by Sandy Barker
“Well, if a practised liar like you can’t convince them …” I let the thought trail off, feeling the hollow victory as his face crumples. “What are we going to do, then?” I remember my sister on the other end of the call. “Hang on, Sez.” I don’t wait for her response—even knowing this call will cost us both a mint.
“I could drive you back, to Calais at least.” His eyes don’t meet mine.
“I’m not getting in a car with you, Scott—not to drive through the night. Just give me a minute, will you? I’m talking to Sarah.” He skulks away and flops onto a chair. “Hi, you there?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry.” I sigh heavily. “So, there are no seats left on the Eurostar tonight. I can’t get back to London until tomorrow. I guess I have to stay here.”
“What? With Scott?”
“I don’t have much choice. I’m going to have to buy a new train ticket—fuck, that’s so much money—and we have a room. It’s already paid for.”
“Make him sleep on the floor.”
“Absolutely.”
“Call me as soon as you get back to London.”
“I will.”
“I’m so sorry, Cat.”
“Five years, Sez. Five! If he didn’t want to do long-distance, he bloody well should have said so. He didn’t even last a month before he started screwing someone else.” The tears threaten again.
“Cat, you have every right to be furious with him. Are you sure it’s okay to stay with him tonight?”
“I have to. I can’t really afford my own hotel room.”
“Sure, okay, that makes sense.”
“I’m gonna go, now.”
“Okay, darling.”
“Sez?”
“Yep.”
“Paris is a shitty place to break up.”
“I know, Cat. I’m so sorry.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
Chapter 3
The ablution block was a nightmare.
Although we hustled over as soon as the coach arrived at the campsite, the line for a shower was already thirty-deep and there were only six shower stalls.
“I don’t need a shower,” I declared. I mean, I did, but I could make do with a wipe down with a wet washcloth—good thing I’d brought one.
“Well, I stink,” said Lou. “I’m gonna wait it out.”
“Meet you back at the shed?”
“Yup.”
For the umpteenth time that day, I finessed my way through a crowd. I positioned myself in front of a sink, wet the washcloth, and got to work on the important bits, ignoring the screwed-up noses I could see reflected in the mirror. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and ran wet fingers through my wavy hair. It would have to do. By the time I walked past Lou on my way out, she’d progressed two places in the line.
“Good luck.” She rolled her eyes.
Back in the shed, I reapplied my makeup and added some product to my hair to up the shine factor. From my case came a blue jersey wrap-around dress which accentuated my waist. I slipped it on along with a pair of silver flats. They weren’t great for walking long distances, but I am not the type of woman who can pull off a pretty dress and sneakers. I added my midnight blue motorcycle jacket—another TK Maxx special—spritzed on some of my favourite perfume, L’eau d’Issey, and sat ready on my bunk scrolling through my Twitter feed—all before Lou returned.
Finally, the cabin door swung open and Lou, wrapped in a towel, barrelled through.
“You walked across the campsite like that?”
“I know! I forgot to bring my clean clothes.”
“Well, I’m sure there were many appreciative onlookers.” Her mouth pulled taut. She seemed dubious.
“How long do I have?”
I checked my watch. “Seventeen minutes.”
“Darn!”
“And phooey!”
She cracked a smile. “I don’t swear much.”
“I gathered. I’ll leave you to it,” I said as she frantically rummaged through her suitcase.
I stepped out into the cool, but still, evening and made my way over to a picnic table. Craig was reading something on his phone, and I sat down next to him.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he replied, seeming distracted.
“Want some privacy?”
“What? Oh, no.” He put his phone face-down on the table.
“Everything all right?”
“It’s my mom.”
“And …?”
He sighed. “Things aren’t good with her boyfriend.”
“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”
“He’s kind of a dick.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah—I’m trying to be supportive, but really, I hope they break up. He’s not good enough for her.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.” Heavy load for a young guy. He picked up the phone and spun it in his hand. “How was your day in Paris?” I asked brightly.
