by Mandy Baggot
Debs nodded, putting another forkful of crepe into her mouth. She chewed it up before speaking. ‘Do you know someone who can hack email?’
‘I have a hunch I know someone who can help.’
Ava’s eyes went across the market square, looking through the wooden chalets, past the revolving merry-go-round to the vendors selling candyfloss and cinnamon-infused sweet treats and beyond to the street outside the Christmas fair... and there was Julien. Walking arm-in-arm with a woman.
Ava swallowed, watching. The woman was beautiful, Parisian beautiful, dressed in a stylish, tailored bright green coat, her dark wavy hair resting on her shoulders as she and Julien moved along the street. Was this Lauren? She had imagined her a little different. Younger. But she was pretty. So pretty. Something inside her prickled. Maybe this wasn’t Lauren. Maybe it was someone else. A girlfriend. Maybe when Julien had said he was single he hadn’t really meant it... or lied. She sniffed, watching the woman tighten her hold on Julien’s arm, smiling up at him as she talked. It didn’t look like the sort of connection a brother and sister would have, even if they were close. Did that mean she had been duped again? That all men really were bastards? Just like Leo and, potentially, Gary. She sighed, watching the two of them disappear into the distance. Not that Julien was her man. Not that she wanted him to be. It was just he had started to restore her faith in trust just a little bit, and now...
‘Ava?’ Debs questioned, pulling at her sleeve. ‘Are you OK?’
She snapped herself out of it, turning her head to face her friend. ‘Yes,’ she said a lot more brightly than she felt. ‘What’s next? Back to the silver jewellery stall?’
‘I thought I wasn’t allowed to revisit that stall,’ Debs said with a grin.
‘It’s nearly Christmas,’ Ava reminded her. ‘And I think we both deserve a treat.’ And a non-male distraction.
31
Sacré-Coeur, Montmartre
Julien was going to tell Ava about Lauren. He had to. This morning with his father… he was as good as the same, hiding, pretending everything was all right. Ava deserved the truth. The only reason he hadn’t told her, the only reason he had let her assume, was because he had wanted to pretend, just for a little while, that things were how they used to be. That wasn’t right and it wasn’t honest either. And even though he hadn’t known Ava very long, he already knew how much she valued honesty.
He spotted Ava straightaway. She was standing right in the middle of the steps leading up to the Sacré-Coeur shooing away pigeons that seemed to be forming a circle around her feet. He stopped walking and held his camera up to capture the scene before she noticed him. She was wearing a red hat, not unlike the hat Lauren used to wear, her blonde spikes hidden, only her rosy-cheeked face, full lips and cat-like eyes exposed to the elements. He clicked, trying to catch a pigeon in flight, the shadow of the church as the sun hit the bell tower. Then, through the viewfinder, he saw her look directly towards him and he dropped the camera like it had turned into molten lava in his hands. He waved quickly and started to move towards her.
‘Hello,’ he greeted.
‘Hi,’ she responded, mouth downturned slightly.
‘Ava… there’s something—’
‘I saw you at the market today,’ Ava blurted out.
‘You did?’
‘With Lauren.’
‘What?’ His heart started to palpitate and his throat dried up.
‘She’s so beautiful. You never said how beautiful she was. All that long hair and gorgeous clothes.’
‘Oh!’ Julien exclaimed, almost relieved until he remembered how deceitful this all was. Now was the time to confess and make things clear... Except the words weren’t coming. All that was coming was gap filling and half-truths. ‘You saw me with Diane.’
‘Diane?’
‘She is someone I know through my work. She runs a gallery I have had a few paintings displayed at... I met her on the way back from meeting with my father.’
‘Your father,’ Ava said. ‘Not Lauren.’
He swallowed. He hadn’t realised just how many lies he had told without even knowing it. And before sense could prevail it was happening all over again. ‘The fitting for the wedding suits are almost done.’ Another lie. How could he also admit his father now didn’t want him to be his best man? That his whole family was so messed up she ought to be running away fast in the opposite direction.
