One Way Ticket to Paris: An emotional, feel-good romantic comedy

by Emma Robinson

  ‘Oh?’ Kate looked sideways at her and raised an eyebrow. ‘That sounds intriguing. What exciting information would merit an impromptu meeting in the park?’

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  Kate tripped and righted herself. The shock on her face was almost comic. Standing still, she took Shannon’s arm and stared at her. ‘I’m sorry I… I mean, I’m not sorry you’re pregnant, I’m just sorry that I… or am I… I mean, are you pleased?’

  Shannon took Kate’s hand and linked it through her arm again, gently tugging her into walking. ‘Not especially, no.’

  Kate swallowed hard. She glanced at Shannon and they continued to walk in silence for few moments. She was clearly trying to choose her words carefully. Finally, she said, ‘Well, that sobered me right up.’

  Shannon laughed and felt her whole body relax. Kate was definitely the right person to talk to about this. ‘Shall we sit and have a drink before we go back to the hotel?’ Robert might be checking into the hotel by now and she didn’t want to run the risk of bumping into him yet.

  * * *

  Once they were sitting outside a café with a drink, and Shannon had filled Kate in on the details of how pregnant she thought she was, she told her the thing that was bothering her the most. ‘Look at me, Kate. How can I have a baby? I love my job, my life, as it is. I’m not mother material. I’m just not made for it.’

  Kate frowned. ‘What do you mean? What’s “mother material”?’

  How could she put this? ‘You know. Changing diapers and mashing up food and…’ She trailed off at the look on Kate’s face.

  Kate pursed her lips together. ‘You mean you don’t want to turn into someone like me?’

  Damn. That had been tactless. Although a little bit true. ‘No, I don’t mean that. You wanted children. It’s different.’

  Kate sat back in her chair and sipped at her drink. Eventually, she spoke. ‘So, you definitely don’t want a child? I mean, I’m not saying you should want one. God knows, I know how much of a commitment it is. But you need to be sure.’ She paused. ‘Okay, I’m just going to say this. It might be your last chance.’

  Shannon had thought of this, of course she had. Approaching forty and single, it was thrust down your throat by everyone and everything. ‘It’s not as simple as that.’

  ‘You mean Robert?’ Kate looked surprised. ‘I mean, of course it would be wonderful if he wants to be a part of this, but surely you can do this on your own if you need to?’

  Shannon shrugged. ‘I don’t know if I can.’

  Kate leaned forward. ‘If you don’t want to have a child, Shannon, that is completely your choice. But to say you can’t do it… I don’t understand. I’ve never heard you say you couldn’t do something before. Never.’ She paused, then a smile curled at the edges of her mouth. ‘Do you remember when you tried to save my life?’

  Save her life? Was she joking? When had she… Suddenly, Shannon remembered. ‘Your cardigan arrest!’

  Now Kate was laughing, ‘I pushed up the sleeves of my cardigan and my arms were so blue, I was convinced I was dying!’

  ‘And you’d drunk so much the night before – well, we were both horribly hungover – that we thought it was alcohol poisoning.’

  ‘I was screaming and running around…’

  ‘And I made you sit down and loosen all your clothes while the receptionist – what was her name? – while she called for an ambulance.’

  Kate’s shoulders had started to shake. ‘I really thought I was a goner.’

  Shannon had known she had to stay calm but when Kate had taken off her cardigan, her entire arms really had been mottled and blue. ‘It was the tears that did it. I was rubbing your arms to try and get your circulation back and the blue…’

  ‘… started to come off!’

  ‘Your new cardigan!’

  ‘The bloody dye had come out of it! Must have been the cold sweat of my hangover.’

  Maybe it was the stress, maybe it was the joy of being here with her dear friend, but Shannon laughed hysterically at the memory of calling 999 and explaining why they didn’t need the ambulance after all. The call handler was probably still telling the story of the crazy Yank and her buddy Smurfette.

  Kate joined in. But when they had finished laughing, she reached forwards and took Shannon’s hands. ‘What is this really all about?’

  Shannon took a deep breath. If she wasn’t honest about her feelings, there was no point to this conversation. ‘I don’t think I have that thing. The maternal thing. I don’t think I would love a baby enough, and…’ Her voice caught. Was she going to cry? ‘A baby needs love.’

