by Emma Nichols
*
Eva groaned at the light piercing through her closed eyes, increasing the pain in her head. The faint noise - music - in the background was soothing, but strangely unfamiliar. She tried to turn over and her hands automatically clamped her head to contain the pressure. How much did she drink? She could handle a lot, but she hadn’t felt this bad in a long time. She tried to move again. Her head spun violently, and nausea struck, causing her to remain motionless. She didn’t dare open her eyes, fearful of what she might have done, or where she might find herself. She hadn’t realised the groan she’d heard, had come out of her own mouth.
‘Morning.’ Eva’s eyes tried to open, and she groaned again. ‘It’s okay. Don’t wake on my account. You can stay as long as you need to. I’ve got to go out now, but I’ll be back later. Take as long as you need.’
Eva felt the brush of a soft kiss on her forehead, followed by a door clicking closed, and then darkness again. She drifted into a fitful sleep.
*
Eva’s eyes opened. Momentarily disorientated, she tried to focus on the room. Carine’s place. She released a breath and her eyes closed again, until a wave of anxiety caused her to flinch. She sat bolt upright, causing the room to spin, but this time she held her ground until the rotating stopped. Rosa! She picked up her phone. It took her eyes a few seconds to register the time. 12.30, and no text. Fuck, Fuck. Her heart sank, her stomach roiled. Jumping off the couch, she stared at the clothes she was wearing, the events of the evening coming back to her in slow motion. She wobbled on her feet, focused on the door, and staggered towards it. Exiting the room, she tried to orientate herself. She needed to find her own clothes and go back home: back to Rosa.
As Eva turned the key in the lock, she knew what she faced would rip her heart into small pieces. She also knew she had brought it on herself. Though, in her defence, she hadn’t had much choice but to work through until they had gone out to the event. As she opened the door, her breathing felt tight and her heart raced. She followed her instincts and entered the living room.
Rosa looked up from the book in her hands. The red rims around her dark eyes swelled and the tears rolled freely down her cheeks. She dropped the book from her hands and placed them across her face. Unable to stop the sobbing that had consumed her since she had reckoned that Eva wouldn’t be coming home.
Eva rushed over to her and knelt in front of her. ‘Let me explain,’ she said, but the words were empty. Rosa was shaking her head, paralysed in a world of pain.
‘No. Eva. Please. I can’t take this. Us. There is no us.’ Her words punctuated by the sobs, caused Eva to stop in her tracks. ‘I need you to leave,’ she said. There was no doubting the certainty of Rosa’s words, or the pain in her heart.
Eva couldn’t breathe as the air in the room spiralled around her, sucking her into a world of darkness. The walls closed in instantly, and the claustrophobic feeling seemed to strangle her, as Rosa’s image faded into the distance. ‘Please, let me explain.’ Eva’s words didn’t even make Rosa’s ears, just an internal plea that had no substance. Eva turned and walked out of the room, her ears buzzing with the reality. She walked up the stairs and packed her clothes and toiletries, descended, and walked slowly, reluctantly, towards the front door. Closing the door softly behind her, she stepped out into the street.
13.
Eva walked into her mum’s office, dropped her bag by the couch, and placed a pod in the coffee machine. She never worked at weekends, but she had no desire to go to her empty flat, and couldn’t face her mum right now, so work was the only option. The building was quiet. She stood, staring out the large glass window. Ironically the sun was shining, deceptive though, as the temperature outside was cold. The half-empty bottle of whiskey attracted her attention. She grabbed it and uncorked it swiftly. Taking a long swig, she coughed at the hard smack to the back of her throat. She turned, and looked around the room as if to seek answers. Nothing. Another swig: another. Thankfully, the alcohol was dampening her obsessive thoughts, but the hollow feeling in her chest had also expanded. The buzz of her phone jump-started her attention, and for a moment her heart fluttered as she thought of Rosa. As she registered the caller’s name, she had an altogether different feeling.
You okay?
Carine’s text provided some reassurance that she wasn’t alone, but aside from that… She took another swig from the bottle before responding.
Fine
Eva wanted to throw the bottle, but couldn’t bring herself to waste its contents.
