by Mandy Baggot
‘I know you’re worrying, Debs, and I’m worrying too, but I really don’t think the employees of Cosmos Protection would be covering Gary’s tracks if he was having an affair. I really don’t,’ she said, squeezing Debs’ hands.
Debs looked at her, wide-eyed and still teary. ‘You really don’t?’
‘I really don’t,’ Ava said again. ‘I really think he was in a meeting.’
‘I’m totes going mad, aren’t I? It’s just tomorrow feels so far away and I have these articles to fret about. I’m practically chewing my hair out with the worry and the waiting.’
‘You have to stop worrying,’ Ava said, pulling her into a hug.
‘I know.’
‘Because if you don’t stop worrying you’re not going to be able to focus on your writing.’
‘I know,’ Debs said, sniffing and stepping back from Ava’s embrace.
Ava pulled her phone from her pocket to check her messages.
Leo.
Against her better judgement she opened the text. There was no writing again, just another photo. Her, at the top of the Eiffel Tower, with him, smiling for a selfie like two people in love. No hat. Well, it had been spring. She looked happy. He looked happy. She had been happy, for a time. But how would she ever know if anything he had felt was genuine when he had been able to dump her so easily?
‘You’re not reading my text,’ Debs said, moving over to Ava. ‘It wouldn’t make you look like that. Is it Leo? Her hands went to her mouth.
Ava shrugged. ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’
‘You don’t have to handle it on your own though, Ava. I’m here,’ Debs reminded.
‘I know, but you’ve got all this stuff going on. You don’t need me adding to it.’
‘You let me be the judge of that. I’m quite happy to report some of his posts on Facebook or phone up and complain about his poor customer service or anything you need me to do to get him back for being an utter arse.’
‘You don’t need to do that,’ Ava said softly, smiling at her friend. ‘But thank you. I’ll bear those offers in mind if anyone crosses me in the future.’
‘Good,’ Debs answered, reaching for her compact mirror and widening her eyes at her reflection as if looking for imperfections. She snapped it closed again and looked directly at Ava. ‘But now I want to hear all about your day with the charismatic cameraman.’
Heat hit Ava’s cheeks and she looked away, focussing on her damp and grubby Converse. She bent down and started to unlace them.
‘Ooh, silence and not making eye contact. This is going to be good,’ Debs said, clapping her hands together. ‘Did you do the getting drunk bit or was he the random man you decided to pucker-up with?’
Ava sighed and sat up. ‘Those were two items from my old wish list. The one you got me to rip into bits because it was juvenile,’ she reminded. She still had the pieces in her coat pocket.
‘That isn’t a thorough enough answer,’ Debs said in a sing-song voice.
Her eyes went to her cold hands and she remembered holding the stone pillars of the Panthéon, dipping her fingers into the water outside the Louvre and wrangling with falafel. All to the backdrop of Advent in Paris and with Julien... smart, funny, intriguing Julien who seemed to understand her perfectly when no one else in her life had the first clue.
‘We had a nice time,’ Ava said eventually. Nice didn’t cover it at all but it was all she had. Tiredness was creeping in now after a late night/early morning.
‘You weren’t mean to him again, were you?’ Debs asked. ‘Cameramen aren’t a brainwashed tribe, you know, they’re all individuals.’
Ava pulled at her shoes, revealing one soggy sock after another. ‘I was very polite all day.’
‘Good,’ Debs said with a contented sigh as she stood up and headed for the wardrobe. ‘Because I need you both tonight.’
‘What?’ She ripped her socks off and watched water slowly drip from the toes.
Debs tutted. ‘You still haven’t read my text, have you?’
‘Just tell me, Debs, you’re right next to me…’ She blinked and blinked again. ‘Holding something that looks like clothing, but also something you might wrap a Christmas turkey in prior to banging it in the oven.’ The micro-mini in tinfoil silver was going to blind her if it caught the light.
