by Caragh Bell
‘Yeah, Craig gave it to me for Christmas.’ She smiled radiantly.
‘Craig?’ she repeated incredulously. ‘How did he pick something so chic?’ She unwrapped her scarf.
‘God knows. I opened the present, practising my ‘I love it’ face despite expecting the worst, and bam! This happened.’
They entered the sitting room. ‘Hi, Lyd!’ called Mark, Samantha’s dad. ‘Happy New Year!’
‘Hi, Mark. Love the jumper.’
They kissed each other on the cheek.
Samantha’s father had worn those novelty Christmas jumpers for as long as she could remember. This year he had a giant reindeer, complete with a red fluffy nose, on his chest.
‘Lydia, my darling. Good to see you.’ Sandra, Samantha’s mum, enveloped her in a big hug. ‘How’s Paris? How’s life? Any news?’
Lydia allowed her to lead her into the kitchen. Talking to Sam’s parents was like talking to her own. She and Sam had been friends since birth. Samantha was three months older than Lydia. Sandra and Helen had walked buggies together. Every birthday party had photos of the girls together. Every milestone like Communions and Confirmations were a dual affair. Lydia was pretty sure that she was in every family album in the house.
Mark and Sandra were great friends of her parents too. She remembered them coming over for dinner when she was a kid. Helen would bring out the fondue set and they would spend the night drinking wine and chatting. Samantha and Lydia loved these soirées, of course. It meant that they could stay up late and watch movies.
‘Drink?’ asked Sandra, not waiting for an answer. A glass of wine was deposited in Lydia’s hand.
‘So, Lyd, I heard you have a gorgeous new boyfriend called Fabian –’
‘Had,’ corrected Lydia.
‘What happened? He sounded nice.’ Sandra put her head to one side.
Not the head tilt,thought Lydia, inwardly cringing.
‘It just didn’t work out,’ she offered. ‘How was Gran Canaria?’ She knew that their annual trip to the Canaries was the highlight of their year.
Lydia could see Jack and Ryan, Sam’s cousins. Both were in university in Cork, doing chemical engineering or something like that. Her uncle, Declan, was over by the minibar, some whiskey rolling around the bottom of his crystal glass. His wife Martha was by his side. She resembled Samantha in looks, with her dark eyes and hair. Now Martha’s hair was slightly grey at the roots and Declan had an uncharacteristic paunch. Lydia couldn’t believe how time had flown.
Colin sidled up next to her and clinked his glass against hers. ‘Tonight is the night, Lyd. I can feel it in my bones.’
‘Really?’ said Lydia dubiously. She regarded Val over by the bookcase , swigging a bottle of beer. He didn’t look remotely nervous or anxious. He looked the same as he always did: relaxed and laid back.
‘There have been subtle hints all day,’ he whispered. ‘He wanted to watch Lord of the Rings this morning. I mean, come on!
‘So?’ Lydia frowned. ‘What’s your point?’
‘Rings? Like, hello?’
‘Oh.’
‘Then he brought up the whole gay marriage thing with Helen, and went on about how happy he was that there might be a referendum about it. You heard him – you were there!’
‘Did he bring it up? I’m pretty sure it was Molly who –’
‘Hey!’ he yelped. ‘Enough of the negativity! Just because you have no interest in marriage!’
Lydia opened her mouth to answer, but shouts from Craig distracted her.
‘Silence, everyone! Please! Thank you!’ He shuffled from foot to foot.
The crowd quietened down.
Craig’s face was bright red. ‘Um, I just want to say – Happy New Year to everyone!’
‘Hey, isn’t that my job?’ said Mark. ‘Last time I checked, I was the host.’
Craig looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up.
‘Daddy!’ warned Samantha.
Lots of cheering ensued.
Craig raised his hands again. ‘Please!’
‘Well, you know that Sam and I have been together for a long time and I love her to bits …’
The world slowed down. Lydia registered Colin’s look of horror, Sandra and Mark’s gasps of surprise and finally Samantha’s confused expression.
‘So, I was hoping that …’ Craig went down on one knee and took a deep breath. ‘Samantha, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
Colin let out a strangled yelp. Lydia felt as if something had punched her in the stomach and knocked the breath out of her.
Samantha flung her arms around Craig’s neck, screaming ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’
The room erupted with champagne corks popping, shouts of congratulation, hugging and kissing.
Lydia regained her composure. She had not been expecting that. She wasn’t quite sure how to feel.
Sam. Her best friend. Taking one of the biggest steps of her life. It would no longer be just the two of them – Samantha and Lydia – Best Friends Forever. Even though Craig had been on the scene for years now, he was still only a boyfriend. Now he would be a husband. Possibly a father. It was a huge step.
She was delighted for her friend. That wasn’t the issue. It was just a shock. It also highlighted how different her life was. Sam had it all: a full-time job, a fiancé, a future. What did she have to show for herself? Tips on a Friday and a string of failed relationships.
