‘Call him. God, Lise – if you can Skype your dad’s wife, you can call a guy you love.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I know, right? Except that I can’t. I’m scared I’ve blown it.’
‘As soon as you hear his voice it will be okay,’ Mackenzie said, ‘seriously, Lise.’
It was silly calling him this late at night, I reasoned. He’d be out with Edouard and Max, drinking in some groovy bar, and they’d be telling him it was okay I wouldn’t go with him – I was nobody. He was worth more than me.
I’d call him in the morning. I’d definitely ring in the morning. Or I’d text.
I didn’t sleep. Babette and I watched the phone. It sat there, mute. At three a.m. I went to the window and watched Paris. A couple walked home. One of the homeless guys staggered past with a piece of cardboard. He was singing to himself.
At four I composed a speech for Madame Christophe. How much would she already know? At five I wondered whether Mackenzie had been right and that clairvoyants had a code of ethics. Maybe she wasn’t allowed to look into my future until I asked her? Even then, would she tell me anything bad? At six I took up the hem of Babette’s tunic. I really needed an iron, but I folded the fabric as firmly as I could and pressed it down with the flat of my hand. It was a pity she didn’t have a hat. At seven I looked at Paris waking up. At eight I did all the yoga poses I could remember from when Ami and I had a crush on the instructor at the local aquatic centre. I tried to breathe the way he had taught us.
At nine I texted Hugo. Please ring me. Please. At nine-thirty I went down to breakfast. Even though it was late, Madame Christophe was there reading a magazine she put down as soon as she saw me. ‘I have been thinking of your education,’ she said, as though that was the most natural thing in the world to occupy her thoughts. ‘I understand it seems like the plan of a featherbrain, but I applaud your decision.’
‘My decision?’
‘But yes, the decision to go to England. It is excellent timing as the usual occupant of your apartment returns to Paris early. There was an incident with some regrettable seafood. It made the vacation less joyful than anticipated.’
‘I hadn’t decided,’ I said, plopping Babette on my lap as though she were Napoléon. Madame Christophe was kicking me out?
‘Such a beautiful doll. You made her clothes yourself? You have talents you should bring into the light more often. Of course, you have decided.’ She arched one eyebrow at me. ‘Have you not?’
‘Not exactly.’ I was breathless. ‘Hugo and I – I haven’t heard from him.’
‘But England, it would not just be for Hugo. It would be for you, also. An opportunity to see more, to continue this voyage of life.’
‘Well, yes. It would.’
‘I can refund the rent for the next few weeks. This is no trouble at all.’ Madame Christophe smiled and placed her hand on my arm. The rings on her fingers glinted gold and glittered with small precious stones.
‘Thank you, Madame. That is kind.’
‘Paris will always be here. For the haute couture it is irreplaceable. I think you will learn more about yourself in England. When Destiny elbows you, it is wise to listen.’
‘But is Destiny elbowing me?’ I asked. ‘Is it Destiny or is it just being irresponsible? I’m ditching my plans, Madame Christophe. I’m wasting money and time on a wisp of a dream, aren’t I?’
‘You are choosing the life you wish to pursue, are you not?’
‘Do I have that choice?’
‘Who else but you has it? You cannot do always what your mother expects. You cannot do always as your teacher tells you. Or a boyfriend. Or a husband. You must decide for yourself, Lisette, what is best for you. As for the money, pouf!’ She pretended to blow it away in a disdainful puff. ‘The money, it comes. It goes. If it helps, try to hear your father’s voice inside your head. What would he have advised?’
‘You just told me I shouldn’t do what other people tell me!’
‘But if you are going to listen to other people, listen to them all. Assemble the arguments. Then make your own decision. Of course, if you decide to stay in Paris, I can find you another arrangement. That is no problem. But I do not think this is really what you want.’
I put my hands over my face. It was too hard. As soon as I thought that, I wondered why it was hard. Was there something wrong with me? People crossed the Channel all the time. They surrendered plane tickets or paid to change them. It happened. I wanted to see England. I wanted to see Wales, where my father had decided to live and where he had died. It would be best to see it with Hugo – but I could decide to go on my own. Even if I didn’t see Hugo again in Paris, even if he didn’t return my texts, maybe when I got to England he’d realise we were worth a second chance. In the meantime, no one had died.
