The Paris Connection

by Lorraine Brown

  “Han?” he said breathlessly.

  “Yes, Si, it’s me.”

  “Are you all right?”

  There was music in the background, the clink of glasses.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’ve been so worried about you, sweetheart. Where are you now?” he asked.

  It was good to hear his voice. I imagined him perched on a stool in the hotel bar, could picture the frown lines he got between his eyes when he was worried about something. The way he pulled absentmindedly at strands of his hair when he was on the phone.

  “Paris, still,” I said.

  From somewhere in the park I could hear children shrieking, the sound carried on the wind, most likely, from the playground we’d passed earlier.

  “Jesus. This is a nightmare, Han. I’m having to reallocate all the jobs you were supposed to do, when everyone’s already snowed under.”

  I brushed imaginary dirt off my jeans. “How did Catherine take it?”

  “How do you think?” he said, with the exasperation of someone who’d had his highly strung sister in his ear for the last half hour and was at the end of his tether.

  I glanced at Léo, who was pulling up strands of grass and rolling them between his fingers.

  “If we’d been in the couchette like we were supposed to be, none of this would have happened,” said Si. “So it’s partly my fault, isn’t it, for not being organized enough? I should have insisted they find us another first-class cabin.”

  “Oh well,” I said, not wanting him to get wound up. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

  There were lots of different voices in the background, and the clatter of glasses knocking together. Tables being set, perhaps. Things being polished and laid out. Every detail had been carefully considered, that was how Si’s family rolled. They didn’t do anything by halves, which I’d always been the tiniest bit intimidated by. When Si described his childhood, it sounded like the kind of idyllic life I’d only ever seen in American films, where the characters had wealthy, doting parents who had homemade cookies in the oven when you arrived home from school. And your friends had endless parties at which everyone would want to talk to you/get off with you and somebody would get too drunk and then everyone would jump in the pool.

  “What are you up to?” I asked.

  “Down in the restaurant,” he said. “Helping Mum with the table plans.”

  I imagined him there, delegating jobs, organizing everyone, bossing them about with such easy authority that you couldn’t help but nod and agree.

  “What’s the hotel like?”

  “Amazing. Super modern. There are these huge, dramatic light installations hanging from the ceiling. You’ll love it.”

  The hotel was called the Lux and was the sort of pretentious place I usually went to great lengths to avoid. I’d seen pictures of it on the website, which had pretty much been a permanent fixture on Catherine’s laptop since I’d met her. It was a different world, all of this, which had only served to fuel my suspicion that Si’s family must think he could do better. That an administrator from a council estate in Enfield wasn’t exactly what they’d had in mind for their beloved son/brother. He, of course, was oblivious to the differences between us and had even suggested that we invite my mum and Tony over for lunch in Berkhamsted one Sunday, so that all the parents could meet. I hadn’t been able to imagine anything worse than an afternoon spent pretending we were all getting along and very likely culminating in my mum saying something inappropriate about Brexit. And so I’d shut down that bright idea of his very quickly, convincing him that it was too soon for all of that but that we’d definitely arrange something at some point in the future (i.e., never).

  “How’s your sister bearing up?” I asked.

  I sneaked another look at Léo, who was now trying to skim stones through the trees and into the water.

  “She’s, um, naturally a bit tense,” said Si.

  “Yeah. I reckon most brides would be.”

  I heard a woman’s voice in the background. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, not exactly, but there was an accent. Something about a ring, the end of the word pronounced with a hard g, like they did in Manchester. It was Alison, I knew it was. Si started talking, but his voice was muffled, as though he’d purposely held the phone away from his mouth.

  “Sorry, Han,” he said eventually, coming back on the line.

  “Who was that?”

  He hesitated. “One of the bridesmaids. The makeup artist hasn’t turned up, apparently.”

  “Oh, right. Which bridesmaid’s that, then?”

  “Um, one of Cath’s old friends. Alison, her name is. You might have met her at the hen do.”

  I dug my thumbnail into the arm of the bench, leaving an impression of my nail in the soft wood, like a new moon. Why hadn’t he told me about her messages on the train? And it made me think that if he’d kept that from me, what else was there? A couple of months ago I’d accidentally bashed the hoover into a box of handwritten letters stashed under his side of the bed. When I’d got down on all fours to make sure I hadn’t damaged them, I’d peered at them for ages, wondering how old they were, who it was he used to write to. And why he’d kept them. But in the six months since we’d moved in together he hadn’t mentioned them once and for some reason I hadn’t dared to ask.

  “I’d better go, actually,” said Si. “Mum’s waving me over.”

  “Okay.”

  “When can you get here?” he asked.

  “Should be just after five.”

  “Jump in a taxi and get to the hotel as soon as you can, all right? You’ve got the address and everything?”

