Two Friends, One Summer

by Kate Le Vann

  ‘I promise I’m not,’ she said. ‘You can smell that fish, can’t you? Your senses haven’t died from spending two weeks in this house?’

  I laughed, finally. ‘OK, not wanting to eat Faye fish is not the sign of an eating disorder. Listen, I should stop worrying about you, you have everything under control, you have a gorgeous boyfriend, you look great, and you can speak French.’

  ‘Yay,’ Rachel said. ‘I am really happy. This holiday is the most amazing thing we ever did. I’m really glad you made us come here.’

  The truth? I was so jealous of her it hurt.

  Argh, what was wrong with me? I didn’t want to sleep with French boys I hardly knew! I just wanted to feel like I knew what I was doing, like Rachel. I wanted to believe I knew what I wanted, too. I . . . just wanted her holiday, for it all to be as exciting and life-changing for me, for something to happen to me too.

  Chantal had been helping with dinner and she came in to tell us it was ready. Rachel talked to her in scary-fast French, and I felt like an idiot for making her talk English to me. But I could sense Chantal wasn’t warming to Rachel all that much. She had that half-smile, the one she’d originally greeted me with, where you couldn’t tell whether she was just wary of you or laughing at you.

  Monsieur Faye poured us all wine. The French just regularly give their teenage children wine, which is pretty cool. Having said that, it was really sour, almost like vinegar, and I couldn’t drink it. The jelly-covered paté came out and Rachel daintily (and with a rather smug glance at me) thanked Madame Faye and turned it down, filling up on dry bread and butter. Then the fish, and I looked at Rachel and she gave me a tiny wink. After putting it down in the middle of the table, Madame Faye went back to the kitchen and came back with an enormous plate for Rachel: a huge pile of sliced pickled gherkins, giant, hairy pickled onions, and chopped up hard boiled eggs, with dark grey yolks. There were about five eggs altogether. Gosh, I hoped she wasn’t meeting Fabrice tonight. I noticed Chantal looked even more amused; I think she had some idea of Rachel’s horror.

  After dinner, Rachel said she was going to call Madame Lacasse for a lift home but Monsieur Faye insisted he’d take her. This was rapidly turning into a nightmare evening for Rachel. If I sat in the car with her, it would have meant another trip home alone with Monsieur Faye for me, but I owed it to her as my best friend. But . . . in the end the decision was made for me. Madame Faye told me she wanted to have a word with me, and that I didn’t need to accompany my friend; she would be perfectly all right.

  When Rachel left, Madame Faye had that word. She delivered a seemingly endless lecture in angry French: I had been lazy and untidy since I got there, I never helped her with any of the meals or any of the clearing up, or any housework. I was rude and disappeared to do my own thing when she was supposed to be looking after me and ‘educating’ me. I preferred to go out on Lucas’s moped. More than anything, I was ungrateful. If my attitude didn’t change, she planned to call my mother to tell her the situation was not working out and I had better go home a week or two early. Right at that moment, there was nothing I wanted more. I had to fight hard not to cry; it had been a long time since I’d been told off like this by anyone. In a way, she was right, I had been keeping myself to myself. And after dinner, I always made myself scarce, because I didn’t like being in the way, and when I stuck around trying to be helpful the Fayes would start barking at each other in really angry French – I mean, they were talking about work, and other people they knew; they weren’t angry at me, but it was difficult being around them, and they didn’t really speak to me. And, seeing as I’d only just worked out how to work the toilet, there was no way I was going to tackle the washing machine, and I did try to keep all my stuff tidy. It had been really difficult to work out what was expected of me. I didn’t say any of this, though – I just looked up at her and nodded.

  Madame Faye finally left me alone, and I did cry. Chantal came in and I tried to hide it. But Chantal was very cool about the crying, acting as if she hadn’t even noticed. She just said, ‘Let’s clean this kitchen, eh?’ and turned on the radio to some station with her usual weird indie music on it, and we didn’t talk, we just worked together. I was so grateful to her, for not making a big deal about it, for helping me, and most of all, just for being there with me.