‘Do you like it?’ Debs asked. ‘I bought it today in a little vintage boutique. It’s genuine 1970s.’
‘I think I’ve seen someone wearing it on Top of the Pops 2, but I like it. Now tell me about tonight!’
‘Well, I’ve booked a table for you and I to have dinner at this darling little bistro near Pont Neuf I saw earlier and then we’re meeting Didier and hopefully your Julien and—’
‘He isn’t my Julien. I hardly know him, Debs.’ She huffed a sigh. She was heavily doused in man repellent. She had no interest in anyone being hers or her being anybody’s.
‘Fine, but tonight we will be getting to know them a little better… and everyone else at the party,’ Debs carried on.
‘Party?’ Now she was a little bit scared.
Debs clapped her hands together. ‘I found it online almost straightaway, the minute I typed “single in Paris” into Google.’
Ava swallowed. This wasn’t sounding good. This was sounding like something she definitely didn’t want to have any part in. She was praying it just involved market research or dressing up as a Babybel.
‘We’re going speed dating!’ Debs exclaimed, shaking the foil skirt like it was accompaniment.
‘No,’ Ava said, her head shaking like someone had delivered news of a death. ‘No, Debs, we’re not.’ She stood up on her freezing feet and looked for somewhere to hang her soaking socks.
‘I know what you’re thinking...’ Debs started.
‘No, you really don’t.’
‘You’re thinking it’s going to be all cheesy and full of totes desperado middle-aged divorcees looking for a second chance at love and—’
‘No, that didn’t cross my mind.’ Ava hung her socks over the radiator.
‘Well, it isn’t like that at all. It’s very classy,’ Debs continued. ‘It’s all done online through an app to begin with and then they have an actual meet-and-greet once every two weeks. I watched a video of last fortnight’s party and it looked so much fun. There wasn’t any of this ringing bells malarkey or moving on to the next person in five minutes. You pick a name… I thought I might be Florence. You could be—’
‘Nightingale?’
‘Don’t be silly!’
‘And the Machine?’
‘Ava...’
‘I won’t be choosing a name because I’m not going. I don’t want to be labelled as a single looking for love, because I’m not.’
‘It’s just for my article,’ Debs said. ‘That’s why I asked Didier and for him to ask Julien, so I can get a male point of view too.’
‘That’s fine, three people’s points of view is plenty, you don’t need mine.’ She walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her, shutting her eyes and leaning against the wood. Why was Leo still texting her? What was it with Christmas and Paris and her best friend? Why couldn’t Debs be writing an article on wine or saucisson? She wouldn’t mind researching either of those. Just not love and dating. Not now.
‘Ava,’ Debs called, knocking gently on the door. ‘I’m sorry. It was silly of me to suggest it. I should have known better and I shouldn’t have been so scathing about Leo. You loved him, didn’t you? And he’s been such a bastard.’ There was an intake of breath. ‘And if I find out Gary has been just the same then...’
Ava shook her head. She needed to stop letting that excuse for a man... that dog... creep into her psyche with old photos in messages.
‘Well, let’s just say dating is the very last thing I really want to be researching but... I’m a little bit desperate.’
Ava opened her eyes and took a breath. A dating party would be easy when she had no designs on getting a date. She could
just drink and watch and feel sorry for anyone who believed true love was going to come from a fake name and a few minutes of conversation.
‘But that’s totes OK, I’ll go on my own,’ Debs said.
‘No,’ Ava said. She whipped open the door and faced her friend. ‘No, you won’t. I’ll come,’ she said decisively. ‘And I’ll talk to any desperate middle-aged man you push my way in the name of research.’
Debs smiled. ‘Formidable!’
23
Bettina’s, Rue De Turbigo
The moment Julien walked into the bar he knew this wasn’t the work thing Didier had sold it to him as. There were tens of people milling around a group of women wearing matching T-shirts and carrying clipboards. There was more than the usual pre-Christmas décor of tree and garlands, there were posters he couldn’t quite read from this distance and pink straws in everyone’s drinks.