To his credit, he didn’t wallow, and his grimace gave way to a smile. “It was intense.”
“Really?”
“I’m from Oregon,” he said, as though it was the backwater of the earth. “I’ve been to Washington and California, but that’s it. So, yeah, Paris kind of blew my mind. I mean, this place is old, and everything—the buildings, the bridges, everything here is like, really beautiful. In a way, it doesn’t feel quite real.”
“I know what you mean.”
“But I thought you’d been here before.”
“I have, but it feels different this time. Being with Lou has helped. She’s so wide-eyed about everything, it’s like I’m seeing it for the first time too.”
He nodded as though he understood, and I wondered at how mature he was. Not that I’d tell him. I didn’t want to come off as condescending. “So, you ready for a girls’ night out?” I teased.
“For sure.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re in for?” I raised my eyebrows at him.
“Not a clue. But I’m game. Hopefully, it’ll keep my mind off my mom.”
“I made it,” said an out-of-breath Lou from behind us. We turned around in sync.
“Looouuu. You look hot,” I said, taking in her maxi dress, cropped denim jacket, silver hoop earrings, and barely-there-but-very-pretty makeup. She grinned and did a couple of curtsies.
“Not bad for fifteen minutes, huh?”
“Oh bollocks.” I checked my watch. “The coach!”
We made it—just. Georgina threw us her signature schoolmarm look, her mouth twisted like a pretzel. It would have ticked me off if I wasn’t so impressed. I had no idea a mouth could do that. Telling her we wouldn’t be joining the group for dinner made it worse. I hurried down the aisle before she could give us detention.
***
Dinner was sublime. The conversation got a little heavy when Dani lamented the wedding she was missing, but the food was fantastic. And all we’d done was step off the coach, head in the opposite direction from the tour group, and follow our noses.
We’d been dropped off on the Left Bank, and within minutes came across a street lined with cafés and bistros. With Dani being French-Canadian, we let her take the lead and she selected a smaller bistro in the middle of the block which had room for the five of us.
In rapid-fire French, her tone slightly officious, she requested a table. Our waiter nodded curtly and showed us to a cramped table, which, by the time we worked out the seating arrangement, bore bread, a large bottle of sparkling water, and five small glasses.
The smells coming from the tiny kitchen were incredible and my mouth watered at the thought of proper French food. I certainly didn’t count the lunchtime baguette.
The menu was written on a chalkboard which hovered precariously above Craig’s head. I had enough French to make out most of the dishes, but Dani translated the whole thing for us. It didn’t take long, as it was the kind of place where there were only three choices per course. I figured that with such a limited menu, every
dish would most likely be delicious.
They were. I had onion soup to start, then cassoulet de lapin—rabbit casserole—and I finished with tarte aux poires—pear tart. After my first bite of the tart, I groaned with pleasure and Jaelee asked if I wanted to be alone with it. I had no idea what the others ate; I was in my own little culinary heaven.
As the dessert plates were cleared away, Dani lifted her glass. “I’d like to propose a toast. To my new friends—if it wasn’t for you, this day would totally suck. So, thank you for being here with me, thank you for the endless supply of tissues, and thank you for being such awesome company. Salut.”
A chorus of “Salut” erupted as we clinked together cheap glasses filled with cheap house wine—drinkable, but hardly memorable.
“You’ve handled it really well, Dani,” said Lou as she scooped up some breadcrumbs from the table and deposited them in the breadbasket. “If my best friend pulled a stunt like that, I’d probably have flown down there anyway.”
“I definitely would have,” I added.
“Yep. Me too.” Jaelee rounded out our supportive indignation. Craig stayed quiet.
Dani’s eye revealed instant panic. “What? You would have? Should I have? Oh, no! I should have gone to Mexico!” She was half out of her seat when Jaelee grabbed her hand and pulled her back down.