Eva, I’m worried about you. Where are you?
At the office
Eva slumped into the couch, sipped at the fiery liquid, and wondered how her world had become so fucked up. It was only a short time before the door opened and Carine entered. She moved quietly, sat down on the couch, and reached out for the, now empty bottle, resting in Eva’s hands.
‘My girlfriend’s dumped me,’ Eva said, without prompting.
‘Oh.’ Carine’s eyes lowered, focusing on her hands, though her mind was elsewhere. Eva didn’t even notice. ‘Let me help you home.’
Eva didn’t argue. She rose from the seat and started walking towards the door. Carine picked up her bags and followed her out of the building. Eva stood at the curb waiting for the taxi. Carine placed an arm around her waist. ‘Thanks,’ Eva mumbled.
‘Come on,’ she said, as she ushered Eva and her bags into the back seat. She waited for Eva to give the directions, and had to nudge her in the side to remind her to speak to the driver.
Eva slumped in the back seat and stared aimlessly out the window, running through her memories of the last few weeks, like a car crash happening in slow motion. The clarity of the landscape, the sharpness the sun had brought to the day, contrasted perfectly with the fog in her mind. She felt numb.
Carine watched in silence as the driver made his way to a building on the other side of town. She paid the taxi driver, pulled Eva and her bags out of the car, and pushed her up the short steps into the building. Eva fiddled with the key to her door, until Carine swiped it off her, thrust the key in the lock and opened it for her. The air was cold and damp, and a musty scent invaded her nostrils. She climbed over the pile of mail on the floor to get to a window in the living room, and opened it. ‘Where’s the heating switch?’ she asked. Eva pointed, and Carine flicked the switch. She checked out the fridge, filled the kettle and set it to boil. ‘I’ll go get some milk,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long.’
Eva watched the whirlwind of activity going on around her, suspended in the grey-mist of depression that had descended upon her. With the click of the door, she was alone. Her eyes studied the space as if it was new to her, and she slumped back into the couch, facing the blank screen of her television. She was still there when Carine let herself back into the flat. She vaguely registered the woman’s presence but didn’t move.
Carine walked straight through to the kitchen and unpacked a couple of bags of provisions. Eva could see Carine from her seat, but didn’t tune in to the banging of cupboards and opening and closing of the fridge. Within a moment, Carine was handing her a mug of coffee. If Carine’s mouth had been moving, Eva hadn’t heard the words. ‘I said, are you okay?’ Carine asked again.
She seemed kinder, Eva pondered. ‘I don’t think so,’ Eva said. ‘I need a drink.’
Carine stood tall. ‘I don’t think that’s going to help. Do you want to talk?’ she asked.
‘No.’ Eva’s response was direct and clear. ‘Thanks for helping me home,’ she said, something in her tone saying that it was time for Carine to leave.
‘Right, I’ll let you get on…’ she paused, assessing Eva’s response to being left alone. ‘If that’s what you want,’ she added, when none came.
Eva looked up. Nodded. ‘I’ll be okay. I’ll see you Monday.’
‘Right.’ Carine stood, dropped the keys on the couch, turned slowly and walked out the door. As the door shut, Eva leaned back into the couch and allowed the tears to
fall.
*
Rosa picked up her phone and dialled the English telephone number she knew by heart. ‘Hello mother,’ she said, before the lump in her throat prevented her from speaking.
‘Rosa.’ The surprised voice came back. ‘Is everything okay?’ Brigitte asked, genuinely concerned at the unexpected call and the uncharacteristically timid quality in her daughter’s voice.
‘Not really,’ Rosa responded, unable to contain the sadness in her tone.
‘Sweetheart, what is it? Are you ill? Is it work?’ she asked, with a sense of urgency. Her daughter’s sadness cut through her, causing butterflies to set flight in her stomach.
‘I’m not ill and work’s fine. It’s just…’
The silence down the line, as Rosa paused, was excruciating. ‘What is it? Do you need some help? Are you in some kind of trouble?’ Brigitte was racking her brain for ideas, so she had something to go on, something for which she could provide a solution. She would take the next flight to Paris if necessary, no questions asked. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for her only daughter, and the idea of her being in pain in some way… then the penny dropped. ‘Is it Eva?’ she asked.
