by Gwyneth Rees
‘Esmie . . .’ There was a gentle knock on my door.
‘Go away,’ I called out.
My door opened anyway and Juliette walked in.
‘Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?’ I hissed at her. I wanted to say something really mean, and it wasn’t until she’d come all the way over and sat down beside me on my bed that I thought of something. ‘Or don’t they have that in stupid old France?’
‘You are angry with me, not with France, I think,’ Juliette said, looking down at me solemnly.
‘I’m not angry,’ I said, turning on to my side so I didn’t have to look at her.
She put one hand on my leg. ‘Come on, Esmie. You are very angry!’
‘No, I’m not, so just shove off !’
‘See what I mean?’
‘Go back to your precious France! I don’t care. I think France is stupid anyway, the way you all sit around eating cheese all day and . . .’ I stopped because she had started to laugh. I pulled my legs up and twisted round so that I was sitting up on the bed. ‘I wish you’d never come here! And why did you tell Dad you wanted to be more to me than just an au pair, if you didn’t mean it?’
She stopped laughing then. She looked puzzled at first, then she realized what I was talking about. ‘You were listening to our conversation the other night?’ When I didn’t reply, she continued speaking anyway. ‘Esmie, I am sorry I have upset you. What I meant was that I hope that you and I can still be friends long after I stop being your au pair.’ She paused, looking at me more closely. ‘Esmie, if I was much older or something, who knows . . . maybe then I would have romantic feelings for your father. But right now, to me, he seems a bit like my father. Can you understand that?’
I frowned. ‘Your father?’
She nodded. ‘My father is only a little older than yours.’
‘Really?’ Somehow I hadn’t thought of Juliette having a father of her own back in France, especially not one who was anything like mine.
She nodded. ‘Yes. We argued a lot when I lived at home. He was very strict with me when I was a teenager.’ She smiled. ‘He said he thought I needed it. We argued even more than Matthew and your dad. You should have heard us!’
‘I don’t argue very much with Dad,’ I said, because suddenly it seemed really important to prove that Juliette and I – and our fathers – were very different.
‘No,’ Juliette said. ‘You don’t. But you might when you get older. You are his little girl now and he is happy with that. But fathers sometimes find it difficult to watch their little girls grow up and leave them.’
‘I won’t ever leave Dad,’ I said, fiercely. ‘When I grow up and get married, he can come and live with me if he wants to.’
Juliette didn’t say anything. She picked up my mother’s photo instead, which I’d left lying on the bed. ‘She is very pretty in this picture, your mother. She would have been, what . . . ? Forty-one . . . forty-two, maybe . . . if she was still alive now?’
‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean Dad only wants to be with someone the same age as him!’ I protested, because you didn’t have to be a genius to work out what she was leading up to.
‘Have you asked him?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Well, maybe you should. Esmie, I would really like you not to think of me as . . .’ She frowned. ‘I am only eleven years older than you. Your father, he is twenty years older than me! Esmie, I do not want to be anyone’s mother yet! I do not want to have children myself for a very long time. I want to go out to parties with my friends and go travelling and have some nice boyfriends and just have lots of fun! I will not be ready to settle down for a long time. Can you understand that?’
I stared at her. I’d never thought before about Juliette actually being closer in age to me than to Dad, and closer to me in the things she liked to do, as well.
‘Esmie, listen. I want you to go and see what this Elizabeth is like tomorrow. You don’t have to like her. But I think you should not make up your mind until you meet her. Remember, the object is to get your father dating again, and not making a mess of it. So you have to give this Elizabeth a chance, for his sake. Just a chance, OK? Will you do that?’
‘Dad probably won’t like her anyway,’ I said, stubbornly. ‘So what’s the point?’
‘The point,’ Juliette said, firmly, ‘is for you to learn not to decide your father’s love life for him, before he has had a chance to decide it for himself.’
I gaped at her in disbelief. I mean, I reckoned that was pretty rich, coming from her!
