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

by Emma Robinson

  Robert froze. His fingers an inch above his head, holding his hair. His face drained of colour. ‘Enceinte? Pregnant?’

  In contrast, Shannon’s face was aflame. ‘Yes. Pregnant. With a baby. What do you think about that, “Papa”?’

  The lift door opened. Shannon turned and walked inside. They looked at each other as the doors closed. Robert didn’t move to follow her.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Laura

  Laura found some hotel headed paper on the dressing table in her room and drew a line straight down the middle. What was it Kate had said? When in doubt, make a list.

  * * *

  James.

  CON: Commitment-phobic. Workaholic. Doesn’t even want to practise baby making, let alone make one for real.

  PRO: Been together a long time. Makes me laugh. Invited me to live with him.

  * * *

  Paolo.

  CON: Possibly a player. Lives in another country.

  PRO: Likes to travel. Apparently wants children. Says my name a lot. Makes me laugh as well, but also makes my legs melt.

  * * *

  There must be an algebraic formula that would help her to decide, but she just didn’t seem to be able to work it out. Paolo to the power of ten minus James squared? That was just stupid.

  The conversation with Shannon had thrown everything up into the air again. Although Gabriella’s story of her and Paolo’s affair – recounted in all its lurid detail – had disappointed Laura, on another level she’d been relieved. If Paolo was just looking for a fling with a colleague, he was definitely not the man for her and she could go back to James and carry on as normal. Bored and unhappy.

  Chucking the pencil down onto the page, she lay down on the bed, facing the ceiling. It was all so confusing. She would trust Shannon over Gabriella any day of the week, but Shannon was different from Laura. Shannon had talked about how fun Paolo was. It was okay for Shannon to prioritise fun – she didn’t want to get married and have a baby. Laura had a different wish list.

  Gabriella’s version of events had really hit a nerve. She’d admitted that their fling had only lasted a few weeks, but she’d said that he couldn’t get enough of her until she’d started to refer to their affair as a relationship. Sounded like Paolo knew what he was talking about when he’d told Laura that James wouldn’t suddenly want to settle down.

  So, why hadn’t this turned her off him? Why did her heart rate appear to double whenever he came near her? She could feel him getting closer and closer and, unless she stopped it, something was definitely going to happen. Should she feign a headache and claim an early night? But she didn’t want to. She wanted to go back out to the bar and speak to him. What did that mean?

  Rifling through the minibar, she found wine and a packet of pistachios and took them back to the bed. James always warned against eating from the minibar. When they stayed in a hotel he would buy water and snacks beforehand; much more economical. Right now, she didn’t give a stuff. She needed them.

  Be logical. Logic was her friend. It had never let her down. Paolo was very good-looking, and it was flattering to have someone good-looking paying you attention. Appearing beside you, looking at you intently, brushing his leg against yours… Be logical! That didn’t mean she was actually attracted to him. Although her heart, stomach and… other parts might beg to differ.

  To be fair to James, he was also quite good-looking. He got more than his fair share of attention from other women and Laura had never been concerned that he might take them up on it. He was dependable. Solid. Safe.

  The problem was, he paid Laura very little attention, either. She knew where she was with James, but it wasn’t somewhere she actually wanted to be. She shook her head. This was not helping.

  She got up from the bed again and went to the bathroom to wash the pistachio salt from her fingers. She stared at herself in the mirror. How had a girl like her got herself in a pickle like this?

  It was crazy. James was her boyfriend. Paolo was just some guy she knew from work who – in his own words – would most likely not even be working for the company by the end of tomorrow. Was he just looking for the last notch on his bedpost before he went?

  But, if something happened between them, and then he did leave, then no one would ever know what happened.

  But she would know.

  The girl looking back at her from the mirror was not the sort of girl who could just sleep with someone and forget about it. She would love to claim to be a modern, empowered woman, but she still actually needed to have feelings for someone before she could even think about taking her pants off in front of them.

  Did she have feelings for Paolo?

  If she did have feelings for him, then she might be about to get hurt. Unless he had genuine feelings for her, too?

  Her brain was going around and around in circles. No, more like hexagons: every moment going at this from a different angle.

  She walked back to the dressing table and drained her glass of wine. It was all a moot point, anyway. She’d never cheated on anyone in her life and was not likely to start now. While she was going out with James, she couldn’t even contemplate doing something with another man. It was not who she was. She was nothing if not faithful.

  And she was being unfair to James. He was a good boyfriend. He took her to nice restaurants and bought her thoughtful gifts. They were a good match, liked the same films and music, and knew each other’s families and friends, even if he didn’t much like spending time with hers. He never came home late without explanation and he still made her laugh. Sometimes.

  And he’d been more than happy for her to move in with him. Although, had he? When she’d suggested it was crazy to be commuting back and forth from her parents’ all the time, he had just told her she was free to stay. On the day she’d moved into his flat though, he’d even put a flower at the side of her bed and cleared a space in his wardrobe and emptied a drawer for her.

  A space in his wardrobe.

  A drawer.

  She knew she had to call and tell him it was over.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Kate

  Kate banged at the lift button. How long was this bloody thing going to take? She punched the button again. And again.