“No, that’s not what we meant. Right?” she looked to us for support.
“Right,” said Lou.
“Of course,” I added.
“That would have been wrong,” Jaelee clarified.
“Terrible.”
“A disaster,” I agreed.
“You did the right thing. You respected her wishes, no matter how hard it was to do,” said Lou. We watched as Dani slowly nodded, her brow uncreasing. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I mean, I would totally tell Nathalie exactly where to stick her elopement if I ever—” I threw Jae a silencing look, cutting her off, even though I agreed with her. Nathalie could fuck right off.
***
“Oh, my God, I’m stuffed.” Dani seemed to be in finer spirits when we rolled out onto the street a little while later.
“Did you enjoy dinner?” I asked Craig, falling in step alongside him. He’d been rather quiet, and I wondered if he was overwhelmed by us, or maybe his mum was still on his mind.
“Oh, for sure. That was incredible. I’ve got to make that French-style casserole for my mom when I get home.”
“You cook?” I asked incredulously. Could I be any more sexist? Or ageist? “Sorry.”
He laughed it off. “It’s fine. I know most guys my age don’t cook. But it’s just the two of us and my mom works long hours, so I’ve been responsible for dinner since I was fifteen. I got sick of frozen pizza and Lean Cuisine pretty quick, so I started reading recipe books and trying out stuff.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. At first, I got a bit of ribbing from my buddies. But then I made brisket for them this one weekend—they shut up about it after that. Of course, now they bug me to cook for them all the time.”
“So, you’re good at it.”
“No, I’m great at it.” He grinned down at me. “I was even thinking of maybe skipping college and going to culinary school.” I caught a look of consternation.
“Is that a possibility?”
He shrugged. “Not sure. How do you tell your mom you want to be a chef when you got into Stanford?”
“Wait,” I stopped and tugged at his arm. He stopped walking, a sheepish look on his face. “Stanford?”
“Yep.” He started walking again, and I hurried to catch up with him.
“Studying what?”
“Biochemical engineering.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s … congratulations. I mean, it’s good, right?”
He smiled. “It’s good. It’s not like I don’t love that too—I do. I’ve been interested in bio-hacking for a while now—it’s essentially knowing exactly how to get your body working optimally—diet, supplements, hormone balancing, activity—that sort of thing.”
This explained why he was so fit. I mean, not that I’d been perving on our baby brother, but Craig was obviously into health and fitness. Whereas my approach to the whole “optimal body” thing was to eat what I liked, drag myself to the gym a couple of times a week, and send frequent silent thanks to my paternal grandmother for the “naturally slim” genes. Thanks, Grandma.
I didn’t want to burden Craig with my miscreant ways, however, so I omitted the gory details and replied, “Sounds interesting.”
“Yeah, I mean, it totally is—but food.” His fists pumped his chest over his heart. “I love cooking. So, you see? Conundrum.”
“Hah! Good word. So, you haven’t told your mum?”
“Uh, no. I haven’t.”
“Look, I know I don’t know you very well, but it seems like you’re close to your mum. Can’t you tell her just like you told me? I mean, your passion is obvious. She might surprise you.”
“I got a full ride.”
“Well, bollocks.”
“Yeah. And we’re not poor or anything, but there’s no way she could afford Stanford. How do I turn it down? I’d be an idiot to turn it down.”
“Mmm.” My brain went into noodling mode; it was chewing on something. “Hey! What if you studied both and became the world’s first bio-hacking chef?”
He laughed. Out loud. At my brilliant idea.
I backhanded him in the chest, which for a short gal like me was literally a stretch. “I’m serious. Anyway—maybe think about it.”
“C’mon. The others are way ahead.” I hadn’t noticed we’d got so far behind. I also had no idea where we were going. We caught up as Dani pulled out her phone.
“Where are we heading?” I asked.
“Good question,” replied Lou.
“I was following you guys,” said Jae.