The following morning, Juliette told Dad about the new French restaurant and their special French-speaking Sunday lunch. ‘You must take the children there today!’ she said. ‘I will book you a table!’
‘I don’t think so, Juliette,’ Dad murmured, without looking up from his newspaper. ‘I’ve got a few things I need to do.’
We were seated at the kitchen table eating our separate breakfasts. Dad was eating toast and marmalade; I had just shaken out a very large bowl of crunchy nut cornflakes; Juliette was drinking coffee because she never eats breakfast and Matthew was hanging over the toaster, waiting for his toast to pop up.
‘But Sunday is a family day,’ Juliette said, firmly. ‘You should not be working.’ She gave me a sharp nudge.
‘Yes, Dad,’ I began. ‘Holly’s mum says one day a week should always be set aside to spend with your family!’
Juliette glared at me. I don’t know why. I was doing my bit like she wanted, wasn’t I?
Dad looked up. ‘Holly’s mum,’ he began, sounding irritated, ‘doesn’t have a job that means she has to work at weekends.’
‘But, Esmie, you would very much like to go out to lunch with your father today, wouldn’t you?’ Juliette prompted me.
‘Oh, yes!’ I said, quickly. ‘Please, Dad. Can we go to this French place today? I really want to practise my French for school!’
‘Swot!’ Matthew said, from behind me.
‘Shut up!’ I snapped, and we were about to start arguing when Dad switched on the radio. It was the local radio station and they were talking about Dad’s murder case. I could tell it was his case immediately by the way Dad stopped chewing his toast. The news broadcasters were describing it as an investigation that didn’t seem to be going anywhere fast and they were quoting the victim’s uncle as saying he reckoned the police weren’t using enough sniffer dogs.
I started to ask Dad how many sniffer dogs they were using when Juliette suddenly said, ‘Esmie,’ and gave me a warning look.
But no warning look of Juliette’s was going to stop Matty launching into his views on how murder investigations ought to be conducted, which involved cutting down on manpower and employing more computers instead. According to Matty, computers are less likely to cave in under public pressure and arrest the wrong person like the police are always doing.
I could tell Dad was annoyed because he piled two spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee instead of one. (He’s been trying to cut down.) Then he glared at my brother. ‘Listen, young man—’ he began, which is always a bad sign.
And then Juliette intervened. ‘Come,’ she said, soothingly to our father. ‘He is fifteen, no? You must not take him seriously. At his age he has too many . . . you know . . .’ She waved her arms up and down searching for the word she wanted.
‘Spots?’ I suggested, helpfully.
She frowned. ‘No, no. I mean the things that make the spots!’ Juliette’s English is not at its best first thing in the morning.
‘Grease?’ I offered, ignoring my brother’s angry scowl.
‘I think you mean hormones,’ Dad said, starting to laugh as he put out his arm to stop Matthew from thumping me.
‘Oui! And too many of these means he thinks he knows everything, no?’ Juliette said.
‘Oui!’ I sang out, ducking as Matthew chucked the lid of the marmalade at me.
‘I’m going out!’ he hissed, slamming his plate into the sink even though he hadn�
��t even used it yet.
‘Wait!’ Dad got up and turned off the radio. I thought he was going to remind Matthew that he was still grounded but instead, he smiled at him. ‘Perhaps I do need to forget about my work today! Juliette,’ he said, and she looked at him, ‘I think this Sunday lunch is a good idea after all. Would you like to join us?’
Juliette beamed. ‘Oh, no thank you. I have other plans. But I am sure you and the children will have a lovely time. I’ll book a table for one o’clock, shall I?’
And she winked at me as she glided past the fridge where Elizabeth’s details were still clamped to the door.
Juliette didn’t really have other plans, of course. Her only plan was to wait at home until Matthew and I returned so that she could look after me while Dad continued on his date. It was pretty nice of her, really, considering that Sunday is meant to be her day off.