Rosa started sobbing at the mention of Eva’s name. ‘Yes,’ came the muffled response.
‘I’m so sorry sweetheart.’ Brigitte didn’t need to know the details to realise that her daughter’s relationship was over. She let out the deep breath that had built inside her with the tension, relieved that the problem wasn’t a serious one, at least from a medical perspective. She spoke with kindness, ‘I’m really sorry Rosa. I know how you felt about her. I thought you were getting on great together.’ She was trying to help but it seemed to be coming out all wrong.
‘I did too.’
Brigitte could feel the tug at her own heartstrings. A lover’s broken heart could be so painful, or so she had heard. She had either never loved enough or never allowed herself to love in a way that she would suffer such a condition, she pondered. She knew of others who had though. ‘I’m so sorry to hear it didn’t work sweetheart.’ She wanted to say not to worry, that there would be others, but it didn’t feel right to do so, so she held her tongue.
‘I told her to leave.’
‘Oh.’ Brigitte’s confusion carried down the line.
‘It’s a long story,’ Rosa said, holding back the tears enough to speak.
‘Oh, right.’
‘I was thinking…’ Rosa took in a deep breath before continuing. ‘I thought I’d take a break and come to London for a visit.’ She waited to see how the words landed. Her mother was so wrapped up in her work and barely took a break herself. She had started working at the Royal Free Hospital more than fifteen-years ago following a messy divorce and was now the head of research into renal medicine. Eric Bartoli, Henri’s brother, and Rosa’s father, had remained in Corsica, continuing his work as a general practitioner, alongside Henri. To describe her relationship with her father as distant would be an understatement. Rosa had seen more of her uncle Henri in the last few years than she had her father, and she had only seen Henri once, which was at his wedding to Valerie last year.
‘That would be lovely. When were you thinking? We’re so close to Christmas now, why don’t you come then for a few days?’ she asked.
Rosa swallowed. She hadn’t given Christmas a second thought. She’d been so engrossed in her own work, and the painful demise of her relationship, that it hadn’t occurred to her that the holiday season was only a couple of weeks away. She had assumed that other than working every shift necessary, she would have been spending Christmas with Eva. Her eyes welled up as the truth bit her again. ‘Yes, I’ll check flights, or I may even drive,’ she added, favouring the flexibility having her own car would afford her. ‘Maybe I’ll take a couple of weeks and do some sightseeing,’ she said, without thought for the fact that it would be a busy time for her at the hospital. But, then again when wasn’t it a busy time? Other than the week off with Eva in the summer, she hadn’t taken a proper break for a good number of years. She was warming to the idea of time off: time away from everyone, and everything that might remind her of Eva. She would pull in a few favours and get the time off. ‘I’ll see what I can sort out at work,’ she finally confirmed, cementing the idea in her own mind.
‘That’s settled then,’ Brigitte said, relieved that there was a potential solution, at least in the short term. She had no doubt that her daughter would meet someone just right for her. London was a big city after all, and with a great nightlife. She was sure Rosa would be over Eva by the New Year.
*
‘Thanks.’ Lauren took the glass of red wine and sat on the bench seat in the open plan kitchen. She swirled the drink slowly around its glass, not that she ever doubted its quality. It was a habit. Enjoying the heat from the Aga and the aroma of freshly baked bread, she sipped the drink, savouring its complex taste, then placed the glass on the table in front of her. ‘I didn’t realise you liked cooking,’ she said, watching as Antoine chopped onions and mushrooms with a deft hand.
He smiled. When he looked up, his eyes hinted at a sparkle. ‘It is one of my passions,’ he said. ‘And here comes another,’ he remarked, as the door opened, and a tall, dark, clean-shaven man entered. Shaking off the rain, Chico removed his coat, stepped up to Antoine and kissed him hard on the lips.