‘I have to ring him,’ I said, ‘and explain everything.’ But Madame Christophe had turned back to her magazine as if she had known all along what I was going to do.
When I called Hugo, heart pounding, clutching Babette in my free hand, a strange voice answered the phone. It was a woman’s voice, speaking French. She was not Maxine.
I switched to French. I explained it was important I speak to Hugo. That was simply not possible, the voice answered. Hugo was unable to take calls. Who was she? I asked her straight out.
‘I am a friend of the family,’ she said. Family friends weren’t supposed to sound sexy. ‘And who are you?’ She was amused.
I considered the question. Who was I? It was difficult to know who I was in relation to Hugo anymore. Did I have any claim on his affection or was he now comforting himself with this ‘family friend’? In the end I settled for simply saying my name.
‘I shall tell him you called,’ she promised, but I didn’t believe she would. ‘He is currently out of reach.’
What did that even mean? I thanked her through gritted teeth and hung up. ‘I don’t care,’ I lied to Babette, ‘I really don’t care. I’m going anyway. Madame Christophe’s right – Destiny has elbowed me. We’re going,’ I amended, wondering how I was going to pack the doll.
Methodically I made the arrangements. I rang the airline and waited on hold. I explained to the bored staff that I needed to change my ticket and that, yes, I did understand the cost involved but I didn’t care. I left Hugo out of the conversation – I didn’t want them thinking I was the victim of another holiday romance. I told them instead about my father’s wife and how we’d made contact. In the end I settled on a reduced refund. I didn’t book a return flight. I could do that anytime.
I booked a rail ticket on the Eurostar. One way. It was a seat that was surrounded by empty seats. There was still a chance. Maybe there was still a chance.
When I’d done it all, I rang Maxine. As soon as she answered I said I knew I’d hurt Hugo but to please not hang up on me, and told her that I was going after all, that I had been unable to contact Hugo but wondered if someone could possibly give him my ticket information? Her tone was courteous but cool. I babbled out the train time and my seat number. ‘Please, Maxine, tell him I’m going to England. I’ve made more time for us.’
She said she would pass this message on. I believed her. Before she hung up, she wished me good luck. ‘Bonne chance,’ she said and her voice sounded warm and kind. I googled the weather in London. I checked out the Victoria and Albert website and then, for good measure, I finally put my father’s name in Google. It immediately came up with a dozen hits. He seemed quite well-represented in regional galleries. That made me feel better.
Then I went downstairs to tell Madame Christophe everything that I’d achieved.
She was not alone. Fabienne was seated in the client’s chair in the shop. There were no cards spread out; instead there were teacups and the familiar scent of Madame Christophe’s linden tea.
‘Ah, Lisette.’ Fabienne half rose and I obediently kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You disappear, too. They all come and go, these students. I will have a whole new class soon. Such is the job.
I begin again. I correct all their accents. I correct all their attitudes. I tell them about Paris, art and life.’
‘You are wonderful,’ Madame Christophe clucked and at the same time shot me an unmistakable prompt.
‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘I am very grateful.’
‘When you return to Australia where they learn nothing, you will need to practise with someone very French,’ Fabienne said. ‘If you return to Australia. Otherwise you will sound ugly again. Now, I must go. I have seen these shoes, oh là là, they make me wish to – how do you say it in English? When your heart, it . . .’ She made a funny jerky gesture with her hand.
‘Skips?’ I guessed wildly.
‘Perfect,’ Fabienne purred. ‘Bon voyage, Lisette. Bonne chance!’
How did she know I’d need good luck?
‘So, you rang him?’ Madame Christophe turned her attention to me.
‘I didn’t speak to him. There was a woman. A “family friend”. But I can go anyway.’
Madame Christophe removed a deck of cards from the desk drawer and began to shuffle them. ‘You can,’ she agreed. ‘You have a train ticket?’
‘I have,’ I said, and felt unexpectedly proud of myself. ‘I leave on Saturday.’
