Unfortunately, the situation with Yves had little chance of being rectified soon. She’d tried calling a couple of times to offer support but once again, her attempts at communication were met with silence. She hated that things between them had ended so badly but what could she do? He was in the midst of his own emotional turmoil and she was about to head home in an effort to pull the pieces of her life together.
You are so full of shit, Johansson.
Aside from progress with her sister, nothing else had changed. Going back to Rutherford Creek meant she’d fall into the same hole, the same habits.
‘It’s all too bloody hard,’ she muttered as she zipped her suitcase and placed it upright next to the door.
Lily did one last check of the room, exited and made her way down to reception to hand in her keys and settle the bill. She left through the large glass door and hailed a cab. The sky above had turned an ominous grey and although the air was warm, she detected a faint smell of rain.
The driver placed the bags in the boot and in her new and improved French, Lily asked him to take her to the airport. As they sped away from the place she’d called home this last little while, a strong feeling of having left something behind came over her. Quickly checking in her handbag, she found her wallet, credit cards, passport and the extra cash she kept stashed in a secret pocket. But as they wove through the traffic, the sense grew stronger.
Travelling down Rue des Belles Feuilles, the taxi drew to a halt, the congestion on the road the worst she’d seen.
‘Que se passe-t-il?’ she asked.
‘Accident,’ the driver replied in English.
She checked the clock on her phone. Plenty of time. She’d been caught in traffic jams all over the world, so why did she feel so edgy?
Resting her head against the cold window, she closed her eyes. This running had to stop. She’d lost her breath a long time ago yet she’d pushed on, her body heavy, her feet shuffling. What did it prove? That she was stubborn? A glutton for punishment? What kind of pathetic existence did she think she deserved?
Deserved.
Oh God.
Everything she’d done since Aiden died boiled down to what she felt she deserved.
Staring out the window, she noticed the Eiffel Tower not far from where she sat impatiently in the taxi. That meant Avenue Victor Hugo was close. She knew what she had to do.
‘Please, pull over here.’
The cab driver turned and frowned. He mumbled in French as she exited the cab and waited for him to take out her bags. No one abused them for holding up traffic because there hadn’t been any forward movement for ages. Handing over a wad of notes, she smiled as he mumbled again. This time she understood ‘stupide étranger’—stupid foreigner. She may be a foreigner but she certainly wasn’t stupid any more.
The wheels of the suitcase bumped along the pavement as she put her head down, determination pushing her forward. How could she go through life blaming herself for something that was never in her control?
Skirting café tables and chairs on the sidewalk, Lily marched along, dragging the suitcase behind her, until she reached the corner of Rue des Belles Feuilles and Avenue Victor Hugo. Once again fear gripped her insides and a small film of sweat surfaced on her brow. She wiped it with the back of her shaking hand as a large lump formed in her throat.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto Avenue Victor Hugo. There was no earthquake. No exploding volcanoes. No bolts of lightning. She could do this and she would survive. Placing one foot in front of the other, Lily walked the first block and stopped at the kerb. The last time she’d been on this street it was with Aiden—before their stupid argument changed everything.
Lily pulled out her phone from her coat pocket and checked the time.
6.32 pm.
Almost the exact hour she’d been here last time.
About to shove the phone back in again, she hesitated and let her thumb scroll across the screen.
February 23.
Oh Jesus.
How could she not have known?
In eleven minutes it will be exactly two years to the date and time since the accident.
Coincidence or fate?
Hurrying along the pavement, Lily picked up the pace, the suitcase bouncing behind. She didn’t care that it smashed into her ankles and calves—her feet wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
She reached the end of the block and halted.
All that bravado she’d pumped herself with fell by the wayside. She didn’t need a neon sign to highlight the exact position on the other side of the road where the car had hit Aiden. Nor did she need another one to highlight where the second vehicle knocked her into another and ended all her dreams.
The trembling started in her hands and raced up her arms.
