One Christmas in Paris

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘Homeless snails?’ Ava asked. ‘Worms?’

  ‘Bigger,’ Julien said, his fingers to his temple as if racking his brain.

  ‘Caterpillars? James Corden?’ She shook her fingers as reality dawned. ‘Slugs!’

  ‘Yes!’ Julien said.

  ‘Mussels and slugs?’

  He laughed again. ‘No, Madonna, mussels and snail butter for lunch, the slugs on your cabbages in England.’

  ‘I have eaten a lot of cabbage in my time,’ she admitted with a sigh. ‘And when I say eaten I mean that very loosely.’

  Rhoda had a whole A4 file filled with interesting soups, shakes and other liquidised treats designed to keep the weight off/down/anything but up.

  ‘You like cabbage?’ Julien asked.

  ‘Only on Christmas Day,’ Ava replied. ‘Sat next to half a dozen roast potatoes, swede, sausages wrapped in bacon, a large helping of turkey all swimming in thick gravy.’ She smiled. ‘So are you having a big family Christmas this year? Your dad and your step-mum and Lauren?’

  He nodded quickly then picked up his beer bottle and took a swig. ‘How about you, Ava?’

  ‘Two Christmas dinners. One low-carb, low-cal, practically Paleo and the other full-fat, calorie-laden, gorgeousness.’ She smiled. ‘Guess which one is with my mother?’

  ‘She does not squeal when she eats something nice?’ he asked.

  ‘She squeals if something nice even touches her plate, let alone her palate.’

  ‘Think how this must feel,’ Julien began. ‘To worry about everything you want to put in your mouth.’

  ‘I think George Michael and Monica Lewinsky had this same problem.’

  ‘There are lots of different things to eat at the Luxembourg Quarter Christmas Fair. We should go there,’ Julien said.

  The ‘we’ gave Ava a shiver down her spine and she quickly straightened up, trying to tell her mind and body not to be so easily seduced by the lure of French food and the hot guy sat opposite her.

  ‘For Debs’ research maybe,’ Julien added.

  ‘That sounds nice,’ Ava admitted. ‘With everything else she has going on she really needs something positive to focus on.’

  ‘Then it is a date,’ Julien said.

  He’d said ‘we’ and now ‘date’. Why was she getting excited? There was still that itch there might be something he wasn’t telling her. Her hands flew to the bread, picking up another slab and tearing off a white fluffy segment to push into her mouth.

  ‘Tonight?’ Julien asked.

  Ava made a grab for her beer bottle and raised it in the air. ‘Tonight, Monsieur Fitoussi.’

  33

  Julien Fitoussi’s apartment

  As he got ready for the Christmas fair, Julien hated the fact he still hadn’t told Ava about Lauren. Why had he spent the afternoon with her, talking about everything except the fact his sister was dead? Those words were the only ones that should have been coming out of his mouth today, not invitations to Christmas fairs. And with his fingers aching to grasp the camera and take photographs of her too, he felt like the biggest fake in the city. And on top of all of that there was his failure with his father too. Vivienne had wanted him to help and all he had done this morning was make things even worse.

  He fastened up the top two buttons of his shirt regarding his reflection in the mirror. How had things got like this? When had he turned into such a hypocrite? Preaching at Gerard to deal with his grief, move on, when he was pretending to someone that Lauren was still alive, needing to talk about her as if she was still here.

  A knock on the door drew his attention away from the mirror and he moved to open it.

  ‘Julien! Come! We are late!’

  He pulled open the door to greet Didier. His friend was wearing a Santa-red long-sleeved shirt beneath his dark coat, a jade green woollen hat covering his head.

  Julien hesitated for a moment. ‘I do not know if I should come.’

  ‘What?!’ Didier exclaimed, pushing the door and barrelling forward. ‘This was your idea. And it was a good idea. Why would you not come?’

  Julien shrugged.

  ‘What is going on?’ Didier asked, hands on hips, eyes boring into him.

  ‘Nothing... I...’

  All at once Didier seemed to know. His friend’s eyes narrowed and he threw his arms up in the air. ‘My God... you have still not told Ava about Lauren, have you?!’