Madame Christophe cut the cards and showed me the images. On one side was the Two of Cups and on the other The Fool. She laughed. ‘The cards are always correct,’ she said, ‘see, both are true. The Two of Cups, minor arcana of the Lovers and the Fool – look how he dances, so close to the edge with his little dog.’
The Fool was not reassuring. ‘What does it mean?’
‘Life,’ Madame Christophe said cryptically, and slapped the pack together again. ‘That is all that it means, Lisette.’
‘That’s not very helpful.’
‘Lisette, it is absolutely helpful! It is the most helpful advice the cards can give.’
‘I don’t even have a dog,’ I said, clutching Napoléon as though he would make all the difference.
Madame Christophe rolled her eyes. ‘A dog is not what you need to catch the train.’
‘Do you think I’ll see him again?’ I asked her.
‘I think you will find what is necessary to you,’ Madame Christophe said. ‘And, of course, he must do the same.’
Was he necessary to me? Was I necessary to him? I thought of his smile, which made two little creases around his mouth, and expressive eyes. I remembered the way his trousers always hung off his hips, rather than his waist, the fraying cuffs and collar points. I remembered us lying together in my bed, arms wrapped around each other and the heat rising. We’d been on the way to becoming necessary to each other. I just hoped we hadn’t blown it.
EVEN MORE RULES
Pack so that if your suitcase is checked by customs, you’re not embarrassed when your oldest knickers and bra fall out on the airport floor. Who told me that? Who cares what falls on the airport floor, so long as it’s legal? And I’ve nothing better to do. If I pack beautifully, he’ll text me.
It was my last proper day in Paris. Packing made me think about how Mum had tried to help me pack when I was leaving Melbourne. I’d held her off. I’d shouted, ‘I’m doing it my way! I’m not a baby.’ I was sorry I’d been so mean. Would she see my actions as a betrayal? Would she think I was turning out like my father? Was that such a bad thing? I thought of Sarah and her bouncing dreads. They’d had chooks together. She had called him her soulmate. I was never going to be my dad or my mum. I was myself, Lisette Rose Addams, and I was packing to go to England.
Somewhere at the beginning of packing, I recognised how precision had staved off Mum’s anxiety and held fear at bay. Somewhere in the middle, I admired how my clothes sat in my suitcase, the shoulder seams resolute, the edges defined. At the end, I was surprised at how little Paris had physically weighed me down. Some new boots and clothes, a small espresso maker, a fish-eye camera, catalogues from exhibitions. Babette, of course – although she wasn’t really mine. I wrapped my glass woman carefully in a T-shirt. She would always remind me now of meeting Hugo. I folded my canvas backpack into the suitcase. Everything I needed for the train would fit into my daisy handbag.
After some soul-searching I threw my Vivienne Westwood homage into the bin. The girl who had needed that skirt was gone. I would leave Paris in grown-up clothes. I wasn’t forsaking Vivienne, but the next homage would be well-made! I texted Mackenzie to tell her my decision.
You go, girl! she replied. One day I bet you find an authentic Westwood at some market! I’m so excited for you! We’ll have bon voyage drinks with Goldie. I’m going to miss you, Lise, my Australian friend.
I didn’t Skype Mum but I sent her an email. I told her I was going to England and that I knew it wouldn’t make sense to her and that she’d worry but that Madame Christophe had encouraged me. I figured Madame Christophe would smooth things over with Mum and I knew how much Mum respected her clairvoyant. I said that it wasn’t all about Hugo. I was going to Wales, to meet Sarah and see my father’s world. I confessed that I wasn’t even sure that Hugo wanted to see me again. I told her how much I loved her. I told her I missed her and that I was sorry we had parted on such bad terms. I told her Vietnam sounded exciting and asked her to give my love to Ami and Vinh.
I Skyped Ami.
‘I’m doing it,’ I told her.
‘I knew you would,’ she said. Her fingernails were dark green. She waggled them at me in case I hadn’t noticed.
‘I threw away my kilt,’ I said.
‘Good. I never did think it worked. Hey – thanks for the stay-ups!’ She lifted one leg up so I could see she was wearing the stockings I’d sent. ‘They’re fabulous. When you get to London, send me a policeman, yeah? Or a tall Irish guy. Talk me up to one of Hugo’s friends.’