Matthew refused to come with us at first. He pointed out that if he was meant to be grounded, then he couldn’t, but Dad said that he was giving him a break for good behaviour. I knew my brother was still in a bad mood about the way we’d all ganged up on him at breakfast. I think Dad was trying to coax him out of it because he started up some conversation about how long women always take in the bathroom and how men are much quicker even though they have to shave.
‘Matty doesn’t need to shave!’ I said, but this time Dad took Matthew’s side.
‘We’ll have no more big brother baiting this morning, thank you, Esmie,’ he said, firmly. So I had to shut up, and me having to shut up seemed to improve Matthew’s mood no end, because after that he agreed to come with us.
The new French restaurant was on the high street, a little way along from the town hall. I started to worry that Elizabeth wouldn’t find it but Matty said that since there were no other restaurants in town called Le Nouveau Restaurant Français, he didn’t see how she could miss it. When we’d told Matthew the real reason we were going there to lunch he said he reckoned it was going to be a right laugh getting a look at Elizabeth so long as I realized that he wasn’t going to be the one to tell Dad who she was when we got there.
Which meant I was going to have to do it – if Elizabeth turned up. After all, maybe she wouldn’t respond to the message Juliette had left. I wasn’t sure if I really wanted her to or not, now. If Juliette and Dad were never going to get together – and now it was beginning to seem like they really weren’t – then I suppose I did want some sort of stepmother. But only if she was just as nice as Juliette, and I really didn’t see how she could be.
‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ Matthew kept saying, sniggering so loudly that I was sure Dad was going to notice and get suspicious. ‘I just hope she’s here. You realize if she’s not, we’re going to have to sit through some boring lunch, with Dad making us speak French to all the waiters.’
‘Shut up!’ I snapped. I was getting so nervous that I started to definitely hope Elizabeth wouldn’t be there as we approached the restaurant. I looked anxiously at my watch. It was nearly a quarter past one. ‘We’re late, Dad,’ I said, tensely.
But he had already opened the door to go inside.
In the little waiting area there was a huge French family with loads of kids running around. Dad immediately rubbed his hands together and looked pleased. He started going on about how this restaurant must be good if real French people were choosing to eat in it when they could just as easily eat proper French cooking at home.
I looked around. I couldn’t see any single ladies standing around looking like they were here on a blind date.
‘If you’d like to just wait here, Sir, we will have your table ready shortly,’ the French man behind the desk told us. He had an accent just like Juliette’s.
‘When do we have to stop speaking English?’ Dad asked him, jovially, but all he got in reply was a strange look.
At that moment a lady came out of the little door with Mesdames written on it. She was on her own. I stared at her, holding in my breath. So did Matty.
Dad was peering at the nearby fish tank. ‘I haven’t had lobster in years,’ he said, pointing at something black and huge with claws that was sitting amongst the weedy stuff at the bottom. ‘Look, Esmie. How do you fancy having one of those for your lunch?’
I didn’t reply. I was too busy scrutinizing the lady who was now leaning against the wall opposite us. If it was her, then she was different from how I’d imagined her. I couldn’t really think how I had imagined her except that I’d had a vague idea that she might look a bit like the Baroness in The Sound of Music. She didn’t, though. The Baroness had blonde hair but this lady had dark hair like my mother. She had on a cream cotton dress with a loose reddish-brown jacket over the top and she kept pulling the jacket closed like she was trying to disappear inside it. The front door opened and she looked towards it nervously, but when a couple walked in arm-in-arm, she seemed to relax. Was it her?
‘Matty, did she say what she looked like in that message?’ I whispered.
‘’Fraid not,’ he teased. ‘God, I’m going to die of embarrassment if you ask her. There isn’t anyone here we know, is there?’
But I didn’t ask her. I just kept staring at her, trying to make up my mind if she was here to meet Dad or not, and if she was, whether I really wanted her to.
Suddenly, she rushed into the toilets again.