‘A drink, my friend!’ Didier said, slapping him on the back and leading the way to the bar.
‘Didier, why are we here?’ Julien asked, following his friend.
‘I told you,’ Didier said, not elaborating further.
‘And now I do not believe you.’
Didier smiled, pulling a cigarette from the packet in his hand with his teeth before replying. ‘If I tell you, you would not come.’
He couldn’t deny that. He was tired. After months of not doing anything, an early start and a day touring the city had been as exhausting as it had been exhilarating. He strained his eyes to look at the poster.
‘Dating?!’ he exclaimed. ‘Didier, dating?!’
‘You say the word like you are frightened of it.’
‘What are we doing here, Didier? I am not looking for a date.’
‘And I still do not know why.’
‘Because...’ he began.
‘Because?’ Didier asked, eyes fixed on him and waiting for a reply.
‘Because... I am not looking for a date.’
‘It has been a year since Monique.’
Julien said nothing, stood still and hoped Didier would get them both a drink. He knew how long it had been. He had ended the relationship a few weeks after Lauren’s death. Monique said she wanted to be there for him, but in other ways it was apparent that she did not. She wanted to talk and he didn’t want to talk and when he’d undressed at night she’d turned away from the scar he’d been left with. There was too much compromise needed on both their parts and neither of them could, or wanted, to do it.
‘It is time you embrace things again, Julien.’ Didier winked. ‘Embrace women.’
‘You are looking for a date?’ he quickly asked Didier.
‘I am always looking for a date,’ he said, smiling.
‘I thought that you and Debs might be...’
Didier smiled. ‘I thought you and Ava might be...’ He left the sentence open-ended and waggled his eyebrows.
Julien shook his head.
‘Why not?’ Didier inquired. ‘Did you not spend the day with her? She is very nice, no? If not a little challenging.’
‘She is...’ Julien admitted. He couldn’t find an appropriate word but he was pretty sure he could create an entire exhibition of photographs on the colour of her eyes alone.
‘Then?’
‘She is not looking for a relationship,’ Julien said matter-of-factly. ‘And neither am I.’ He sighed. ‘And two people can be friends without anything else getting in between them.’
‘Like hot, hard body parts?’ Didier worked a hand around and down his chest, mouth open, posing like an actor in a porn film.
Julien thumped his arm. ‘Just get the beer.’
‘You are staying, then?’ Didier concluded.
‘Only to watch you make an idiot of yourself.’
‘And to help Debs,’ Didier stated.
‘What?’
‘That is why we are here, my friend. We are the male singles in the city. Debs and Ava will be here any minute.’
He suddenly wished he had changed his clothes.
* * *
‘Ow! Stop rushing me!’ Ava said, falling off the boots she was wearing and struggling to keep her balance. Having nothing else suitable for her feet in her case and with her Converse drying out under the heater in the hotel room she was wearing a pair of Debs’ boots. They were plain black knee-length suede and a size too big. Even with three pairs of socks on – she had taken Julien’s lead on that – she was having a hard time navigating the Paris cobbles slick with snow. Plus the only thing she had that went with the boots was a black cotton dress that was far more summer than winter wardrobe. She was thinking about staying in her coat even when they got indoors.
‘It’s very busy outside,’ Debs said, looking at the crowded pavement tables, people wrapped up against the weather drinking their beer and wine under a bright red awning, fairy lights along its edge. ‘And it looks busy inside too.’
‘Great,’ Ava said sarcastically, putting one foot gingerly in front of the other. ‘I mean, yay! Brilliant for your research,’ she said with more feeling. ‘Lots more eligible men to benefit from my singular charm.’
‘You are going to try, Ava, aren’t you?’ Debs asked.
Was that worry she saw in her usually unflappable friend’s expression?
‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘I told you I would.’
‘Good,’ Debs said.
Ava didn’t miss the shift in tone. Something was afoot here and it had nothing to do will her ill-fitting boots.