‘I don’t know whether I’m seeing him again,’ I said, then I told her the whole story.
‘But you’re still going?’
‘Yes. I mean, I’m still hoping to hear from him, obviously, but I’m going even if I don’t. I want to see the Victoria and Albert.’
‘So, you’ll phone him when you get there?’
‘If I haven’t heard from him before, yes. I guess that’s what I’ll do.’
‘You’ve got a place to stay?’ Ami was sounding more and more like my mother.
‘I’ve looked up some places. I’ll find a hostel.’ I said it as though I always set off with no fixed destination in mind. I pretended to be nonchalant. ‘It’s the United Kingdom, after all, not the Gobi Desert. I like the nail polish.’
‘It matches my uniform – I’m one of Vinh’s minions. Hey, he’s talking about taking Sally to Vietnam. He’s started a Pinterest board.’
‘That’s so weird.’
‘That he’s taking Sally to Vietnam? Why is that strange? They’ll have a ball.’
‘I knew that – once Mum mentioned fabric! No, that he’s got a Pinterest board!’
‘Vinh moves with the times. Or that’s what he thinks. He still isn’t on Instagram. I have to set that up for the business.’
‘I miss you,’ I said.
‘I miss you too, but the way I’m earning, I’ll be over there before you can say Doctor Who. So long as I pass economics.’ Mackenzie texted me and we met up with Goldie at the Scottish bar we’d made our local.
‘I can’t believe you’re doing this,’ Mackenzie said, raising her glass to clink with us.
‘Yes, bon voyage, Lisette.’ Goldie chinked her glass. ‘Love that shirt! Did you do the sales?’
‘I wanted something different,’ I said.
‘You’re different,’ Mackenzie said. ‘Don’t you think, Goldie?’
‘Am I? What do you mean?’
‘You’re more solid,’ she said eventually, ‘like, if I had painted you in that first class, I’d have chosen watercolours or pastels, you know? Back then it was as though you were in dress-up clothes, trying to be bold. You’ve moved from a sketch to a painting.’
‘That’s so American,�
� Goldie complained.
‘It’s so Canadian.’ Mackenzie rolled her eyes. ‘America doesn’t have a monopoly on pop psychology.’
‘Really? That surprises me.’ Goldie laughed and clinked our glasses again. ‘To friendship across the seas.’
‘That’s so old-fashioned,’ Mackenzie said, ‘but I guess you’re not a brash new Canadian.’
‘Exactly. Where I come from, we give bon voyage presents. Lise, these are for you.’ She poured a small glass bead necklace into my cupped hand. ‘I know we’ll keep in touch, but I wanted to give you something you’d remember me by.’
‘They are beautiful,’ I said and held the necklace up so Mackenzie could see how each bead was subtly different – the blues and greens shifting shades like an ocean. Mackenzie did the clasp up for me and we all admired how they looked with my new shirt.
‘I brought something, too,’ Mackenzie said shyly. ‘It’s not as beautiful as Goldie’s present but – anyway. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want you to have it.’ She slid a large envelope into my hand. ‘I would have framed it but I was worried about the weight. It’s fixed and everything, so it won’t smudge. Just keep it as flat as you can.’
I opened the envelope and carefully took out something that was sandwiched between two thick pieces of card. It was a sketch portrait of me. Mackenzie must have done it in French class because my notebook was in front of me and my left hand was holding a pencil to my mouth. The sketch, hasty though it was, caught me exactly, leaning forward, slightly anxious with my too-broad mouth open and my eyes wide and steady.
I looked from Mackenzie to Goldie and back again. ‘You have been – no, you are – the best friends. I will miss you so much. Paris would not have been half so wonderful without you.’
It was after midnight when I crawled up the five flights to my apartment. It was no longer mine, I thought, in a wash of sadness as I turned the key. It was no longer my apartment. I had packed and by tomorrow morning, every last reminder of me would be erased. There was still no word from Hugo – perhaps he had also erased me. I kicked the phone under my bed. Stupid, silent thing.
Lisette's Paris Notebook Page 21