I told Dad I needed to go too. I don’t know what I was expecting to find her doing inside. I guess it was silly to expect her to pull the lonely-hearts column out of her bag and wave it around just to oblige me. In fact, she was standing in front of the mirror tugging at her hair, which was tied up in a sort of loose bun which she now seemed to be trying to dislodge. She caught me staring and smiled at me. I thought how the Baroness had smiled at the children in The Sound of Music while she was dating the Captain at the start, when all the time she was planning on sending them away to boarding school. Juliette would never send me away to boarding school. But then, Juliette wasn’t an option now, was she?
I quickly dodged into the nearest cubicle and waited until I heard her go out. Then, after a few more minutes, I went back outside too. The French family had been taken to their table now. Dad and Matty were still waiting in front of the lobster tank. So was she, and she was checking her watch again. I ignored Matty as he pulled a face at me.
‘Nobody seems to be speaking French here,’ Dad said, when I joined them.
‘Maybe Juliette made a mistake,’ I said.
‘I wouldn’t put it past her. Excuse me,’ he said to the woman, ‘you wouldn’t know if this is the day they’re having the French-speaking lunch?’
I nearly fainted. He wasn’t meant to be talking to his date before we had established who she was.
She smiled at him. ‘Sorry – not that I know of.’
I looked at my brother to see if he recognized her voice but he was too busy trying not to laugh.
‘Our table seems to be taking a long time,’ Dad added, conversationally. ‘Have you been waiting long as well?’
‘Well, I’m actually waiting for someone else,’ she replied, glancing at the door again as it opened, but it was only one of the waiters coming back inside from a break. She looked at her watch as the head waiter came over and asked her, very loudly, what name her table was booked under.
‘Well . . .’ she muttered. ‘I don’t know, actually.’
‘What is the name of your friend?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ she floundered. ‘His surname I mean.’
‘Perhaps he has booked under his first name?’ the waiter persisted. ‘Some people do.’
‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘I don’t think so. I think I may have made a mistake about the place. It’s all right. I’ll just wait a little longer and if my friend doesn’t come, I won’t need a table, thank you.’
My brother was doubled up now trying not to laugh out loud. Any minute now I was going to thump him one.
‘Excuse me, but would you like to borrow my mobi
le to call your friend?’ Dad suddenly asked her. Like I said before, Dad can never resist coming to the aid of a damsel in distress.
‘Thank you, but I don’t think . . .’ She gave an embarrassed little laugh. ‘I think I may just have to accept graciously that I’ve been stood up!’
‘Surely not—’ Dad began, but the waiter interrupted him.
‘Your table is ready now, Sir. The booking was made for two people . . . but I take it you would like us to lay another place?’
‘Oh, right, was it?’ Dad gave him an apologetic look. ‘I don’t know how that happened, but yes, we’ll need it for three. Come on, kids!’ He gave our mystery lady a smile. ‘Hope he turns up!’ Then he started to follow the waiter.
‘Ask her,’ my brother mouthed, giving me a little push before following Dad.
I waited behind but at the last minute I couldn’t do it. I just went bright red and found that I couldn’t say anything at all. I left her standing there and rushed to sit down with my father and brother.
Matthew rolled his eyes as I pulled in my chair. ‘Scaredy cat!’
Dad looked up from his menu. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Nothing!’ Matty said. ‘Dad, can I have a beer?’
‘No, you cannot,’ Dad said, frowning.
‘Jake’s dad lets him drink alcohol,’ Matthew complained.
‘Perhaps Jake’s dad and Holly’s mum should get together and write an instruction book for other parents,’ Dad replied, crisply.
Matthew shut up. He knows when to sometimes, thank goodness.
I noticed that Dad was still watching what was happening over at the reception area. The waiter was talking to the lady who was still standing there. She seemed to be getting ready to leave, though.
I took a deep breath. I had to do something, otherwise all our planning would have been for nothing. ‘Dad—’ I began.
But Dad didn’t hear me. He seemed totally distracted with his own thoughts. ‘Wait here a minute,’ he muttered, and he stood up and strode back across the room himself.