Calm. Stay calm.
A thunder clap reverberated above, causing her to let go of the handle of the case. It clattered to the ground and as she bent over to pick it up, another clap crashed overhead. Drawing a long breath, she triple-checked for a gap in the traffic. Lily gripped the handle. She stepped off the kerb. She rushed across the road, her heart banging against her chest. The second her feet hit the pavement she let go of the case and bent over. Long, rasping breaths pierced the thick air as thunder rumbled above.
A hand gently rested on her shoulder. ‘Mademoiselle, est-ce que vous allez bien?’
Looking up, she found an octogenarian studying her with kind, concerned eyes. Yes, yes she was fine. ‘Oui. Merci.’
He placed his hands under her elbow and helped her to a standing position. Having done his duty as a good citizen, he toddled off down the street, his bowed legs carrying him slowly away.
Another clap of thunder pierced the air, along with a flash of sheet lightning. Thick rain droplets fell from the heavens, pelting Lily and drenching her within moments. She moved towards the kerb, nausea swelling in her belly. Cars sloshed through newly formed puddles, splashing her with water. She didn’t care.
One step.
Two steps.
Three…numbness gripped her knees and she stumbled forward, reaching out for the light pole.
‘Shit.’
A car drove by—the same dark grey as the one that had hit Aiden. Sinking to her knees, she looked towards the heavens.
‘Why?’ she yelled above the din of the thunderstorm.
Another sheet of lightning raced across the dark sky. Reaching into the pocket of her coat, she grabbed her phone and sheltered it under the fabric.
6.41 pm.
In two more minutes the anniversary of Aiden’s death would arrive.
Rain fell heavily as she stared at the road.
‘Aiden.’ Her small voice was lost in the pelting rain and thunder claps. ‘I love you. I love you with all my heart. I miss you. I miss us.’ Her throat tightened but she pushed on, despite the pain. ‘I am so, so sorry for the way things ended. You know I would never have run across this damn road if I’d known you’d chase after me. I…’ Her gaze rested on the pavement on the other side of the road, where she’d last seen him alive. ‘I’m sorry.’
Tears ran down her face but were washed away by the unrelenting rain. She shivered but refused to give up her vigil. It had taken courage and strength to get here but it felt like it was draining with each passing minute. She tilted her head back and let the rain fall on her. Thick drops massaged her skin and as a shot of cold ran down her back, she finally figured out exactly what she had to tell him. Tell herself.
‘I know I can’t change what happened but I have to change how I look at it. I have to, Aiden, and I know you’d agree with me. Call me dumb, stubborn…whatever…but it’s taken a long time to get to this point.
‘Forgive me, please, Aiden. It breaks my heart that the last words between us were spoken in anger. That’s not what we were about. It never was. But I have to move on now. I’ve been clinging to you but I can’t anymore. I don’t want you completely gone and I know you’ll always have a large piece of my h
eart but I can’t stop living. I’ve tried withdrawing from the world, but I can’t do it anymore. If I don’t find a way to get through this I’ll be stuck here forever, wallowing.’ Lily closed her eyes for a moment. Pushing out a sigh, she ran her fingers through her saturated hair. ‘Something good has to come out of this horrendous story, my love. I just don’t know what it is. Maybe someday I’ll figure it out. In the meantime, I need to say goodbye. To you. To us. To living in the past.’
Lily bowed her head and willed her mind to dispel the graphic images that forced their way into her consciousness and stabbed her heart. Water dribbled down her neck at the back of her coat and she adjusted the material, determined to stay here for as long as it took. She couldn’t let the last few moments standing here be marred by memories of Aiden lying prostrate on the road. Furrowing her brows, her eyes remained shut and determination forced her to find an image—any image that wasn’t related to his death—that she could cling to forever.