She was snapped out of her reverie by Colin.
‘There’s no room for two on the stage, if you know what I mean,’ he said dolefully.
Lydia pointed to Val, who was hugging Craig and Samantha. ‘Looks like it wasn’t on the cards anyway, Mr Lord of the Rings. Val doesn’t look remotely put out.’
‘Damn it, I wore my white suit and all.’ Colin took a deep breath. ‘Right, let’s go congratulate the happy couple.’
He strode over to Samantha and engulfed her in a huge hug.
‘I’m so delighted for you. What a surprise!’ he said, glaring at Val.
‘All in good time,’ said Val, with a wink. ‘All in good time.’ He walked off laughing.
‘He mocks my pain!’ wailed Colin.
‘Oh shut up,’ said Samantha, good-naturedly. ‘Stop stealing my moment.’
Lydia kissed Craig on the cheek. ‘Congratulations, Craig! Can I see the ring?’
‘I don’t have it yet,’ he said, gesturing to Samantha’s bare finger. ‘She’d have a heart attack if I picked the wrong one.’
‘Damn straight,’ agreed Samantha. ‘I want to pick my own.’
Lydia hugged her friend fiercely. ‘I’m so happy for you, Sam. You’ll be a beautiful bride.’
‘And you’ll be a beautiful bridesmaid,’ she answered. ‘Say you’ll be my chief bridesmaid, Lyd! I don’t have a sister and you’re the closest thing I have.’ Her brown eyes were warm.
Lydia squealed in delight. ‘I’d love that! Oh my God, Sam. Thank you!’
Colin clapped his hands together, disappointment forgotten for the moment. ‘This is so exciting! Think of the hen night!’
‘I presume you meant the stag night, Col.’ Samantha gave him a look. ‘Surely you wouldn’t want to come to a party full of women.’
‘You know I would!’ He looked affronted. ‘Do you know me at all?’
Chapter 4
Luca trailed his finger along the curve of her waist. His blue eyes were unfaltering as he stared at her face.
‘You’re gorgeous,’ he whispered.
Lydia moaned and pressed up against him, urging him to kiss her. He pinned her down on the bed and possessed her mouth, crushing her to him. Lydia gasped in pleasure. This was where she wanted to be. This was perfect. This was …
‘Nooooooooooooooo!’
The scream was always the same. She always woke up at that exact moment.
Rubbing her temples, she struggled to come to terms with reality. Glancing at her phone, she could see that it was only four o’clock. Her
body felt warm and tingly. Her chest heaved and her nipples were hard. Strange to think that a dream could arouse her like that.
Real time sank in and she turned over, closing her eyes.
Don’t think about him, Lyd.
Think of Sam and Craig. Think of the wedding.
She tossed and turned for a while, sleep evading her.
Luca Jacob. The thorn in her side.
Sure, she had left him that day in the airport. She had broken his heart. She had made a choice; she had made a decision that did not include him. Story over.
Or so she had thought.
Lately he had been creeping into her dreams. Little things made her think of him. Memories flooded her mind at inopportune moments. Memories that made her feel warm inside.
She knew it was madness to even entertain these fantasies, but she seemed powerless against them. No man had ever made her feel that way. No one had come close since.
Someone had once told her to live, love and never regret.
It was hard not to regret giving him up.
After her flight to Paris, he had disappeared from her life. His photos no longer turned up in her News Feed on Facebook, so she presumed he had blocked her. In fact, she was sure he had blocked her. She probably would’ve done the same thing.
Whenever his name came up in conversation with Sam and Craig, Craig would change the subject. He didn’t want to discuss his cousin with her. Not after the way she had treated him. Call it boy loyalty or something.
She knew that Sam and Craig had gone to New York to visit him at midterm. She knew that they had become even more close. She presumed that there was some girl on the scene. Guys like Luca didn’t stay single for very long.
Information was not shared, however. Even Samantha kept quiet. It was like the forbidden subject.
She sighed loudly. It was impossible to sleep when his image filled her mind.
Count sheep, Lyd. Recite some Shakespeare. Do something, anything.
She was chuffed that Samantha had asked her to be bridesmaid. It meant she would have more of an excuse to come home. There would be shopping trips and a hen night and lots of preparation to be done.
She hugged herself in delight. She already had great ideas for the hen night. From the conversation earlier, it didn’t look like the happy couple were going to wait very long. Samantha was planning to ring the hotel first thing in the morning. Her dream was to get married in Hayfield Manor in Cork city. It was a charming five-star hotel, situated right next to the university. Five minutes from their old flat. Five minutes from her old life …
Focus, Lyd. Focus.
She hoped it was available. They’d heard that weddings were big business and it could take eighteen months to get a date.
It was inevitable that Luca would be at the wedding. She would have to steel herself for that. He was Craig’s cousin, for God’s sake. Forewarned is forearmed. She would be mature and civil. There was no reason why they couldn’t be friends. All that happened between them was firmly in the past.