  Shannon didn’t do crying. It wasn’t that she was tough – she was actually a pretty soft touch – it was just that she didn’t cry. It didn’t happen. But right now, she did have a strange burning sensation at the back of her throat.

  ‘How can you say that?’ Kate put her drink down. ‘You are one of the most loving people I know. You always greet everyone with a hug – whether they want it or not – and you were the person I needed when I didn’t know what to do about Tim.’

  It was true. They had sat up until five a.m. going through the whole thing. To Shannon, it had been straightforward: Tim had been a Peter Pan loser. She’d had to couch it to Kate a bit more gently than that, of course. In the end, Kate had agreed to give Tim an ultimatum, and he’d made the decision for her.

  But this wasn’t about caring for your mates. This was life-changing. ‘Yes, I love my friends, of course I do. But a baby? That’s different.’

  Kate took her hand again. ‘Of course, it’s different. The love you have for your baby is overwhelming. It’s like being in love with someone times about a thousand. You become besotted by them. Enslaved by them. Every tiny movement becomes the most important thing in the world.’ Kate paused. Her lip was wobbling. She regained control. ‘You don’t have to worry about loving your baby, Shannon. There is a lot you might have to consider, but loving them? That will hit you between the eyes.’

  A single tear made its way down Shannon’s cheek. ‘I don’t think I am made like that, Kate. In fact, I know that I’m not.’

  ‘What do you mean? You can’t possibly know.’ Kate’s phoned dinged. She screwed up her face. ‘Bugger. Sorry, I have to just check this. In case it’s something to do with the kids.’

  This was what it was like. Once you had a child, your whole life revolved around them. You couldn’t even have a conversation in peace. Shannon watched Kate’s shoulders get higher and higher towards her ears as she read the text. Was everything okay? It didn’t look it. She waited for her to finish reading before asking, ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘It’s nothing important. Let’s get back to you and the baby.’

  No way could she ignore the fact that her friend looked unhappy and go back to talking about herself. ‘That can wait for a moment; you look agitated. What was the text about?’

  Kate sighed. ‘It was just that woman again – Melissa. She’s looking for volunteers to man stalls at the school fete.’

  She must be lying. The look on Kate’s face was more akin to being told that Luke had lost the house at a poker game. ‘Why would that stress you out?’

  Kate closed her eyes and then opened them again. ‘Because the school fete is bedlam. Sugar-fuelled kids clutching sticky twenty pences and running from stall to stall to win as much plastic crap as they can. It’s bad enough fighting my way around as a customer and trying to ensure Alice doesn’t see the Teddy Tombola stall.’ She grimaced.

  ‘So, don’t volunteer.’

  Kate held out her hands. ‘But how can I say no?’

  There must be something here that Shannon wasn’t getting. ‘You just open your mouth and say it. No.’

  Kate appeared to consider it. ‘But what excuse will I make?’

  Why was Kate playing dumb suddenly? ‘Why do you need an excuse? Just say you don’t want to do it.’

  Kate looked i
nto the middle distance, eyes darting around as if she was formulating a strategy. ‘Maybe I could say that I have to take my mum out that day?’

  Was she seriously trying to concoct a plan rather than just ignoring this request? ‘Or you could just say no.’

  ‘I mean, if I apologise and explain that she needs me for something…’

  Shannon was going to stage an intervention in a minute. ‘Hello? Are you listening to me? Just say no!’

  ‘You don’t understand. Everyone will think I don’t care about the fete.’

  ‘But you don’t.’

  ‘I know. But I can’t show that. I mean, it’s an important event. Parents are supposed to get involved.’

  ‘Why is it so important?’

  ‘It raises money for the school.’

  Well, that was easily fixed. ‘So, give them some money. Put it in an envelope. Write on the front, “Money in lieu of standing behind a table for three hours.”’

  Kate rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, if only I could do that.’ She picked up her glass and drained her drink. ‘Let’s just forget that for now. It’s really not important. Let me quickly go to the toilet and we’ll get back to talking about you.’ She paused and leaned across to Shannon, squeezed her hand. ‘I’ve missed this, Shan. I’ve missed you.’