  When we were hanging up the tea-towels, though, straight out of the blue, she asked me if I was letting Lucas seduce me. That was how she put it: letting him seduce me. I said I hadn’t seen that much of him, but there’d been some flirting. She understood the word perfectly, maybe she even understood it the way I meant it. She looked at me with her eyebrow raised, not smiling, not annoyed, just trying to get me.

  ‘I don’t think it will happen again,’ I told her. I said it because it was what I thought she wanted to hear. But as I was saying it, I realised it was what I wanted to hear, and even though it was me saying it, hearing it felt like being reassured by a friend.

  Chapter 12

  ‘OK, no ifs, no buts, no excuses, you’re coming to Paris with me today.’

  Rachel had called at ten to seven, waking me up. I quickly swapped my early morning confusion for excitement.

  ‘Just you and me? How are we going to get there? The train?’

  ‘Yeah yeah. How quickly can you get into Vernon? Is there anyone who’ll give you a lift?’

  I thought about the evening before – Madame Faye telling me I was lazy and ungrateful and that she was considering sending me home if I didn’t start changing my attitude. This wasn’t going to be easy to arrange. My heart fell.

  ‘Listen, I can’t do it. I could get into town in about an hour, but old lady Faye was right on my back last night. She gave me grief for ages about how badly I’m behaving. I mean, what time would we get back?’

  ‘No, we’re going to stay in Paris overnight. There’s a party!’

  ‘Whose party?’

  ‘It’s some friends of friends – you know Marthe? It’s her big sister. She’s a student. They have a flat there, so we can stay the night – they’ve got plenty of room.’ How had my shy friend made friends in Paris after spending two weeks in the French countryside?

  ‘I think I’d better not,’ I said. ‘Not only will old Mother Faye go nuts, but if it’s going to be you, me and Fabrice, I think I’d better say no. I’m going to feel like a total idiot.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘I don’t know if Fabrice is going,’ Rachel said. ‘He still might, but I think it’s not that likely.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s just busy,’ Rachel said. ‘Anyway, I’m not going to leave you alone, and it’s time we had some fun together. Pack a bag and tell Mother Faye.’

  Unsurprisingly, the Paris plan didn’t go down too well with Madame Faye after the warning she’d given me the evening before, but I just kept repeating that I would be safe, that I’d be back the next morning, that we wanted to see as much of France as possible while we were here, including all the famous art galleries and museums, and that I wanted to buy my mum a fancy present from Paris. Anyway, I was seventeen, what right did she have to stop me? OK, I didn’t actually say that, I didn’t want to push it.

  I met Rachel at Vernon station, and we went on to Paris. It was about two weeks since we’d ridden this train in the other direction, but that weird time-runs-slowly holiday effect made me feel really tired. If I could have stayed on the train while it took me all the way back home to England, I would have.

  Rachel’s notebook was full of suggestions for places to go, made by all her French friends, and she tried to work out a schedule for us, but I didn’t really have anything to say or any opinion to offer; I could only sit there, nodding, saying ‘Yeah, that sounds great’ to everything she mentioned.

  We hadn’t seen anything of Paris on the way to Normandy, we’d just run around changing trains and grabbing sandwiches and drinks and wacky French chocolate bars. I’d never been to Paris before. I fell in love with it straight awa
y. So beautiful! The French must come to England and see all the square, plain buildings and wonder how a country can look so boring. I was so happy to be there that it was almost breaking my heart that we wouldn’t have enough time to do and see everything, not even anything, really. There were the touristy places, like the Eiffel Tower, and the river and the parks, and now I was here I wanted to do all of those, but they weren’t on Rachel’s list. The list had been drawn up for her by a bunch of cool French girls, and as Rachel said, it would be a waste of our time queueing up with a bunch of stupid middle-aged Americans just so we could physically stand in places we’d seen in films a million times. I had to admit it was better to stick to the list, and to go straight in as a Parisian.

  ‘We can come back,’ Rachel reminded me, ‘We’re still here for another two weeks.’

