’d managed to get almost comfortable. We’d made out some more and then, half-undressed . . .

  ‘You’re in the car?’ Babette’s voice nudged me back to the present.

  ‘Half-undressed and you know, nearly . . . and suddenly there’s a light shining through the car window. I screamed.’

  ‘I should bloody well think so.’ Babette was indignant. ‘Some pervert, love?’

  ‘I couldn’t see who it was,’ I said. Even thinking about it still made the hairs on my neck stand on end and shivers snake down my skin. I had been utterly terrified at that moment. ‘I thought it was a serial killer,’ I told Babette. Her eyes seemed to flicker even though they were painted on.

  ‘And it was a pervert?’ she asked again sympathetically.

  ‘A policeman.’

  ‘Oh bloody hell.’ Babette’s voice sounded strained, as though she was choking back laughter. I couldn’t look at Hugo.

  ‘I understand that it’s funny,’ I said. ‘Except it wasn’t. I may have peed a little because I was so scared.’

  ‘I always pee when I’m scared,’ Babette confided. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Ben and I scrambled into our clothes. Ben was swearing and I was crying. Then the policeman knocked at the door and Ben had to unlock it and show him his licence. The policeman gave us a lecture on having sex in a public place. We hadn’t even got that far. If only Ben had laughed or we’d talked about it. I mean, I’d been terrified, but I would have seen the funny side later, I think. He dropped me home and said that he’d see me at school. But he didn’t text me. He didn’t answer my texts. Nothing.’

  ‘See,’ Babette said, ‘men! What did I tell you? No finer feelings. No empathy.’

  ‘I was responsible too. I was the one who had suggested Mount Dandenong. Who knew the police were patrolling the area? They didn’t usually but there’d been a spate of drug-related crimes, petty things. We were unlucky. It still might have been okay. We might have been okay.’ My voice cracked. ‘But . . .’

  ‘There’s more?’ Babette said. ‘You go on, spill the beans. Got to get an experience like that off your chest.’

  ‘He avoided me in class. I thought I’d give him space. I guessed he was cranky about the whole thing. Then he didn’t turn up for debating. After our team won, Ami, Julia and I went back to Julia’s. Her parents were away somewhere, so she’d organised for us to stay over because we all had spares the next morning. It was meant to be a serious study night – Julia wanted help with a photography assessment. I think Ami and I were pleased to have been asked. So we were all working away when her older brother decided to make some cocktails. He was studying hospitality.’

  ‘So you got elephant’s trunk and blabbed the whole thing?’

  ‘Elephant’s trunk?’

  ‘Elephant’s trunk, drunk. Rhyming slang. Bit of a cockney, our Babette.’

  ‘Yes. I was tipsy and showing off,’ I said miserably. ‘Julia’s brother is gay and funny and kept saying how charming we all were and didn’t Julia have unusually intelligent friends. I told the story because I wanted to be funny too. Ben and I split up after that, of course. He finally sent me a text. Ending it. He didn’t really ever talk to me again.’

  ‘Oh love,’ Babette said, ‘but that’s not the end of the world, is it? Got to get back on the horse, girl.’

  ‘By the end of the year it had become a cautionary story. You know, my brother knew someone who went parking up at the mountain and was told off by a policeman. Also, no other boy took Ben’s place. So, you know. I don’t know that much.’

  ‘You don’t have to know that much,’ Babette said and her voice was so kind it nearly undid me. ‘In my experience, you follow your heart and things work out. More or less.’

  I got off the bed and put the plates away on the kitchen sink. When I turned back, Hugo was stretched out on the bed, Babette lying beside him. His shirt had come untucked. I wanted to touch the skin that was revealed, trace my fingers over it.

  ‘Come here,’ Hugo said. He shifted to my end of the bed. ‘Come and lie down with me.’

  There wasn’t really enough room but Hugo pulled my head onto his chest and I curled around him. I waited for a couple of minutes and then, tentatively, I put my hand on his stomach, just above the pulled-out shirt. I slid my fingers down to the gap where his skin was warm and soft. Then I tilted my head up to his and we kissed. We kissed each other breathless. He untuc
ked my T-shirt and I felt, rather than heard, him sigh as he touched my skin. We paused for breath and then kissed again. And again. I’d undone his top three shirt buttons when he pushed me away.

  ‘What? Hugo? Is something wrong?’

  ‘The thing is,’ he said after a long breath, ‘I don’t want to go that far if it just ends here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There are – I don’t know – intervals in a relationship. You can walk away in the pause. You can say, oh well, that wasn’t going to work out. I could walk away now. Sadly, of course. But I don’t know how I’ll cope if we become . . . more intimate.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you’re saying,’ I said.

  ‘I’m saying come home with me,’ Hugo said, putting his hand over mine. ‘Come to London and see what we’re like. Give us a little more time.’

  ‘My timing sucks,’ I said. ‘Don’t ask me, Hugo. You know why I can’t.’

  ‘Are you living your own life? Or are you living your mum’s life?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. I could feel Hugo’s heart beating next to my cheek. ‘I don’t know what I want. I don’t know if I should even go to uni. I don’t know anything. I walked everywhere in the Louvre today. My head hurts and I have a blister.’ My voice rose in a wail and tears ran onto Hugo’s shirt. I was so tired.

  Hugo stroked my hair and started to sing quietly. It was some kind of lullaby but the words were all wrong. Who called their kid Mucky? What lullaby threatened a kid with a whack? When the song ended I nudged him. ‘More?’

  I hadn’t heard the end of the last song. That was my first thought when I woke up. One of my legs was half out of the narrow bed and Hugo was pressed against me. I could feel his breath on my neck. I had no idea what the time was but there was hardly any light visible through the crack between the curtains. My back was too hot with Hugo so close. I wanted to move away and I didn’t want to move at all. His hand rested between my breasts. I’d never felt so close to anyone, I thought, not even Ben and certainly not Anders. I shifted experimentally and Hugo gave a little sigh, then his breath returned to normal. I stroked his hand and his body twitched.