‘That’s good,’ Ava answered with a sigh.
‘There is something wrong?’ Julien asked her.
She looked unsettled, a little shaken. Had she found out about Lauren from Debs? Had Didier decided to tell the truth Julien couldn’t face up to? Or maybe it was something else. Had Ava seen him taking photos of her just now?
‘I’ve just spent the whole morning chasing someone across Paris who Debs thinks is having an affair with her step-dad.’
He tried to catch up with what she was saying but all the words were completely different to what he had being expecting. Relief and guilt flooded him simultaneously.
‘I thought I heard something in the boutique but I can’t be sure. Not sure enough to tell Debs and then... we lost her. And I don’t really know what to do next,’ Ava admitted.
‘Ava,’ Julien said, moving in front of her eye line to attract her focus.
‘I shouldn’t be telling you this. Debs wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but there’s no one else I can tell and I think you’ll be honest with me... I really hope you’ll be honest with me.’
His stomach turned. Honesty. Just as he thought. Crucial to her.
‘Debs is panicking and I’m panicking for her and it’s almost Christmas and no one likes life-changing things happening at Christmas… What do I do?’
He looked at her, gazing up at him like his answer to this question could change her world.
‘Ava,’ he said softly, ‘take a breath.’
‘I don’t do that in-through-the-nose, out-through-the-mouth stuff. It ended my parents’ marriage.’
‘Just trust me,’ he said. ‘Keep still and just breathe.’
She huffed a sigh then closed her eyes. He watched her unable to keep still, stamping her Converse up and down in the snow, sending pigeons into flight.
Her chest was rising and falling quickly, like she’d just competed in an Olympic event, then slowly, as every second ticked by the rapidity lessened until she was breathing more steadily, less anxiously.
She flicked open her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.
‘You have nothing to be sorry for,’ he said. ‘If you want to explain I am here to listen.’
She nodded. ‘OK. But you have to promise, when I get to the part about hiding behind a dress, you won’t laugh.’
He smiled. ‘I promise, Madonna.’ And, for now, the moment for telling her the truth about Lauren was gone.
* * *
She told him everything Debs had told her about her suspicions about Gary, about Debs’ father’s infidelity and how wonderful Sue and Gary had been to her when she was growing up. By the time she had finished, her bum was numb and damp from the concrete step she had sunk down onto, pigeons still attacking her feet.
‘You think we’re mad, don’t you? Like something out of a really low-budget comedy film,’ Ava said.
‘I do not think that. I think it is a very difficult situation.’
‘Well, what would you do? If you were me or if you were Debs.’
‘Am I you? Or am I Debs?’ he asked.
‘We’re kind of in this together.’
‘Well, I think I would talk to Gary.’
‘Noooo!’ Ava exclaimed. ‘That’s because you’re a man. You don’t think like a woman. You can’t see how awful that would be.’
‘Why would this be awful? Debs calls him. She says she is worried about her mother. She says there are rumours...’
‘Rumours?’
‘You would like to say that Debs’ mother thinks he is cheating on her because of some secretive phon
e calls and what her first husband has done in the past?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘Rumours then... and you simply ask him.’
Her stomach was already tightening at the thought. It was the simplest way but... it didn’t feel right.
Julien pulled in a breath, and stood, turning his head to look at the white basilica towering over them. ‘When in doubt, stop for a moment,’ he said. ‘Look at this place, Madonna.’ He threw out his arms. ‘Sometimes you just need to remember the bigger picture. It helps to put everything into perspective.’
‘The church?’ Ava asked. ‘Debs has never really been a church goer. Only the one time when she had a crush on the curate.’
‘Non.’ He shook his head. ‘Not the church. Everything here. The whole area of Montmartre. The vibe of the place, the artists, the tiny squares, the view... all the tiny parts and pieces coming together.’ He sighed. ‘And you can almost see the whole of Paris from up here.’
