by Mandy Baggot
She was still and silent as if she was intently soaking up the scene. Seeing her reaction to it was like he was seeing the building for the first time himself. And then she spoke.
‘Leo brought me here because it was modelled on St Paul’s Cathedral,’ Ava said.
‘This is true,’ Julien said in response.
‘I asked whether it was because of the dome or the pigeons.’
Julien laughed, his eyes creasing at their corners. Ava smiled and indicated the clucking birds pecking at bits on the grey snow-smeared concrete.
‘And what did he say?’ Julien inquired.
‘He didn’t say anything,’ Ava answered. ‘Not even a laugh.’
‘Well,’ Julien began, ‘we are here for you now, not for this Leo.’
‘Exactly,’ Ava agreed. ‘So, choose your subject. Take your photo.’
* * *
Ava watched him, the sharp wind blowing his dark hair as his fingers went to his camera.
‘What do you see apart from the columns and the dome and the pigeons?’ she asked.
She continued to look at him, staring at the building, then to the sky, then to the ground, slick with wet from the melting snow. He seemed to be taking in everything. Not just the grand structure the tourists came to see, but all the nuances and details most of them would miss. Then she saw something.
‘The light,’ she exclaimed without even realising it. ‘It’s changing.’
‘Oui,’ he agreed.
‘It’s warming the stone. Look!’
‘I can see this,’ Julien agreed.
Ava walked forward, looking at the ridged markings on the stonework altering as the sunlight hit them. She wanted to touch them, run her hands over the mammoth columns and feel small in their presence. She headed up the wet, shiny steps, sludge wetting the canvas of her Converse wanting to get to the pillars before the effect was gone.
Sunlight fell on the top of the colonnade, the bottom still in darkness, creating the illusion of a second set of pillars like a mirror image. Ava put her hand on the first pillar she came to in shadow, her fingers cold against the stone. And then she closed her eyes, waiting.
* * *
Julien’s camera was at work the second she had moved away from him. She had her back to him, her hand stretched up on one of the columns in the centre of the structure, reaching as high as her body would allow and he was photographing every second of it praying she didn’t turn around.
He knew what she was waiting for. He had seen it too. The light was taking its time to come around the building but it was happening quickly as it rose to the east. Right now the Panthéon was half shrouded in darkness, partially lit up with the morning sun. Ava was waiting for that first warmth to hit her fingers, pressing into the brick.
He held his breath, primed for the second when it happened, feeling a little like he was intruding on her experience. He swallowed. That had never bothered him before. Covert photography to capture the natural simplicity of life, like that first picture of Lauren and the apple, was what he did best. He was all about opportunity.
He clicked another shot, just before the light reached the tips of her fingers and then again, the second it caught her hand. She moved her fingers, spanning them out like she was trying to catch the sun. He snapped again, feeling an intense energy fill him up.
‘Julien!’ she called. ‘Do you see?’
He dropped his camera down as she turned her head. ‘Yes, Ava,’ he answered. ‘I see it all.’
18
Notre Dame
There was a text from Debs when Ava checked her phone.
I thought I was going to feel better before now but actually I feel a hundred per cent worse. Just pondering about lunch is making me totes queasy. I will definitely feel better by dinner time. Phoned Mum and she’s fine. Gary called from ‘Toulouse’. I really need access to his Find My iPhone. Would you mind taking a few photographs of Christmassy things or singles in the city things? Or perhaps ask the handsome photographer to take some for me? Xx
Ridiculously, she was blushing and she shielded her phone screen as if Julien might see. They were sitting on a wall at the very edge of the Seine, the Notre Dame behind them. They had walked around the impressive Gothic cathedral, strolling through the central nave, admiring the high altar and all the sculptures and paintings in between. Ava remembered the last time she had visited there were pickpocket warning signs up at the entrance. This visit though was different, there weren’t so many crowds, and the experience was far more pleasurable because Julien didn’t seem to feel the need to fill every gap in conversation with chat about the price of real estate. They were just two people enjoying the sights, here together but separately and not feeling the need for anything more.
Ava turned to Julien, saw he was focussing his camera out over the water. She couldn’t tell if he was looking at the nearby bridge, or the people tramping through the sludge a little nearer to their position, or a solitary boat making its way up the river.
‘Am I holding you up being here today?’ Ava blurted out.
He let go of the camera then and it swung down, resting on his chest where the strap had stopped its motion.
‘Holding me up?’ he queried.
‘Do you have somewhere else you need to be?’ she asked.
‘You are bored with me?’ he asked. ‘I have yet to convince you of the magic of photography?’
She smiled. ‘Not bored and no, you haven’t done that quite yet.’ She kicked her feet, the backs of her trainers hitting the stone wall. ‘It’s just Debs is still ill from the local alcohol she had last night and can’t make it for lunch.’
‘You are hungry?’ he asked.
‘No... I mean a bit but... I just didn’t want to outstay my welcome if there are other things you need to do.’ She stopped talking.
‘You worry too much, Madonna,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It was I who invited you remember?
‘I know but I also know the photography is your job and I’m just here—’ What was the right word to use for what she was doing in Paris?