  Another damn lump rose up in Shannon’s throat. It was an epidemic. She put her hand over Kate’s. ‘I’ve missed you, too.’

  While Kate was gone, Shannon checked her own messages. Then wished she hadn’t: there was one from Adam.

  Why are you not picking up your phone? I need to speak to you urgently. Faye knows everything. Including your work address. Please call me.

  This time, Shannon’s sickness had nothing to do with pregnancy hormones. What the hell was he thinking, telling Faye? And why give her Shannon’s address? How dare he! Thank God Faye was on another continent… But that wasn’t the point. There was absolutely no reason for him to have done that, especially without warning Shannon or asking her permission or… How the hell had it happened? What did Faye know? Shannon needed to call him, but she was scared that Faye might answer and she wasn’t brave enough to risk that.

  Kate slid back into her seat. ‘So, where were we?’

  Shannon looked at her watch. ‘Actually, I really need to get back to the hotel and get ready for this damn dinner cruise this evening. But I feel better for just telling you and getting it off my chest. We can chew it over later. Are you just going to eat at the hotel tonight? God, I wish we could just have dinner together.’ She motioned to the waiter that they wanted to pay their bill. It was difficult to make normal conversation when her heart felt as if it might beat itself out of her chest. Why the hell had Adam told Faye?

  Kate picked up her cup to drink the last of her coffee. ‘Me too. But actually, I forgot to tell you about the other person I bumped into. Was Paris always so small? That guy from earlier – Graham. He invited me to meet him for dinner.’

  Shannon felt an uneasiness. Dinner with Graham? ‘Really? Are you going to go?’

  Kate shrugged. ‘I said yes because it felt rude not to. Plus, I don’t really want to go out for dinner on my own. Lunch on my own was weird enough. Do you think I should cancel?’

  Shannon knew that Kate had eaten dinner out on her own in the past. When you worked in field sales, there were plenty of overnight stays in the back of beyond ready to meet a customer bright and early the next morning. It seemed a bit strange that she didn’t feel able to do it any longer. Plus, Shannon wasn’t sure Graham was the best choice of dinner partner. ‘Okay, but don’t drink too much.’

  Kate rolled her eyes. ‘All right, Mum. I promise to be good.’

  Kate was joking, but the word Mum made Shannon’s stomach flip again. Just stay calm. Get through the dinner cruise with the sales team tonight, sort out the meetings for tomorrow, and then there would be time to sit down and have a big think. At least Adam was over four thousand miles away. Her wrath towards him could wait until at least tomorrow.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kate

  After the text she sent from Saint Julien le Pauvre, telling Luke she wouldn’t be home to collect the kids, he had called fourteen times, left four text messages and three voicemails. Kate had ignored them all.

  She took her time dressing for dinner. She’d packed a floral dress and pumps which were unlikely to set the Paris fashion paparazzi on her tail but would have to do. Languishing in the shower without small people throwing themselves at the door or Luke shouting up to ask if she’d seen his credit card was a luxury. As were the clean towels, bathrobe and slippers – all brilliant white, without a trace of grubby fingers or nose wipings.

  After the shower, she wrapped her hair in a towel and sat at the dressing table to do her make-up. She even had time to do her nails. There were two nail polishes in her make-up bag: she chose the one that wasn’t psychedelic pink with Barbie’s face on the front. In the mirror, she saw a regular woman. Not a wife, a mum or a daughter. Just Kate. Just her.

  Once she was ready to go, she sent Luke a long text message. The text message. The one that outlined the plan. Gave the Eurostar ticket information. And asked him to come.

  … Meet me tomorrow. No kids. The Eiffel Tower. Two p.m. Your ticket is booked.

  * * *

  The restaurant was crowded and full of young, attractive people. A few years ago, Kate would have been one of those people in the huge group at the bar, laughing and joking and not at all aware of anyone other than the friends around her. Now she just wanted to scuttle to the table before anyone had the chance to point at her and say, ‘Who let you in here?’