  She was right, of course, and I admitted it while we were sipping citrons pressés and eating little pink cakes that looked like works of art in a tiny café with gold-edged chairs and painted walls. I was still admitting it – but now silently to myself – as we walked straight past all the usual chains – the Zaras and H&Ms – and slipped in and out of tiny boutiques with crazy-trendy shoes and dresses like nothing I’d seen before. It was so exciting that a weird fizzy, happy feeling welled up inside me, and I thought I wouldn’t be able to keep it inside and I’d have to laugh out loud like a crazy person just to ease the pressure. But as the day wore on, that feeling started to fade. We started trying things on, and Rachel seemed sort of extra loud, asking the assistants questions in French, making jokes with them and telling me things ‘really wouldn’t work with your colouring’. It felt a lot like showing off. She was being funny, and I was, once again, knocked out by how cool she was. I couldn’t help remembering the time I took her shopping for her first proper date with Ginger Brian, talking her out of buying a hideous pair of ‘urban’ shorts (while smothering my giggles at what she looked like in them) before steering her towards a cute top and jeans. Now look at us. I was mad at myself, not her, for not being able to be happy for her. Next to her, I felt myself fading.

  ‘So, look, where are we staying? Shouldn’t we check in with them, tell them we’re here, and maybe we could drop our bags off there?’ I asked her. We were resting our tired feet while drowning in sunshine in the Palais Royal gardens, a quiet rectangular park with fountains and leafy trees, surrounded by shops that sold things like puppets and vintage dresses.

  ‘Yes, she said to call after five,’ Rachel said. ‘Don’t worry. Although . . .’

  She flipped open her phone, called a number and got no answer, then tapped out and sent a text.

  ‘Is that to Fabrice?’ I asked. Rachel nodded.

  I watched two tiny French schoolgirls walking solemnly round a fountain, holding hands. I thought of me and Rachel before our lives started being about exams and boys and having to get everything right and make choices.

  The phone rang. Rachel answered, ‘Allo, oueh?’ ‘Oueh’ rhymes with ‘yeah’ – it was the way the French girls we knew said oui. Blimey, she even answered the phone in French. She didn’t say much, just ‘oueh’ a lot, and when she hung up she turned her head in the other direction and said, ‘Well, that’s good news, Fabrice isn’t coming, so it’ll just be you and me hanging out. It’ll be fun.’ But she didn’t sound happy.

  ‘How are things with him?’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rachel said. ‘Maybe I should have . . . I don’t know. I mean, it turns out he might have a girlfriend for one thing.’

  ‘WHAT?’

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t know for sure how serious it is.’

  ‘But when did you find out?’

  ‘Well, I sort of knew. It’s not really a problem.’

  ‘How is it not a problem? I thought you thought you loved him.’

  Rachel blew the hair out of her eyes. ‘It’s been an intense couple of weeks,’ she said.

  ‘OK, who are you and what have you done with Rachel?’ I said, trying to make a joke of it.

  ‘Oh, don’t say that!’ she said. ‘You make me feel like I’ve really disappointed you.’

  ‘Of course I’m not disappointed. If anything . . . I’m really jealous of you,’ I said – and it was true for a lot of things, although I didn’t envy the situation she was in with Fabrice, and I didn’t really understand how she’d found herself there.

  ‘Why would you be jealous? Because I lost my virginity and you didn’t? And you could have at any time, so what difference does it make? All this obsessing over it, and I promise you, when it happens, it’s . . . it’s such a big deal but it’s also nothing. What I mean is, I wish I had let it be a big deal, and I didn’t, and now it never will be, and it could have been. Do you know what I mean?’

  I did know, but I didn’t want her to feel worse. ‘You’ve come out of yourself so much since we got here,’ I said. ‘You’re confident, you look fantastic, you’re turning heads, everyone is, like, dazzled by you. This is the holiday we came here to have. I don’t know what’s going to happen with Fabrice, but you can’t regret it. How have you left things?’

  ‘Part of me just doesn’t want to see him again. The rest of me wishes he really loved me.’

  ‘Well . . .’ I had no idea what I should be telling her. ‘You sound like you don’t know what you want.’

  ‘I don’t know! As soon as he started acting more distant, I realised I barely even knew him, and . . . I can’t really explain. I’ve opened myself up to someone I don’t know if I can trust and I just want to forget the whole thing and hide. But I still fancy the boy I fell for and want him to come back and be the person I thought he was.’

  ‘We don’t have to go to this party tonight,’ I said. ‘Shall we just go home?’

  ‘No, let’s have fun,’ Rachel said. ‘Let’s just forget everything and have an excellent night.’