‘Sightseeing?’ he offered.
‘Ticking things off my wish list,’ she said.
‘A wish list,’ Julien said, a hint of amusement in his expression.
‘What’s funny about that?’
‘For somebody who does not believe in making things perfect you have a list of wishes to try to ensure your trip is how you need it to be.’
‘It’s not that exactly,’ she countered. And she hadn’t actually written a new one yet. God this man was as irritating as he was handsome. If she wasn’t completely embalmed in eau de singleton he might just be a little bit intriguing.
‘Non?’ he asked.
‘It was Debs’ idea. She thinks I need cheering up.’ Ava sniffed. ‘She thinks finding out my boyfriend has been cheating on me this close to Christmas is going to send me into a meltdown and I might do something really crazy like cut off all my hair and dye it blonde.’
‘Ava,’ he said, his voice soft, ‘this man from England was dating another woman? When he was dating you?’
The way Julien had said it made the infidelity sound like the worst treachery – something to be tortured for in Place Maubert. And it was, she guessed, and at the moment it seemed to be contagious.
She readjusted herself on the wall before answering. ‘I’m not sure he was dating her as such. Just getting naked with her in the penthouse apartment with views of the docks.’ She shrugged. ‘He probably gave her the full champagne experience he gave me the first time. Cava, chocolates and John Legend on Spotify.’
She swallowed, looking down towards the dark, blue water, a slight mist coming from it. She didn’t feel sad any more, just a little stupid that she had believed the things Leo had told her. You’re so beautiful, Ava. I love you, Ava. All lies.
She looked up from the river to see Julien shaking his head.
‘This man,’ he said. ‘This person, is the very worst kind. To
betray both of you is the behaviour of a dog.’
‘Yes,’ Ava sighed.
‘And he is on the telephone to you, here in Paris, asking for another chance!’
‘What?’
* * *
Julien hated cheats, loathed them with his every atom. Lauren had had a boyfriend called Charles and he had never liked him. He always seemed a little too good to be true. He bought flowers every week, he bought expensive jewellery for no reason at all and he never really could work out what the man had in common with his beautiful, life-loving sister. But, Lauren was happy with Charles and having her happy was all he had ever wanted.
‘What did you say?’ Ava asked him again.
He swallowed, coming back into the moment. ‘I am sorry. I heard you, last night, outside the hotel, on the telephone.’
Ava folded her arms across her chest. ‘Was that before or after you started taking photos of me?’
‘Somewhere in between?’ he offered.
‘Don’t tell me,’ she started. ‘My face was the perfect mix of angry and angelic.’
‘You knew this? You saw me and posed?’ he teased.
She hit him on the arm and he laughed, shifting slightly to lessen the impact.
‘Has someone cheated on you?’ she asked.
‘Non,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘But someone cheated on my sister.’
‘Lauren?’ Ava asked.
He nodded. ‘They were together almost a year and she found out when a hotel called the apartment they shared together, to remind her about a booking Charles had made for that night.’ Julien sighed. ‘He came home, made up lies and she followed him... you can imagine the rest.’
‘Yes,’ Ava agreed with a swallow. The following someone around Paris was also hitting a nerve.
‘These people, Ava, they have something inside them that is never satisfied,’ he told her. ‘I cannot speak for someone I do not know, but Charles, he was looking for adoration not love and there is a big difference.’ He smiled. ‘But what I do know is that everything you said to this man on the telephone is right... what was it? The possibility of possibilities and Camembert.’
She smiled. ‘Now you know why I had to have it first thing this morning.’
‘Do you think you might like to try something a little different for lunch?’ he asked.
‘You know a place?’
He nodded. ‘I know a place.’
19
The Marais – L’As du Fallafel
The bright green exterior of the shop-cum-eatery was the first thing that struck Ava as they approached the building. Some of the paint was peeling and there were posters and notices in the windows of the frontage that could be seen. The part of the frontage that couldn’t be seen was down to a large queue coming out of the door and a gathering of people to its left, all cramming food into their mouths like they hadn’t eaten since the previous December.
‘You like falafel?’ Julien asked her.
Her stomach seemed to be begging her to answer. ‘Who doesn’t like falafel?’
‘My father,’ Julien stated. ‘It is far too exotic in his opinion. And, of course, it is not traditionally from France.’
‘What is he having at his wedding? A cheese board? Snails and frogs legs?’ She put her hands to her mouth. ‘Sorry, that sounded really insulting.’
Julien laughed. ‘We French can laugh at ourselves, Ava.’
‘Sorry,’ she answered. ‘But I’m sure most Parisian taxi drivers beg to differ.’ She blew on her hands and rubbed them together as they joined the queue. ‘So what is on the menu for the wedding breakfast on Christmas Eve?’
‘I am not sure,’ he admitted.
‘You haven’t been involved in that bit of the planning I’m guessing.’
‘No, my step-mother, she has most things under control.’ He scratched the back of his neck where the camera strap sat.