Barely conscious of the cars speeding through the puddles, Lily kept her eyes closed. Aiden’s broken and bloodstained body took up residence in her mind once again but she refused to open her eyes or move from her position on the sodden sidewalk. A stage adorned with dark green curtains with gold trimming came into view. She felt as if she was in the back row with no one other than her watching the lone dancer leap across the floorboards, the music of Stravinsky accompanying his athletic prowess. Zooming forward she found herself standing in the wings, watching Aiden perform, his strong body landing quietly after every leap and turn. He pirouetted on one foot while the other stretched in and out, increasing his speed until he raised his arms above his head, finishing with a flourish. Applause rang in her ears, even though the theatre was deserted. Aiden bowed then turned to her, a broad smile on his face. Above the din of the clapping, he said, ‘There is nothing, and no one, to forgive other than yourself.’
Lily’s eyes flew open and she held onto the lamppost. What had just happened? It had felt so real.
Bracing herself, she looked at Aiden’s spot nearby. Gone were the graphic images. Gone were the feelings of guilt. She sensed relief. Peace. Finality.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Her body finally registered the weather and she raced over and grabbed her suitcase. What now? She surely couldn’t catch a flight like this. Besides, the desperate urge to escape Paris had passed. She didn’t need to hurry home and she wasn’t so sure Australia would be her home anymore. This new lightness in her being buzzed with possibilities and the chance to discover something new and be daring. Take risks. To finally have a life worth living.
Why had it taken her so long to confront these emotions?
She didn’t care. She’d done it and now she could move on. Even though the sky was black, Lily felt like the sun was shining on her soul.
Glancing up and down the street, she tried to find a taxi but it proved a tough request given the weather. Moments later the lightning and thunder disappeared and stars appeared from behind the clouds. As she walked further away from Aiden’s site it felt as though the shackles that had tied her to this one event had been severed. She was free to roam wherever, and with whomever, she wanted.
Lily’s fingers remained icy so she shoved her spare hand in her pocket. They hit a piece of paper and she pulled it out, not remembering having put anything in there. The small folded business card lay in her hand and she moved over to shelter under a restaurant canopy and use its light to read the card.
‘Only by acceptance of the past, can you alter it.’ T.S. Eliot
Lily stared at the words Yves had written a few days ago. Why had she only found this now? How could he have possibly known she’d have a crisis on the way to the airport?
Oh.
When they first met he’d said it was for a reason…As she glanced at the paper in her hand, the realisation almost knocked Lily off her feet. She had to find Yves and she had to find him now.
CHAPTER
30
Paris, 1917
The off-white hospital walls closed in on Viktoriya as she waited in the hallway for news of Alexei. It had been hours since he’d been rescued and so far, no word from the doctors. Olga came back with a glass of water, sat down and passed it to Viktoriya. She took a sip, the cold liquid finding it difficult to get past the lump in her throat.
‘Thank you,’ she rasped.
‘There is no need to thank me.’ The seamstress patted Viktoriya’s shoulders. ‘You really should let a doctor check your injuries.’
‘I’m fine.’ As she righted her body she held her breath, trying to keep in a small yelp.
Olga tut-tutted but didn’t probe any further. Instead, she wrapped her warm fingers around Viktoriya’s. ‘So Satie is in jail.’
‘What?’ She didn’t care to hear anything ballet-related but appreciated her friend’s efforts in trying to stop Viktoriya from going crazy with worry about Alexei.
‘Remember when Jean Poueigh wrote that scathing article about Parade? Satie sent him a postcard and called him an “arse without music”.’
A tiny laugh escaped Viktoriya’s lips.
‘He’s now being sued by Poueigh.’
‘That won’t keep him quiet.’
‘No, but it gives him time to cool off.’ Olga shifted in her seat. ‘Speaking of which—’
‘I haven’t seen or heard from the baron. Or his driver. I can’t believe he stood by and did nothing.’
‘Who knows what hold the baron has over his driver. Diaghilev said he’ll let us know as soon as the baron’s found.’ Olga stroked the back of Viktoriya’s head. ‘I’m so sorry things turned out this way.’