Lauren gave them their moment, sipping at the wine in her hand. Chico eventually released Antoine and turned to face her, his youthful, clean-shaven face heightened by his stunning white, perfectly straight, teeth. ‘Hello Lauren,’ he said, as he moved to greet her, planting a kiss on her cheek. ‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘Good thanks. More’s the point, how are you?’
He looked towards Antoine with unmistakable tenderness in his eyes. ‘We’re fine,’ he said. ‘I will be glad when all this silly accusation is over,’ he added, reaching up and stroking his lover’s face. Antoine shrugged him off teasingly, and began to cut up the whole chicken that had been resting on the chopping board, placing each piece in the pan in which the onions were already sizzling. ‘Smells great,’ Chico said, before pouring himself a glass of wine. He, too, swirled the wine in his glass, watching the trail it left around the rim. He had been working at the vineyard for the best part of a year now, having joined Antoine shortly after they got together, at Valerie and Henri’s wedding. He had originally taken on the job because he considered he had outgrown lolling around the local beaches and bars and felt it would occupy his time better. He had quickly become absorbed with the process of wine making and, even more than that, he had become enamoured by the vines.
‘Yes,’ Lauren said, responding to Chico’s desire for the ridiculous situation regarding her father to be over. ‘I was hoping you might be able to help.’ Both men looked towards Lauren as she spoke. ‘Do you have any idea who might have made the accusation? Can you think of anyone who might have a vendetta against either of you, or Valerie, or Henri?’ she asked. The men were shaking their heads. ‘What do you know of Valerie’s brother, Phillipe?’ she asked. Antoine’s face twitched at mention of the man’s name.
Chico raised his shoulders and looked quizzically at his lover. ‘I don’t know him,’ he said.
Antoine put down the knife and took Chico’s hand in his, while he addressed Lauren. ‘I know of him… knew of him, I should say. It was a long time ago. Just before Valerie and Petru were married.’ Chico squeezed Antoine’s hand before releasing it, reaching for his glass and taking a sip. Antoine continued. ‘I saw them… heard them, one evening,’ he corrected. ‘They were stood under the eucalyptus tree drinking wine, and laughing, and then suddenly the conversation became heated and Phillipe threw down his glass and walked up the hill. They didn’t know I’d seen them. When Phillipe had gone, Petru slumped to the ground and sat for a long time.’ Antoine’s eyes watered as he continued. ‘I wanted to help him, but I was young, and I didn’t know how. So, I left him. I never mentioned it to Petru. I don’t know why, it just
didn’t seem important, until now maybe. I never saw Phillipe again after that, and Petru married your mother of course.’ He shrugged as he reasoned.
‘Do you know where Phillipe is now?’ Lauren asked.
‘No. I’ve never heard anything of him since then. He estranged himself from Valerie too.’
Lauren’s eyebrows bunched, and she pinched the top of her nose. She had played the names of everyone else they knew through her mind, in search of a motive. Very few people had been aware of her father’s failing health and those who had were fiercely loyal to the Vincenti family. Lauren stood, her face still contorted. ‘I’d best get home,’ she said. ‘Baby bath time,’ she added, the thought bringing a smile to her face. Antoine’s face lit up too.
14.
Eva barely recognised her old haunt. The place had received a makeover: whitewashed walls, a newly carpeted soft-seating area, and a wooden floor around the bar and dancing area, gave the old place a completely new look. Even the barwoman had changed. The red-lipstick blonde, who couldn’t take no for an answer, was nowhere in sight. She breathed a sigh of relief at that fact. She hadn’t been back to Le So What for the best part of a year, and hoped that she wouldn’t bump into Rosa or, worst still, Dee. She shivered at the thought of seeing Dee, knowing the protective anaesthetist would be gunning for her. She leaned on the bar and attracted the barwoman she didn’t recognise. ‘Sauvignon please. Large one.’ Eva said, taking in the short pure white hair with soft pink streaks. ‘Can I run a tab?’ she asked, taking out her credit card.
The young woman’s baby blue eyes smiled warmly as she acknowledged the order. ‘Sure,’ she said, taking the card and running it through the machine. As she went about her work, Eva’s eyes cruised the bar. Hoping not to recognise anyone, she was pleased when she didn’t.