  She leaned back in the park’s little metal chair, facing the sun, and closed her eyes, and I watched her face without her knowing, until the frown line in the middle of her forehead disappeared.

  Chapter 13

  Marthe’s sister lived in Montmartre, high on a hill at the top of Paris, and we got there by going up about a million stairs towards the Sacré Coeur, a huge white church that looked like the Taj Mahal. At the top we were both completely puffed out, and sat on the church steps looking out over the whole city. I could see the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame, and all the touristy places we’d been too hip to go to. It was the early evening, and there seemed to be loads of people our age sitting around in groups. A boy with a guitar serenaded some pretty girls, backpackers unrolled sleeping-mats and took out sandwiches. I told Rachel about the idiot way I’d acted with Lucas – first kissing him at the castle, then suddenly panicking and trying to formally put him off. And the way he’d laughed at me and called me ‘little girl’. Sharing a bit of embarrassment seemed to cheer Rachel up, although she said he was the one who’d acted like an idiot, not me. I think she was glad to have the pressure taken off her love life, and also we’d slipped back a bit to being how we used to be together – I’d been the one with boy troubles, she’d listened and advised.

  ‘He’s somewhere here in the city tonight, I guess,’ I said, then a scary thought struck me. ‘You don’t think he’ll be at the party, do you? He knows Marthe.’

  ‘Dunno, maybe,’ Rachel said. ‘You’d be OK seeing him, though, wouldn’t you? You, queen of snogging, can face people after snogging them. Or, let’s face it, you wouldn’t be able to talk to half the boys in the Sixth Form.’

  ‘True,’ I said. How weird it was that I’d been so confident back home just a few weeks before, and now here I was an absolute beginner again. ‘Anyway, he’s going to be home again before I go, so I’ll have to face him some time. It may as well be tonight.’

  ‘Well, Marthe didn’t mention him being there. They all know each other, though, everyone who went to that school.’

  ‘I hope we all stay in touch after we leave school,’ I sa
id.

  ‘We will,’ Rachel said. The boy with the guitar was singing a Beatles song in French. The problems that had been nagging at me all holiday seemed muffled here, as if I’d sealed them in bubble wrap and put them to one side. I was aware of how big the future was and felt suddenly warm and cold all over. It was one of those amazing moments when you want to hold your breath because just maybe it will stop time, and you can stay there.

  Marthe answered the door at her sister’s flat, and she and Rachel kissed on both cheeks, while I stood a step or two behind, wondering if I’d do the same when I didn’t really know her at all. She did kiss me, but I mistimed, and banged my cheek against hers a bit hard. She spoke in quick French to Rachel, but I could basically understand almost all of it – she was saying it was such a shame Madame Lacasse hadn’t let Victoire come over, and that the boy she, Marthe, fancied, was already here and Rachel had to come and take a look. It felt strange, my friend having friends I hardly knew – this whole extra life all of a sudden.

  It was a big, old-fashioned and very messy flat, spread over two floors above a restaurant. We dropped our bags in a dark bedroom on the top floor, then came down again. There were eight or nine people in the room other than us, girls and boys, and the unmistakable smell of pot, although the smokers just seemed to be smoking normal cigarettes. Apart from Marthe, they were all a few years older than us. I sat on a futon with Rachel and sipped wine – but I had no intention of getting drunk. I felt like a little kid. I couldn’t talk in French to these people, I didn’t have anything to contribute, already it felt like a big mistake, but it was too late to go home. I hoped Rachel somehow felt like I did, and that the two of us could maybe just go back upstairs, spend the night chatting together as we sipped our wine, get some sleep, and then set off in the morning. That didn’t happen.

  When the room got dark, a lot more people arrived, and someone turned the stereo up about fifty times louder. The floor filled up with people sitting with their legs out and draped all over each other, shouting to be heard above the music. There was a thick, fuggy smoke, and I felt sick. Rachel had started talking to the boy on her left – in English for a change – and I pretended to be listening and interested, just to look less stupid, less like a spare part. I was both incredibly bored and uncomfortably self-conscious at the same time. Mainly I was just thinking: I want to leave; I want to go; I have to get out of here. Even more unexpectedly, I wished I’d stayed with Chantal, and that I was back home with the Fayes.