‘What’s wrong, Debs? Is there something else you’re not telling me?’
‘Of course there isn’t, silly,’ Debs said, normal service resuming.
‘Out with it,’ Ava said, stamping the boot into the snow and putting her hands on her hips.
‘We should get inside,’ Debs deflected. ‘It’s totes cold.’
‘I’ll stamp harder if you don’t tell me. Might even break the heel of this no doubt expensive boot.’
A panicked look coated Debs’ face. ‘There’s another writer,’ she said in little more than a whisper.
‘What?’
‘I’ve always been the go-to girl for lifestyle, travel, fashion, the one everyone calls first, the one in demand.’ Debs put her hand over her cherry-red lips and stifled a sob.
‘God, Debs, what’s going on?’ Ava asked. ‘Tell me!’
‘There’s someone else who’s getting the best pieces. Her name’s Trudy. I mean, what sort of a name is Trudy? Is it even a real name,’ Debs asked, almost hysterical. ‘She’s gazumping me... for everything. She’s coming up with these new ideas and totes exciting takes and different angles and people have stopped calling me, they’re calling Trudy.’
Ava reached out and drew Debs into her embrace, Father Christmas earrings, hair infused with glitter spray, the Fair Isle jumper and that Bacofoil skirt. ‘But the article on Christmas markets and singles in Paris. The magazine you’re writing them for wants you.’
Debs sniffed. ‘No they don’t. I’ve not been commissioned to write anything.’
‘What?’
‘I haven’t written something somebody wanted for months. I’ve been trying to come up with new ideas like this Trudy woman, but no one’s bought anything.’
‘But the trip and the hotel. I thought...’
‘I’m hoping to email a piece on the markets to a friend at Loveahappyending Lifestyle and she’s going to try and get it into their Christmas edition, but that won’t pay next month’s rent.’ Debs sighed. ‘And the singles and hens thing... if I can manage to get photos without Christmas decorations in I was going to pitch it to Diversity for their summer edition.’ She sniffed. ‘I could really do with Sarah Jessica Parker and the gang coming back on Netflix or something.’
Ava patted her friend’s back before holding her a little way away and making her look at her.
Debs carried on. ‘And then there’s all this stuff with Gary and my mum. It seemed to come at the right time... well, not at the right time but... I decided to
come here and check up on him and I thought I could kill two birds with one stone, make something out of these themes and hopefully keep a roof over my head... and maybe my mum’s head, too... because if Gary is playing away then I don’t know what’s going to happen with their house.’
‘Right, stop,’ Ava ordered. ‘Stop and listen to me. You have to put your mum and Gary out of your mind for tonight. Focus on this. Focus on the fact that this Trudy has nothing on you. I mean where was she when you were telling the world that they were all going to be wearing harem pants?’
‘That was inspired,’ Debs said, a twitch of a smile on her lips.
‘Exactly,’ Ava said. ‘And so is the singles in the city idea. And we’re going to make it work.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Debs asked, poking at the corner of her eye like she was worried her make-up might run.
‘Yes, I do and I’m going to give it my all,’ Ava said, straightening her form as if she was ready to do battle. ‘Even if every eligible man here looks like Napoleon Bonaparte.’
Debs took a deep breath and nodded her head.
‘Come on,’ Ava encouraged. ‘It just so happens I know a photographer who is going to adore Photoshopping out Christmas décor.’
24
Ava had to admit the bar was packed and everyone seemed to be having a good time, including her. It was the ultimate chance to people-watch without anyone worried you were watching them. Everyone here wanted to be observed... and to have their fake name written down on a postcard covered in love hearts.
She watched Julien at work. His camera around his neck, his face a picture of concentration, dark hair jutting a little over his forehead as he snapped another shot. When she had asked him to take photos of the event for Debs’ article he had been only too happy to oblige. She was sure he had seen it as an ‘out’ from having to take part in the dating games until Debs had thrust a postcard in his hand and reminded him of the schedule.