  “Sure,” I said. Except all the info was on my phone, which I now didn’t have. “What’s the name of the street again?”

  He sighed. “It’s near the Anne Frank House, Hannah. The taxi driver will know it.”

  “All right,” I said, feeling small.

  “Whose phone are you using, by the way?” he asked.

  This was obviously the point at which I should mention Léo. It wasn’t as though I had anything to hide, and so what if Si didn’t approve? I was a grown woman, it was fine to disappoint people. Inevitable, in fact. And then I bottled it and lied.

  “Someone lent me their phone,” I said, pushing the palm of my hand into my eye socket.

  “So you’re still at Gare du Nord?”

  “Yeah,” I said quietly, glancing over at Léo. Fucking hell, what would he think of me if he could hear me lying through my teeth? And, more to the point, why was I doing it at all?

  “It’s very quiet,” said Si.

  “I’m outside. Round the back, getting some fresh air.”

  “Right. Well, don’t go wandering off, just stay where there are phones and people to help if you need it. Don’t be tempted to go off looking around Paris or anything, will you?”

  “ ’Course not,” I said, wondering whether he’d always treated me like a child and I just hadn’t noticed.

  “Bye, Han.”

  I hesitated for a second. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too,” he said.

  He ended the call and I stayed where I was for a minute or two, watching a sparrow pecking at something on the grass near my feet. I thought about why I hadn’t told him the truth about where I was and whom I was with. Probably to avoid the inevitable lecture about going off with strangers. Stranger danger—wasn’t that something you taught five-year-olds? And it was pretty obvious that he was keeping things from me, too, otherwise why wouldn’t he have mentioned Alison’s texts? If we couldn’t be truthful with each other now, whatever the cost, what would we be like in a few years’ time, if we did get married, once the honeymoon period had worn off?

  Realizing I couldn’t sit there brooding without drawing attention to myself, I walked across to join
Léo.

  “Everything is okay with your boyfriend?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “He has not sent out a search party?”

  “Very funny.”

  “I think it is going to rain again,” said Léo, pointing upward at the band of dark cloud above our head. “Come, let us try to find some shelter. There is a café at the top of the hill, perhaps we can make it there.”

  I’d noticed the cooling air when I was on the phone, but now the wind picked up out of nowhere and huge raindrops launched themselves out of the sky.

  I groaned. “Not again.”

  We raced across to a giant pine tree a few meters away. I fumbled about with the hoodie because I’d tied the knot too tightly.

  “Let me do it,” said Léo, moving my hands lightly aside.

  He undid it for me, shaking it out, slipping the fabric over my arms, one at a time, pulling up the hood and slowly doing up the zip. The entire time he didn’t once look me in the eye. He had droplets of water on his eyelashes and for some reason I thought about wiping them away with my thumb. The rain was pounding all around us, smashing noisily through the needles of the tree so that it was like standing under the crest of a waterfall. Over Léo’s shoulder I watched a family charging past, braving it, the woman’s umbrella blowing inside out.

  “You are cold,” he said when the rain began to ease. I wiped my face with a sleeve.

  “A bit,” I admitted, wondering about the tension that had suddenly sprung up between us.

  “You must get warm,” he said firmly.

  I nodded in agreement. “Is there anywhere to get food around here?” I asked, shivering. “I feel like a hot drink might help.”

  “You would like to go to a café with me, is that what you are saying, Hannah?”

  I felt myself turning red again, lowering my head so that he wouldn’t notice. “I thought you might be hungry again, that’s all. Since food is so important to you,” I said, trying to find that easy balance again.

  He crossed his arms, smirking at me. He knew he was making me uncomfortable and was relishing every second of it.

  “But you are out of money, non?”

  “I can try my card,” I said, wishing I’d never suggested it.

  He laughed, glancing at his watch. “I am teasing you. I will buy you an early lunch.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to.”

  “I’ll pay you back.”

  “Just say yes, Hannah!” he said, exasperated.

  He set off, out from under the tree, without waiting for my reply. Then holding out his palms and looking up, he flicked his head for me to follow him. “It has stopped. Let us go. I know a good place.”

  I lagged behind for a couple of seconds before running to catch up.

  12

  The handful of wooden tables outside the restaurant were taken, so we pressed our foreheads against the window, checking if there were any seats free inside. The smell of lemon juice and salty fries hung in the air and I could hear the tinkle of cutlery knocking against china.

  “It is very popular, this place, as you can see,” he told me.

  The words Café et Chocolat were etched on the window in white, both of which sounded unbelievably appealing right about now. There was a menu written on a blackboard propped in the window; I scanned it, not understanding a single word. If I’d wanted the authentic Parisian experience, I’d got it.

  “Oui!” exclaimed Léo. “Come. There is a table free.”