  Julien felt himself shrink under Didier’s scrutiny. Hearing the exclamation from his friend made it all the more real. Brought home his absolute dishonesty.

  ‘I tried... I wanted to... but I couldn’t.’

  ‘Julien!’

  ‘I know... I know... I am pitiful. I am contemptible. I am—’

  ‘Still hurting,’ Didier offered a little softly.

  Julien nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Didier put a hand on his shoulder. ‘There is nothing wrong with that, my friend.’ He drew in a breath. ‘But there is something wrong with lying to someone.’

  ‘I know,’ Julien said, nodding. ‘I know that. I definitely know that. It is just, every time Ava talks about Lauren... it makes me remember and... remembering feels so good.’

  ‘Julien, you can remember the past in the present. You don’t have to make the past the present to keep Lauren’s memory alive.’

  He nodded soberly.

  ‘You have to tell Ava,’ Didier stated. ‘And you have to tell her tonight.’

  * * *

  Debs looked at her phone, shaking it in the air as if the motion would make unexpected things happen. Ava sucked in her stomach, the button on her jeans a little tighter to fasten after indulging in all that delicious French cuisine. If Rhoda were here she would be rationing by now, counting grams of fat and measuring things by the fist.

  ‘No,’ Debs said. ‘Definitely no messages from Mum.’ She breathed in what sounded like a relieved sigh. ‘I guess no news is good news. I did suggest Mum should ask Gary what the weather is like in Toulouse, because I’ve checked and it’s not snowing there and it’s totes warmer, so if he mentions snow and minus temperatures then he’s not in Toulouse.’

  Ava put an arm around Debs’ shoulders, nearly knocking over a glittery penguin on the desk she hadn’t seen earlier. ‘You need to stop worrying, Debs, just for tonight.’

  ‘I know,’ Debs said. ‘I will... in a minute.’ She forced a smile. ‘So, how was your afternoon with Julien?’

  At the mention of his name Ava’s insides started mixing like Mary Berry was in there with a wooden spoon, concocting the world’s biggest, richest Christmas cake, scattering dried fruits like she was throwing rice at a wedding.

  ‘Fine,’ she answered.

  ‘Fine?’ Debs queried. ‘It must have been more than fine for him to arrange a trip to this fair tonight.’

  Ava swallowed. ‘I think he has a girlfriend.’

  ‘Oh.’

  And now she had said the words they pinched even more. Which was completely stupid.

  ‘I mean, he said he was single when I asked, when we first met, just as something to say really but—’ She stopped talking.

  ‘But?’ Debs queried, scrutinising her.

  ‘But I saw him with someone at the market this morning and when I asked him about it he said it was just someone he knew from a gallery but—’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But it wasn’t his sister who he said he was meeting and...’ She sounded ridiculous to her own ears.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He said he’d met his Dad to have a suit fitting... which he hadn’t mentioned before and...’

  Debs raised her eyebrows as Ava reached for her messenger bag and started to rifle through the contents – lip gloss, an empty to-go coffee cup, her hat – finally she pulled out a piece of paper.

  ‘And I drew this.’ She shoved it over to Debs then put one hand to her mouth and began to chew the nails as her friend unfolded the paper.

  Debs let out the kind of gasp someone made when they were being p
roposed to by surprise. She followed it up with an ‘Oh my God!’

  Ava bit her nails harder.

  ‘This is...’

  ‘Awful? Terrible? Stupid?’ Ava offered.

  ‘It’s brilliant is what it is!’ Debs exclaimed. She turned the paper around so Ava could see it. ‘Look at it, Ava. It’s a totes beautiful, perfect drawing.’

  Ava took her hand away from her mouth and looked at the sketch she had done of Julien. She had sat out on the balcony when she’d returned from Monmartre, her eyes on the street – the team of bell ringers outside the department store opposite, the man pushing a barrow of Christmas toys – and before she had known it she had picked up a pen and started to draw. And this one wasn’t a cartoon. Julien didn’t have oversized eyes or a nose that dominated the picture. It was just him, gorgeous him, drawn from her mind... because he was on her mind... too much.