  Graham seemed to know the waiters and got a table in the corner with the merest nod of his head. It was a little quieter there, and mercifully darker, so she didn’t feel so exposed. There was nothing wrong with her having dinner with someone. They were just two married people having a night out and there was nothing ‘date-like’ about it at all. But she did feel guilty. Like the night out with Tim, she just pushed those feelings down.

  Graham passed her the wine list and she passed it back. ‘Can you choose? I hate choosing wine, never really know what to pick.’

  Graham laughed. ‘What kind of wine do you like?’

  Well, that was a silly question. ‘The kind with alcohol in.’

  He laughed again; clearly, she was very funny this evening. ‘Red or white?’

  By now, Kate had picked up the menu and was flicking through it. It felt a long time since the croque monsieur et frites. ‘I think I’m going to have steak, so it’d better be red. Have you eaten here before?’

  ‘Yes.’ He closed his menu and laid it down on the table. ‘I’m a creature of habit, I’m afraid. I keep coming back to the same spots.’

  ‘With a different woman each time?’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Kate wanted to shove them back in. What kind of question was that? It sounded like an accusation or a flirtation. Move the conversation on quickly, before he has a chance to reply. ‘Do you travel anywhere else for your work, or just Paris?’

  ‘Just Paris really. Let’s not talk about work though – too boring. Let’s talk about you.’

  He was either mocking her or he actually was flirting – 1980s style. The longer they were here, the more uncomfortable she was feeling. What was wrong with her? Couldn’t she just have dinner without overthinking every single comment? Why did she have the feeling that she should have told Luke she was doing this? Especially when she hadn’t felt the need to tell him when she went out with Tim.

  When she’d told Tim that she wouldn’t go to the jazz bar with him, she’d meant it. Jazz had always been more his thing: making his own path through the chords, comping, experimenting. He always used to tease her about sticking to the sheet music: See past the dots, babe.

  But when he’d asked her again, he’d caught her on a particularly bad day. The children had been fighting relentlessly over an old toy they hadn’t looked at in months, and in the t
ime it had taken to snatch up the toy, berate their behaviour and separate them, she had burnt the mushroom frigging frittata for their dinner. Then Luke had called, whilst she was scraping the frigging frittata into the bin, to say he would be late home. Tim’s text – There’s a pianist at the jazz club tomorrow night. You have to come! – had arrived when she was staring into a cup of tea and fantasising about contracting a non-fatal illness which would necessitate a week’s stay in hospital.

  Although she hadn’t exactly mentioned Tim, she had asked Luke along. ‘I’m meeting some friends to listen to a pianist. Do you want to come?’

  He’d shaken his head. ‘Not my kind of thing. You go, I’ll babysit the kids.’ Firstly, she had been angry at the word ‘babysit’ when he was talking about looking after his own children. Secondly, her whole life consisted of doing things that were ‘not her kind of thing.’ Did he think she enjoyed drinking foul coffee in stinky play centres or cramming into a hot, sweaty viewing gallery at the gymnastics club whilst Alice had her lessons? It was this irritation that had prevented her from mentioning Tim. Plus, Tim was just a friend nowadays. It wasn’t like anything was happening between them.

  And nothing was happening tonight either. So, there was no need to tell Luke, was there? She smiled at Graham. ‘Not much to say, really. I lead a rather dull existence. Does your wife work?’

  He shook his head. ‘No.’

  She waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. There was a lull in the conversation so Kate studied the menu. She already knew what she was going to order, but had no idea what else to do. She had become socially inept. Was it because he was a man? Because, if it was, that was totally nonsensical.

  The guilt wasn’t going away. Would she have felt comfortable with Luke going out for dinner with a woman he had only just met? She knew the answer to this, but didn’t feel good about it. But there was nothing to be ashamed of, was there? Luke wouldn’t want to go out to dinner with some woman, because he hated making small talk. The thought of it just being him and someone, of either sex, that he didn’t know would probably be his idea of hell. Whereas Kate had always liked meeting new people; she found it fun to chat about irrelevant and unimportant things with someone new. Which meant that it was less important if she had dinner with a stranger, for the purposes of idle chit-chat and company, than if Luke did. Because if Luke did it, it would mean he was making a huge effort and therefore it would mean something. Whereas this meant nothing. Didn’t it? Brain, stop. Just stop.