Ava got to her feet. He was right and she had been so caught up in the Gary situation and shooing away pigeons who were crapping on her Converse that she hadn’t looked properly. High up here on the butte there was a view over the rooftops of Paris, a patchwork of cream, beige and brown like layers of cream cakes topped with the falling snow, the slender metalwork of the Eiffel Tower in the distance.
‘It is beautiful,’ Ava breathed, inhaling snowflakes and not caring. She let out a contented sigh. She felt almost free here, standing with the City of Light spread out before her, miles away from her mother and the mess of the fallout from Leo. She just needed to resolve Debs’ family crisis. She refocussed.
‘Whenever I need to think I come up here and I look at the city… and somehow it always grounds me,’ Julien said. ‘It reminds me that no matter what the issue, no matter how big you think your problems are, they are always just a speck on the map... a tiny blip on one of the paths of a whole world waiting to be explored.’
Ava sighed. ‘I have wasted so much of my life,’ she said, vision on the city scene. ‘Doing things. Not doing things. Travelling... but travelling with my eyes completely closed.’ She shivered. ‘I don’t want to do that any more.’
* * *
Julien swallowed. Standing there, watching Ava soak in the city, seeing and feeling everything as if it were the first time, was moving him in ways he hadn’t been moved in a long time. She had just confided in him too. Asked his advice. And here he was still holding onto that sad truth he needed to let go of before she asked again. He wanted to be honest with her. Just like she had been with him. ‘Ava,’ he began. ‘There’s something—’
Ava yelped as suddenly a pigeon flew up from the ground, its wings scuffing her shoulder and sending her leaping to the left with a scream.
‘Argh! Ugh! Bloody pigeons!’
Julien laughed at her batting her hands around and stamping her feet, causing a whole flurry of feathered animals to take flight.
‘I don’t like them,’ Ava moaned.
‘Not even with a little wild mushroom and red wine gravy?’
‘Bleurgh, no!’ She laughed, then smiled. ‘But I could probably make light work of some more Camembert though.’
‘You are hungry?’ he asked.
‘Ah, a late lunch, Monsieur Fitoussi, what a good idea,’ Ava said, slipping her hands into her pockets and looking like she was preparing to move up the steps. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I almost forgot.’
Julien regarded her quizzically and watched as she produced a paper bag from the pocket of her coat and held it out to him.
‘I bought this for you,’ Ava said.
‘A gift, Madonna? What did I do to deserve this?’ He took the bag and smiled at her.
‘Don’t go overboard,’ she answered. ‘It isn’t a new camera or anything else that gets photographers excited.’
He smiled, watching as her cheeks heated up at her comment.
‘Open it,’ she encouraged.
He unfurled the end of the paper bag and slipped his hands inside, drawing out the dark blue knitted hat. He looked up, smiling. ‘Thank you, Madonna.’
‘Personally, I think it’s a lot nicer than the one I dropped at the Louvre.’
‘I agree,’ he answered, running his fingers over the wool.
‘Put it on then,’ she ordered.
He pulled the hat down over his head and adopted a pose he thought might make her laugh – index finger and thumb to his face, his chin resting in the V.
‘Come here,’ Ava said. ‘Your hair is sticking out all wrong.’ She stepped to him and slipped her fingers under the hat, carefully selecting sections of his hair to be exposed and others to be hidden away. Her face was so close to his there was nothing in his sightline but her perfect eyes and tickling his nose was the faint scent of her – cocoa butter and lip gloss. It was hard not to move or react as his body told him how pleasurable her attention was. And then she stopped, looking at him as if she was now pleased with this appearance.
‘There,’ she almost whispered.
He couldn’t answer her, he was too busy being hypnotised by her beauty. He inched forward, holding his breath, not really knowing what he was doing until his hand connected with hers. Momentarily jolted by the touch he stilled, continuing to look into her eyes, still unable to read her expression. He was caught. Between two frightening places. The one where he did something and everything changed and the one where he did nothing and regretted it for the rest of his life.
He wrapped his index finger around hers tentatively, his chest tight… then Ava stepped back and broke the connection.