  ‘It’s bad,’ Ava said, sighing. ‘Because I don’t really draw any more… but I drew him. And that means I like him. Which I shouldn’t. And I know that. And... I think he has a girlfriend.’

  ‘But you don’t know he has a girlfriend. He told you he was single.’

  ‘And I shouldn’t care either way, should I? Because men are all the same, aren’t they?’ Ava looked to her friend for the confirmation she was expecting.

  ‘I should say yes,’ Debs answered. ‘With my dad as an example and with... Gary…’ She sighed. ‘But... Didier is nice and... well... I’d quite like to give him the benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘You would?’ Ava asked.

  Debs nodded. ‘Not anything serious but, just, you know, having fun, no strings attached.’

  ‘I guess,’ Ava said, still doubtful.

  ‘Why don’t you give this picture to Julien tonight,’ Debs said, passing back the drawing. ‘And ask him again if he has a girlfriend. Or,’ she began. ‘I could ask Didier for you.’

  Ava shook her head. ‘How old are we? Eleven?’ She smiled. ‘No... I’ll ask him... not that it matters to me really... because we’re just friends.’

  ‘Of course,’ Debs said, nodding.

  Ava blew out a breath. ‘OK, then, let’s go and get you some Christmas-fair-in-Paris research done.’

  Debs smiled, linking arms with her. ‘It’s going to be totes amazing!’

  34

  Christmas Fair, Luxembourg Quarter

  Julien could see Debs and Ava standing underneath the tall chestnut trees, the old, faded, green metal chairs underneath the leafless boughs still occupied by old Parisian men playing chess, even in the cold, darkening evening. There were fairground rides and lines of stalls everywhere you looked. From food sellers to fortune-tellers, the fair was buzzing. To his right a family played boules, trussed up in bright winter coats and hats, fingers inside gloves.

  As Didier walked on ahead, Julien’s hand went to the camera around his neck and he lifted it to his face, eye lining up with the viewfinder, capturing the mother, father and two sons as they laughed, golden lights from the carousel behind them, the outline of the Fontaine de Médicis just visible.

  And then he focussed on Ava. Her hat was on her head, her hands in the pockets of the denim coat, those red Converse still on her feet. He liked spending time with her. More than he had enjoyed spending time with anybody over the past twelve months. But how was she going to feel when she knew about Lauren... about the fire... He would no longer be just Julien Fitoussi, the photographer; he would be a victim in her eyes, reliving things again.

  But that was what he had to deal with. That’s what he had to face head on. Moving forward. Not dwelling like his father had accused him of. Reminiscing but no longer mourning.

  ‘Julien!’

  Didier’s voice carried across the gardens and he stepped forward.

  * * *

  Ava stamped her feet into the snow knowing that Julien was approaching and feeling like she was on a first date. Why did it matter to her so much that he didn’t have a girlfriend? Why was her stomach churning up her insides like a snowplough munching through slush?

  ‘Bonsoir, Madonna,’ Julien greeted, arriving at her side.

  ‘Bonsoir, Monsieur Fitoussi.’ She couldn’t ignore the chestnut eyes and her fingers wrapped around the picture in her coat pocket, remembering how she had traced the outline of them with her biro.

  ‘I am dying for some churros!’ Didier announced. ‘Please, before we take photographs and get involved with being sold overpriced sparkly items we would never look twice at in the summertime but are must-haves for Christmas, I need to coat my stomach with sugar.’

  ‘That sounds like a fabulous idea,’ Debs agreed, grinning.

  ‘Churros for four, yes?’ Didier said, looking at each of them in turn.

  ‘Come on,’ Debs said, linking her arm through Didier’s. ‘We’ll get these.’

  Ava reached out quickly, attempting to claw at her friend’s retreating coat but she missed. And that left just the two of them. And she had to ask Julien if he had a girlfriend. She looked up at him.

  ‘Ava,’ he said. ‘There is something I have to...’ He paused. ‘Something I must tell you.’