‘I’m a bit surprised my mother hasn’t got remarried,’ Ava admitted. ‘Not because I think she’s the perfect candidate to make someone very happy for the rest of their life, but because she would love a good wedding event. All that opportunity to dress up and show off.’
‘Maybe she realises the wedding is not about dressing up and showing off,’ Julien suggested.
Ava laughed. ‘No, she thinks that is the meaning of life.’
‘And how does she stand on the subject of falafel?’
‘Well, she’s eaten in every corner of the globe in the presence of princes and sheikhs,’ Ava answered. ‘But only things that are under three hundred calories per portion.’
‘Well,’ Julien said. ‘I cannot promise to this.’
‘And now you know another reason why I hated modelling. Never being able to eat what you want when you want.’ Ava looked at him. ‘Does this queue take long to go down?’
* * *
He had purposefully chosen a table near the fire exit and made suggestions on the menu. Now, watching Ava eat, it was yet another photo opportunity he didn’t dare capture. She had started making appreciative noises the second the food touched her tongue and her enjoyment was compelling. He had in fact spent more time observing her expression as the falafel, cabbage, roasted aubergine and hot sauce met her taste buds than he had eating his own portion.
‘So, I know London is supposed to be the most diverse city in Europe with restaurants from every country there is, but I’ve never eaten anything quite like this,’ Ava said through a mouthful of fried chick peas.
‘Better than Camembert?’ Julien asked her, a grin on his mouth.
‘Let’s not go too far,’ Ava answered.
He smiled, watching her move her hands from pitta bread to the Israeli beer he had suggested they have. And then it hit him, as he carried on looking at Ava, her bright, white hair unleashed from his hat now they were indoors, chilli sauce speckling her lips, life and light in her eyes: he felt normal. And that’s when the guilt started to seep slowly into his conscience. He bit into his lunch.
‘Do you think you’ll do it again?’ Ava asked him, eyes wide, concentration on him not her food.
‘Do what?’
‘Sell a photograph for an extortionate sum of money?’ She grinned.
‘I do not know. Perhaps,’ he mused. ‘Perhaps not.’
‘It must be hard, not knowing what people want to see,’ Ava said. He saw her eyes go from the animated, cosy vibe of the restaurant to outside where the people queuing were shielding their heads from the snow that had started to fall again.
‘Non,’ he replied. ‘Despite what you think, I already tell you I do not take photographs all the while wondering what people want to see.’ He took a sip from his beer bottle. ‘But, there are times when I might take a photo of something and know that the majority of people will not want to see it.’
He watched Ava prop her head up with her hand, elbow on the table, looking at him with deep interest.
‘Like what?’ she asked.
He was a fool. He had started this conversation and now he was going to have to get himself out of it. He couldn’t tell her the truth. He couldn’t say he had gone out after the Paris attacks and taken photo after photo of the devastation as tears rolled down his cheeks. He couldn’t tell her that he had photographed a child and his father laying flowers at the base of the apartment block where Lauren had died. Admitting to all that was going to force a conversation he wasn’t ready to have about a time of his life that was still so raw.
‘The homeless,’ he said tentatively. ‘Lauren...’ He swallowed. ‘Behind the department store where she works... there is shelter where they keep empty boxes before they are recycled. On some nights there are as many as twenty people crowded into the space, keeping each other warm, getting out of the cold.’ He looked up at Ava. ‘People do not want to see that.’
He had done it again. He had spoken about his sister as if she were still here… and it had felt so much better than using the dark, sad, desperate words he had had to use these past months.
Ava nodded, picking up her beer. ‘Well, they should see it.’
‘Pourquoi?’
‘Because closing your eyes to reality doesn’t make it go away.’
He smiled. That was what Lauren used to say.
‘So did you just take photos of the homeless or did you do something to help?’
He shifted in his seat, leaning a little over the table. ‘Sometimes when I meet Lauren from work we take them what is left from the patisserie department.’ He took a sip of his beer. ‘At the beginning they think we are mad, refuse to take anything, then, when we keep coming back, finally they begin to trust us.’
‘That’s a lovely thing to do.’
‘It was Lauren’s idea,’ he replied.
* * *
Ava’s phone began to ring from inside her bag, the theme from CSI Miami blaring out above the hubbub of the café.
‘Sorry,’ she apologised to Julien. ‘Maybe Debs has recovered. Maybe she can get the Metro over here. She would love this place.’ She pulled the phone from her bag and looked at the screen: Rhoda Rhinestone.
‘Oh, bloody hell,’ Ava said, putting the phone on the table and watching it vibrate its way over towards the salt and pepper.
‘It is not Debs?’ Julien asked.
‘No.’ She shook her head. What was she going to do? Pick up or let it go to voicemail? Could she bear more texts throughout the day delivering ultimatums?
‘It is the man who cheated on you?’ Julien guessed.
‘No, much worse. Someone I can’t shake off no matter how hard I try.’ She scooped the phone up and pressed to answer.
‘Hello,’ she greeted, sounding a lot more buoyant than she felt.
‘Ava, this is urgent,’ Rhoda spoke. ‘You didn’t get my message, did you?’
‘Which one?’