  She had been so wrong to come here. Wrong about Shannon. She hadn’t understood at all. All very well for her and her ‘you brought this on yourself, Kate’ and ‘you need to say no, Kate’.

  The lift opened. She got in and started the ascent.

  Shannon had no idea what it was like when you became a mum. You just had to do all that stuff, didn’t you? You had to put them first all the time. That was how it worked. And if you were a stay-at-home parent, that was your work. Your job.

  Kate made it to her room. She slid the key card in and out of the slot. Red. Bugger. Bloody things never worked first time. In and out again. Red. She wanted to roar. In. Out. Green! Finally!

  What would the kids be doing now? Luke would probably have let them fall asleep on the sofa or climb into bed with him or made a bloody tent in the living room. That’s why they bloody loved him so much. He was ‘fun daddy’. She was the one who would have to get them back in a routine when he went back to work on Monday. Who would have to listen to ‘but Daddy let us…’ on repeat. She banged open the minibar. Sodding Toblerone. How predictable. There was a mini tub of Pringles which probably cost more than crack cocaine, but this was an emergency.

  And goodness knows how many sweets he’d have let them have this evening. He’d probably taken them via the supermarket on their way home and brought them back dragging a bag of pick and mix which was twice their body weight. Kate tried to restrict them to a few sweets each day but Luke would have let them scoff the lot. They would probably be running around into the small hours, jacked up on sugar.

  This trip had been insanity. She should never have done it. What the hell was Luke going to think when he got that message? … Meet me tomorrow. No kids. The Eiffel Tower. Two p
.m. Your ticket is booked. Her face burned with embarrassment. He must think that she’d bumped her head. And when he didn’t turn up, where was that going to leave her? Standing at the Eiffel Tower like a loser, for a start. And Shannon had let her down, too. Kate had been expecting a friendly ear, someone on her side. That’s not what she had got.

  She popped the top of the Pringles tub and took three, pushing them into her mouth and swallowing without even tasting them. She wanted the wine from the minibar too, but that probably wasn’t a good idea in her present mood. She would have coffee instead.

  She tried to fill the kettle from the tap in the bathroom basin but she couldn’t fit it under. This was ridiculous. How the hell else was she supposed to get water? She pushed, even though she knew it wasn’t going to go. She pushed again, harder. Then she pulled it out and began bashing it against the basin. Stupid, stupid kettle. Stupid. Stupid… She began to cry.

  She sat down on the bed. Shannon was completely right. What had become of her? What did it matter if the children stayed up late? What was she trying to prove? And to whom?

  She looked at herself in the mirror. A few more wrinkles and her hair was a bit thinner, but she was essentially the same person. Still Kate.

  She had to find Shannon.

  * * *

  When Kate came back to the bar, it was emptying out. Shannon had gone. She felt a rush of disappointment. Don’t let the sun go down on your anger. That’s what her dad used to say. Looks like she wouldn’t have a choice this time.

  She was about to turn around and go back to reception to ask for Shannon’s room number, when she saw it. In the centre of the bar was a beautiful white baby grand. The kind of piano she had dreamed of having in her perfect white house with the perfect white carpets and the perfect clean children. Hadn’t really worked out like that. She brushed her hands down the front of the piano and touched the keys gently.

  ‘Savez-vous jouer?’

  ‘Sorry?’ She looked up at the waiter who was clearing a table nearby.

  ‘Pardon. Do you play? You can play if you like?’ He motioned towards the piano with a towel.

  Kate smiled. ‘I did. It’s been a while. I might be a bit rusty. I mean, out of practice.’

  The waiter shrugged and gestured around the room. ‘There is almost no one here. Doesn’t matter if you hit a wrong note.’ He nodded and disappeared back behind the bar.

  A wrong note? She’d definitely hit a couple of those this evening. In fact, her whole life felt out of tune.

  She sat down at the piano and stroked the keys. Then looked around. The waiter had been right, there was hardly anyone here. Gently, she pressed one of the keys. It felt strange. And yet familiar. What should she play? There was some sheet music still in place. Schumann’s Kinderszenen or Scenes from Childhood. Beautiful and simple sounding, but deceptively complicated. Would her fingers remember how to play it? She looked for the most famous piece: Traumerei. Dreaming.

  Classical music is best known for its large symphonies and grand operas. But this was the kind of piece that Kate loved most: music which spoke quietly. When she’d studied Schumann, they’d discussed whether the music represented a child dreaming, or an adult looking back on a childhood dream. Either way, this gentle piece was rich with emotion. Each time the pattern of notes was played, the fourth note was higher as the music ascended, building to a moment of epiphany.

  She had been tempted to play at the club Tim had taken her to. It was a jazz club, very relaxed. Most people there knew each other, and they were jumping on and off stage. Tim had encouraged her to have a go, but it had been so long since she’d played in public that she’d felt crippled with nerves. But she’d wanted to. The desire had been there. It had really been there.

  But they had argued about the self-same thing. She and Tim.

  He had tried to nudge her up on stage when the pianist took a break. ‘Go on.’