  ‘You’ve got a girlfriend,’ Ava stated bluntly. ‘I know.’

  ‘What?’ Julien exclaimed.

  ‘It doesn’t matter... because we’re just friends and everything but... when you sort of held my hand today I thought... if your girlfriend had seen that... she might have thought it was something... not that it was something but...’

  ‘Ava—’

  ‘But I don’t get why you would say you were single when you’re not, because I thought we were friends and somehow I dissected my awful love life and home life for you and—’

  ‘I am single,’ Julien interrupted.

  Ava blinked, confused. ‘You don’t have a girlfriend?’

  He shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘But the woman at the market.’

  ‘I told you that was Diane from the gallery.’

  ‘You did but... I thought you were meeting Lauren so...’

  * * *

  Julien shook his head. And this is where everything had sprung from. Him talking about his sister like she still worked not far from here, still lived in the apartment with the blue door.

  ‘Ava, there is something I have to tell you... and it is about Lauren.’ Every part of him was telling him to stop, fight against the words he didn’t want to say, but he needed to do this for so many reasons.

  ‘Please understand this...’ He sighed. ‘I did not mean to be dishonest with you.’ He took hold of her hands as she just looked back at him, expression now confused. He swallowed. There was no going back now.

  ‘Ava, Lauren—’ There was no easy way. There were no soft words or a gentle way to put it. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment. The last moment before Ava realised he’d deceived her. ‘Lauren died,’ he said in no more than a whisper.

  Her hands fell from his and one went to her chest as she rocked back a little. ‘What?’ she exclaimed. ‘What d’you mean? God, I feel sick. Julien... What d’you mean she died? I don’t understand.’

  ‘No. Ava, it is not now, not today.’ He shook his head. This was so much harder than he could ever have imagined. ‘It was... it was a year ago,’ he said, swallowing. ‘Ava, when I was talking about her to you, I just—’ Nothing he said sounded appropriate. He tried again. ‘I am so sorry, I... don’t know what I was thinking. I just—’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Ava stated. ‘Because you definitely said... you said yesterday that you were meeting her this morning.’ She wet her lips. ‘And...’

  ‘I did not make it clear... I should have made it clear... I don’t know why I did not but...’

  He saw her absorbing this information and as each piece of knowledge hit her he watched every small part of the relationship they had built up begin to crumble. He had lied to her. Just like the boyfriend she had travelled the English Channel to leave behind.

  ‘When did you say this wa
s?’ she asked. ‘How long ago?’

  ‘A year ago,’ he repeated.

  ‘A year.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘She has been dead a year... we talked about her and it slipped your mind that she was actually dead?’ Ava snapped.

  He shook his head. ‘It did not slip my mind... it never slips my mind... I just... said the wrong thing and then, once I had started saying the wrong thing it was just harder to put right.’

  ‘I knew there was something wrong. When you said you had met your father... it just didn’t seem right...’

  ‘Ava, I didn’t want to lie to you,’ he said, wanting to take her hands but fearing it was too much now. ‘It was just so... so wonderful to be able to speak to someone who didn’t know what had happened... to talk about Lauren and to remember her like she was alive.’

  ‘How did she die?’ Ava asked, her tone a little softer.

  He swallowed. ‘It was an accident... a fire in her apartment block.’ He paused, his skin prickling. ‘It started in the roof and it ripped through the whole building. When I got there the whole place was engulfed in flames and...’

  She gasped. ‘You were there?’

  ‘Too late,’ he answered.

  Her hands went to her mouth then and he saw tears building up in her eyes. He didn’t want that. He didn’t deserve her pity or her sympathy after he had kept it from her and tried to pretend it hadn’t happened. And now she knew. Now he was the man who had lost his sister in a fire and hadn’t been able to save her.

  ‘Ava, from the bottom of my heart, I apologise for not telling you straight away. It was just so refreshing to be able to talk about her, share memories without pain, when for so long everyone around me seemed to want to forget her. I—’

  ‘Julien,’ Ava interrupted.

  ‘No, please, you do not have to say anything. I know you will not want to see me again. I know how important honesty is to you and—’