‘I am, too,’ said Yana, who appeared from around the corner. She sat down and rested her head on Viktoriya’s shoulder.
‘How did the lesson go with Massine?’
Yana sat up and creased her brow. ‘Do you really want to know?’
‘I do,’ said Viktoriya. ‘I need to give my mind a break from…from…’ She choked back a tear.
Yana gripped Viktoriya’s hand. ‘Massine said I have talent that needs to be nurtured. He said he’ll talk to Diaghilev about me doing regular lessons. I think I’m going to be his pet project.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ she said. ‘How do you feel about it?’
‘Excited. Scared. And so very thankful to you, Viktoriya. If it weren’t for your kindness…’
Viktoriya waved her hand dismissively. ‘I am sure anyone would have done the same. Wouldn’t they, Olga?’
‘Hmm?’ Olga turned to face her. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘Yana is going to take regular lessons from Massine,’ Viktoriya said, pride swelling within. Then her conscience took over. How could she be so happy when Alexei was in an operating theatre having God knows what done to him? Hot tears stung her eyes and her bottom lip began to quiver.
‘Perhaps we should pray.’ Olga squeezed Viktoriya’s hand and Yana’s fingers gripped hers.
They bowed their heads and Viktoriya tried to block out the stench of bleach and the clanking of metal trolleys being pushed down the hall. Questions flew through her mind and she tried to swot them away. How could the baron do such a callous thing? He pushed Alexei—with Viktoriya and his driver as witnesses.
And how could she have been so blinded by Erik? She’d almost said yes to marrying him, for goodness’ sake! A vision of Alexei’s bloodied and bruised face flashed before her and she opened her eyes to dispel the horrific images but the sight of the doctor’s grim face as he slowly walked towards them was way worse.
‘No.’ She shook her head vehemently and Olga and Yana looked up. The doctor knelt before them, his kind eyes searching hers.
‘I am so sorry.’ He bowed his head.
‘No!’ The shaking started in her hands and quickly moved up her arms and overtook her entire body. ‘No. No.’
‘We did everything we could.’
‘No!’ Nothing else would form on her lips.
>
‘How long had he been ill?’ The doctor looked up at her, his eyes full of caring and worry.
‘What?’
‘The tumour. How long had he had it?’
Viktoriya gripped the sides of the chair so hard a nail broke. She rasped, ‘What tumour?’
The doctor stood and smoothed down his coat. ‘I thought…I’m sorry.’
Standing, she gained control of her voice. ‘Please, tell me. I need to know.’
‘I must notify his next of kin,’ he said.
Olga grabbed Viktoriya’s hand as she rose. ‘We are his family. He has no one else.’
‘You’re his mother?’
‘Yes,’ Olga lied.
Disbelief flickered in his eyes as his gaze travelled from one woman to the other. Eventually, he said, ‘He had an aggressive tumour on his frontal lobe.’ The doctor paused, as if debating whether he should say more. ‘Had any of you noticed any strange behaviour?’
‘Yes.’ Viktoriya’s knees gave way and she sank heavily onto the seat behind her. ‘He’d been insanely jealous, out of control, then other times so loving, so caring. He took up drinking…’ Looking up with blurred vision, she asked, ‘Could the tumour have made him behave like that?’
‘Given the position it was in, then yes, there is a very high chance this was the case.’
‘And look at the way I treated him.’ Her head fell into her hands, her body aching with regret.
‘You didn’t know, sweetheart.’ Olga rubbed Viktoriya’s back but the comforting gesture did nothing to allay her torment. ‘No one could have known.’
‘It’s true,’ the doctor said. ‘The only reason we found it was because we had to…well, tumours are usually discovered too late, I’m afraid.’
‘The tumour killed him?’
‘No, the injury to his head killed him but the tumour would have got the better of him soon enough.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Again, I am very sorry for your loss.’
Beneath the Parisian Skies Page 28