  She’d shaken her head. ‘No. I’m fine just watching.’

  He’d nudged again. Laughed at her. ‘That’s not the Kate I know. You would never have passed up the opportunity to play.’

  Kate had shrugged and turned her body slightly away from him. ‘Yeah, well. I’ve changed.’

  Tim folded his arms and frowned. ‘How often do you play?’

  This was when she had started to become irritated. Why wouldn’t he leave this conversation alone? ‘Never.’

  He’d laughed again. ‘No, seriously. How often?’

  Was she not speaking English? Should she speak more slowly? She looked him directly in the eye. ‘Seriously. Never.’

  ‘Why the hell not?’ She hadn’t expected him to understand. Music came out of Tim’s pores. He continued to believe that he was going to get his ‘big break’ and the rest of his life was still on hold until he did. There was never going to be a mortgage, marriage, children, until his music career was established. Now Kate had some distance from him, she could almost admire his tenacity. But the older he got, the less likely it seemed that he would get his big break, and then what would he be left with?

  She, on the other hand, had a life that was very full. ‘I’m just too busy.’

  He had looked at her differently, then. As if he had a bad smell under his nose. ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Looking after my family.’ For years, it had been impossible to play at home. If the children were napping, the piano was too loud. If they were awake, they would want to sit beside her and pump away with their podgy toddler fingers. It was very cute, but not so good for her practice. Eventually, she had just given up on it.

  ‘But you said they are at school now. Can’t you play whilst they are at school?’ Clearly, Tim couldn’t understand what she would do with her day that would stop her from practising the piano. To be honest, she wasn’t really sure what she did that sucked the six hours between school drop off and collection. The tidying, shopping, cleaning was one thing. Then there was all the other life laundry like running errands for her mother-in-law or picking up Luke’s dry cleaning. Add Melissa and her frickin’ bake sales into the mix and there was no time left at all.

  Now she was completely out of the habit. It wasn’t instinctive for her to lift the lid and start to play. It almost scared her. What if she’d lost the knack? Couldn’t remember how to play? The old urge to play had deserted her completely, leaving only… what? Exhaustion? Boredom? Anger?

  But she hadn’t wanted to discuss any of that with Tim. How could he possibly understand? How dare he judge what she did all day? People without children had no idea what it was like. No idea at all.

  ‘I just don’t, okay?’

  But he wouldn’t let it go. ‘That’s insane. How can you call yourself a musician if you don’t play every day?’

  Kate’s face flushed. She clenched the fingers of her free hand. ‘I don’t call myself a musician. I’m a mum. Just a mum. That’s all I am!’ She’d slammed her drink onto the table, ripped her coat from the back of the chair and left. Tim had called after her, but he hadn’t followed. Leopards and spots.

  She hadn’t planned to see him again after that. He was the same old Tim that she had wasted eight years on. What had she been thinking, meeting him like that? Occasional coffees at the hospital were one thing, but a jazz bar? She had invited Luke knowing he wouldn’t come: live music wasn’t his thing. When she’d added that she could meet up with some old music college pals there, he had encouraged her to go with them. Which had made her feel even more guilty.

  Now, sitting here, she couldn’t believe that she had left it so long to play. Her back straightened instinctively as she positioned her fingers. Then, as she began to pick out the melody with her right hand, her whole body relaxed into it.

  For several minutes, she was lost in the music. Pure escapism. Playing this piece, which had been played by so many other people before, somehow gave her a sense of her place in the world. She made mistakes but it didn’t matter anymore; she didn’t have to be perfect. Her fingers were a little tight, but
they would loosen. She needed to play. She needed to remember what she loved about it. This was about her. Not Tim. Not Luke. Not even the kids. This was Kate. This was where she’d been hiding.

  As the music ascended, Kate’s chest rose and she breathed deeply and freely. Once she’d played the final notes, she paused, eyes full, fingers still resting on the keys. Childhood dreams. An image of Alice and Thomas lying in bed came unbidden into her mind and made her heart ache. They looked like tiny babies again when they slept. Pouting lips and soft eyelashes. She would give anything to be home right now, kissing them gently good night.

  And Luke, too. What must he be thinking? He must think his wife had gone completely mad. Should she call it all off? She had been a fool to do this. A complete fool. A fool with a romantic dream that if she could just get Luke here, back where they’d had their honeymoon, back where she had been herself, that somehow she could…

  She should call him. Tell him not to come. She couldn’t call right now because he would be sleeping, but she would call him in the morning. Tell him she had overreacted and that he should stay home.

  And then she needed to make up with Shannon.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Shannon

  Shannon hadn’t packed much for a one-night stay, but throwing things into a suitcase was still mildly cathartic. Reception had given her Kate’s room number but there had been no answer from her door. Maybe she needed time to cool down? Shannon sent a text: I’m so sorry. Please forgive me xxx

  As Shannon lived in Paris, there had been no real reason for her to stay in the damn hotel at all, but Robert had insisted. He’d wanted her to be on site in case she was needed through the night. What did he think was going to happen? An emergency PowerPoint situation? ‘We’re losing the animations on Slide Four. Repeat, Slide Four is down!’