  Léo greeted the waiter like an old friend and we were shown to a banquette pressed up against the back wall. I chucked my bag under the table and half fell onto the red velvet seat, from where I had a near-perfect view of the entire café and the impressive zinc-topped bar in the center of it. Léo took a seat opposite me, immediately calling the waiter back.

  “What would you like, Hannah?” he asked.

  “Coffee, please,” I said, amazed I’d made such a quick decision instead of the usual procrastination about whether I wanted wine or water; whether I fancied coffee or tea. Ellie teased me about it every single time we went to a bar—according to her, by the time I’d decided what to have first, everyone else was on their second round.

  Léo rattled something off and the waiter nodded and disappeared behind the bar, scribbling on a minuscule white pad as he went. I looked around, making a mental note to take some photos before we left. It was the quintessential Parisian neighborhood bistro with mirrors covering almost every inch of the wall and a floor made up of hundreds of higgledy-piggledy fragments of tile stuck together to make a kaleidoscopic pattern beneath our feet. Delicious smells emanated from the kitchen, and soothing, ambient dance music played softly in the background. I immediately felt myself starting to relax.

  “Tell me something I do not know about you, Hannah,” said Léo.

  The waiter brought our drinks and I picked up my coffee, letting the heat of it warm my hands. I was fascinated by the tower of wineglasses in the middle of the bar.

  “I’ve told you tons of stuff already,” I said. “More than I’ve ever revealed to someone I’ve known for half a day, let me tell you.”

  He leaned back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head. “It is because we are strangers. We can say anything to each other and it will not matter.”

  I peeled off the wet hoodie, wishing I could do the same with my jeans, which were stuck to me like a second skin.

  “Because after today, we will never see each other again,” I said.

  “Exactly,” he said, looking at the menu for about two seconds and then flinging it onto the table. “So . . . you live in London?”

  I nodded, following suit and picking up the menu, scanning through it. “In the northwest of the city, in an area called Kensal Rise,” I said, trying to decide if I fancied an omelette et frites or a pretentious take on a croque monsieur: a croque focaccia. “It’s busy, but I love it. I like being where there are crowds and lights and traffic and color.”

  For some reason I felt safer among the chaos of London than I did almost anywhere else. It hadn’t been like that where I grew up; you could go for a walk around the block and not see a single other person, which I’d always found disproportionately depressing.

  “It is you and your boyfriend only?” asked Léo, watching me intently.

  I nodded, clearing my throat. “We’ve only been there a little while.”

  I missed our flat. I was still reveling in my newfound maturity, in the idea of cohabiting and living in a place that didn’t resemble a student dorm room. It had come fully furnished, but I’d added my own little touches and had spent hours flicking through lifestyle magazines and creating a collage of photos of brownstone walk-ups in Brooklyn, which our purpose-built seventies-style flat above a pet shop bore absolutely no resemblance to.

  “How long were you together before that?” asked Léo. “Before you decided to live in this apartment?”

  “Six months or so.”

  Sometimes—although I’d never admit it to Si—it felt as though our relationship was moving at double the speed of everybody else’s. We’d only properly been together for a few months when he’d suggested moving in together. And he’d chosen the least romantic place to ask me: the upstairs landing of Mum and Tony’s house. I’d gone up to help him find a spare dining chair when we’d gone round for dinner one night. He’d taken my hands on the landing, clutching them earnestly.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he’d said softly, his eyes glittering.

  I’d laughed brightly at how nervous he seemed. “Go on.”

  He coughed, taking a deep breath. “I wanted to ask you if you’d move in with me.”

  I swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

  “The lease is coming up for renewal on my place,” he said, keepin
g his voice low. “And I thought to myself: we spend most nights together, anyway. Why not take the next step and get a flat of our own?”

  I couldn’t think clearly. This was not what I’d expected at all.

  “Isn’t it a bit soon?” I said tentatively, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

  Si squeezed my fingers. “Is it? There are no rules, Han. Who says we have to do what everyone else does?”

  I scrunched up my face, trying to put into words how I felt. Scared, for one thing. Out of control, for another. This wasn’t how things went for me. People loved me and then they left me, that was how it had always been. And now here was Si telling me how serious he was about me, how he saw a future for the two of us. Part of me couldn’t quite accept that he meant it.

  “We’re still getting to know each other, aren’t we?” I explained. “Won’t you get bored if you have to see me every day? Once you discover all my bad habits. How messy I am. How I leave dishes in the sink. All that.”

  He’d laughed, kissing me hard on the forehead. “I love everything about you, Han, messy bits and all.”

  I brushed the tip of my nose against his. “Are you sure?” I whispered.

  “Yes, I’m sure. So what do you say?” he asked, looking hopefully into my eyes.

  I hesitated, not quite believing it. “I say yes.”