‘So,’ she said, her fingers at the rim of her beanie hat. ‘Where’s best for lunch? And who do you know that can hack email?’
He forced a smile, knowing how close he had come to making a complete fool of himself. ‘What would Mademoiselle care to eat?’
‘Something very French,’ Ava replied. ‘With plenty of garlic.’
‘Very well,’ he answered. ‘This way.’
32
Place Du Tertre, Montmartre
When the sun came out and the snow slowed to no more than a few wisps in the air, the temperature could almost have been considered warm. Only a few days ago Ava would never have imagined herself here in Paris, surrounded by the domed and turreted Sacré-Coeur, sitting at a table outside, a tiny Christmas tree at its centre flashing red, blue and white like the national flag. To her right, across the restaurant, were artists braving the cold, their easels out, some painting the scene, others painting tourists who were posing for them. Would she have been here, creating caricatures for visitors if she had cut industry ties with her mother? There was an accordion player too, a small grey kitten at his feet, squeezing the boxy instrument in and out, playing a festive tune. Ava dipped another slice of warm bread into garlic-infused butter and bit off a mouthful. Her first reaction was to make a noise, claim the bread was the best food she’d ever tasted and share that joy with Julien. But ever since he’d touched her hand fifteen minutes and a bottle of beer ago her stomach had been fizzing like its only contents were Coke and a strong peppermint. She chewed down on the bread, almost wishing it didn’t taste so utterly divine.
‘What?’ Julien asked. ‘No comment on the bread and the garlic?’
Shit. He’d noticed. He knew her already. She smiled, swallowing the fluffy goodness down and picked up her bottle of beer to avoid saying anything straightaway.
‘I am a little disappointed,’ Julien said, his fingers at his water glass.
‘Why?’ Ava asked, setting her bottle back down. ‘Did you really enjoy me snorting all over falafels?’
‘Actually I did,’ he answered, with a smile.
There was that school science experiment already, popping and whizzing around her gut. He had such a lovely smile, perfect teeth, full, thick, lips, that strong jawline… But men weren’t to be trusted. She sensed there was still something going on with Julien he wasn’t telling her. Lauren. Diane. His father. Who had he r
eally met this morning? Was this Diane an ex? A friend with benefits he didn’t want to admit to? The fact she cared was also worrying her.
Ava grabbed another slab of bread from the basket on the table and sunk the edge into the white porcelain pot of garlic butter. She put it to her mouth and let the savoury hit cover every single taste bud. She groaned, closing her eyes and moaning as the deliciousness overtook her. This was seriously good, simple food, it deserved to be relished with as much gusto as in that scene in When Harry Met Sally. She half-opened one eye to see Julien staring back at her, his fingers tight on his water glass.
‘Too much?’ she asked with a laugh, wiping her mouth with a serviette.
‘Non,’ he answered. ‘The bread is the best in Paris.’
‘So why haven’t you eaten any?’ Ava asked, indicating the basket she had been tucking into.
He smiled again. ‘Because they also do the best mussels and snails in Paris and I am saving myself.’
She looked to the outside and the crisp snow on the ground, a hyacinth sky above, the painters and their easels in a line across the cobbles. A man in his fifties with shoulder-length white hair sat closest, sketching with just charcoal, his fingers working quickly, his strokes firm and definite then softer as he smudged the edges to create tone. That could have been her passion if she had been strong enough to stand up for herself.
‘Ava?’ Julien said.
She looked back to him. ‘Did you say mussels and snails?’ Ava said, clapping her hands together. ‘Now you’re talking.’
‘It is escargots de Bourgogne... mussels in a snail butter,’ he elaborated.
‘Snail butter?’ Ava looked at him with scepticism in her expression. ‘Do you mean those horrible silvery trails they walk all over cabbage leaves?’
Julien laughed out loud, shaking his head. ‘I do not know what bit of what you say to laugh at more.’
Ava blinked, not knowing what she had said to cause such amusement. ‘I think you think of... What is the word in English? The snails without shells,’ Julien said.