Dani threw her hands up in the air. “I have no idea where we even are. We all just started walking.”
“Seriously?” I asked. We shared a round of looks and burst out laughing.
“Now, we all agree that we must never speak of this again, right?” asked Lou, which was followed by smirks, head-shaking and heart-crossing.
When all that died down, Jae looked around as though she was searching for something. “There,” she said, pointing to a man walking towards us. I’d barely clocked he was there, let alone how attractive he was, when Jae stood directly in his path, stuck her hand on his chest—What the actual fuck?—and said, “Excuse me, do you speak English?”
I never knew it was possible to die from embarrassment until that moment.
The man stopped, smiled, and replied, “Yes, of course,” right as Dani started protesting that she spoke French. Jae silenced her with a curt “Shh” thrown over her shoulder.
I removed my hand from my mortified face and looked at him properly, taking in his outfit in a matter of seconds—a white T-shirt under a battered denim jacket, and slim-fit—but not too tight—tan trousers rolled up at the ankle, and suede sneakers in navy blue. The whole look sat easily on his six-foot-something, trim-but-not-skinny frame. If I’d been a modelling scout, I would have signed him on the spot. Even his hands were beautiful.
My eyes returned to his face, which was framed by longish medium-brown hair falling over one eye. His smile—full lips, which were far redder than a man’s lips had a right to be—stretched across white teeth, a front one ever-so-slightly crooked. His nose would have been too big on someone else, but fit his wide face and high cheekbones perfectly, and his large eyes twinkled with amusement at Jaelee, crinkling at the edges. Oh, I love an eye crinkle.
He was immensely fuckable—and I mean that in the nicest possible way. A tug of familiarity niggled at me; he reminded of someone.
Jaelee continued her verbal assault, undaunted by basic manners. “So, we’re here in this gorgeous city, just for tonight, and we want to go som
ewhere cool, somewhere fun, somewhere we can meet more men as gorgeous as you …” I’m pretty sure I heard Lou groan at the last part. At least there was solidarity—we were all being humiliated in front of the spectacular-looking man.
I was tempted to walk away until the whole embarrassing exchange was done but, for some reason, I was rooted to the spot. Who does he remind me of?
“… So, can you help us out?” Jae’s head tipped up to the Frenchman, her chin jutting out expectantly.
He laughed then and ran a hand through his hair. Oh, my God, I want to do that. “For sure. I know a place. I’m going there now to meet some friends. I would walk with you, but I have this.” He pointed to a powder blue Vespa parked at the kerb.
Dani said something to him in French—maybe she was apologising. I hoped she was apologising, but whatever it was, he waved it away, smiling. Then he said something back in French and she typed into her phone. “What’s happening?” asked Lou in a low voice.
“She’s getting directions?” I replied, just as quietly.
“Got it,” Dani said, smiling at the Frenchman as he climbed onto his scooter. “Are you sure you don’t mind us crashing your party?” she asked. Please don’t mind. Please don’t mind.
His reply was another laugh. “Not at all. It will be fun, non?” I found myself nodding a response even though he wasn’t even looking at me. Then he did look at me and there was a flicker of something across his face as his eyes held mine for a moment. His mouth pulled up at one corner and I felt a sharp intake of breath.
“So, you will definitely come, non?” he asked. My mind went somewhere crass, but in my defence, he was spectacularly sexy. Four women and one guy gave affirmative responses in varying degrees of enthusiasm, and by then it was really starting to bug me—who did he look like?
Before I could figure it out, he started the scooter, rolled it off its kickstand, and waved a goodbye before scooting—scootering?—away and leaving the five of us slightly dumbfounded by the whole exchange, even Jaelee.
“Dani, let me see that.” Jae pointed to Dani’s phone and she handed it over. Jae’s face scrunched up.
“What?” asked Lou.
“It’s an Irish pub.”
“Hah!” My laugh released some of the tension I’d been holding in. “Well, I don’t care. We’re going.”