She activated her phone.
Good old Sudoku would work. It always tired her brain out.
She arrived back to Paris two days later. She took the metro to Pigalle and walked to her small flat. It was on the fourth floor of an old building with black wrought-iron balconies and shutters outside the windows. The building itself was in need of renovation, but the rent was cheap and the location suited her. Claudine’s bistro was only two stops away on the metro.
She pressed the button to call the elevator, but there was a sign on the doors that read: En Panne!
Damn, she said to herself. Typical it would be broken down when she had a big bag to carry. Helen had insisted on stuffing her suitcase with rashers, Jacob’s Cream Crackers, Tayto crisps and Barry’s Tea: all Irish products that she loved and was unable to source in France. Going through Customs had been a nerve-racking experience.
Yanking the suitcase up the small stairway, she made slow progress. Finally, she made it to the fourth floor, only to find her landlord waiting for her outside her door.
‘Bonsoir, Lydia.’
He gave her a toothless grin.
‘Bonsoir, Anatole,’ she replied, smiling.
His small rotund frame filled her doorway.
‘Do you ’ave money for me?’ His grin did not abate.
‘Sure, sure, just give me until the morning.’
He nodded. ‘Until zen, ma chérie.’ He scuttled off.
Lydia scowled. Even if she was a second late with rent, he was on her back. Did he not realise that she went home for Christmas?
Her tiny flat was freezing. Shivering, she turned on the ancient storage heater in the corner. The whole room looked bleak. The dark-green walls that had looked so authentic and charming when she first moved in, now seemed limited and oppressive. Slowly but surely, the veneer of Paris was wearing off. Being in Ireland for a week had shown her what she was missing. She needed to go home; she had to reconnect with her life. She missed the people, the culture, the brown bread and the weather. The novelty of the boulangerie and the boulevards had definitely worn off.
Now that Sam was finally completing the growing-up process, it was time for her to sort herself out. She yearned to have a proper income and to be respected for her career. She couldn’t stand the pitying head tilt when people heard that she was a waitress. She would challenge anyone to do her job for a week and not realise how hard it was to wait tables. It was tiring and strenuous; it required a smile and a happy exterior, even if inside you were blue.
Screw it. An empty flat was not appealing.
Fishing her phone out of her pocket, she texted her friend Laura, asking her to meet her at a local bar.
Laura was from London and had come to Paris to experience life, just like Lydia. She worked at the same bistro and they had become firm friends. Lydia liked her attitude; Laura did not suffer fools gladly. Her outspoken manner and sense of fun were infectious and as a result, they spent a lot of time together.
Laura texted back almost immediately. She had returned from London four days earlier and was dying to catch up. Lydia smiled and, grabbing her purse and keys, she walked out the door.
Paris was buzzing with life. The laser beams from the Eiffel Tower dominated the skyline. The street lamps sparkled on the river, reflecting like jewels.
Lydia walked quickly, as the wind was biting cold. There was a local bar she frequented every now and then. It was the bar where she had met Fabian. It was dark and played jazz down low.
‘Bonsoir,’ she greeted the barman.
He smiled at her. ‘Bonsoir.’
She pointed to the Kronenbourg. He nodded and started filling a glass with the amber-coloured beer.
Taking off her jacket, she sat on a high barstool and pulled out her phone. She texted her mother and then Sam, letting them know that she was okay. They both replied almost instantaneously.
A man smiled at her from across the bar. He looked like he was in his thirties. She smiled back and then turned away.
He was probably married. They always were. She had no interest in drama – not anymore.
‘Lydia!’
A beaming Laura had entered the bar. Her blonde hair was tied in its usual ponytail and it swung from side to side as she sauntered across the room. She was dressed in jeans, boots and a check shirt tucked into a low-slung brown belt.
‘Happy New Year, darling girl!’ she cried. ‘You look so well rested!’
They hugged briefly and she sat on the barstool next to Lydia’s.
‘So, how was your trip home?’ She gestured to the barman to give her a beer.
Lydia traced the rim of her glass with her finger. ‘It was nice. I loved being in my own bed. And my family were bearable – even my brother. It was great to see them all and reconnect. How was it for you?’
Laura took an enormous gulp of beer and coughed. ‘It was a hoot. My stepdad and stepsister were there, along with my brothers, of course. So we all muc
ked in and had a great time.’
‘How’s your mum?’ Lydia enquired, knowing that Laura’s mother was in remission.
‘Very well, thank you. She has thrown herself into charity work. It’s afternoon tea for this and lunches for that.’
There was a pause.
‘Something else happened.’ Lydia sipped her beer.
Laura perked up. ‘What? Did you meet someone?’
‘No, no. Nothing like that.’
‘Go on.’
‘Sam and Craig, well, they got engaged.’
‘Oh.’ Laura knew that Lydia and Sam were like sisters. This was big news.
Laura and Sam had met a couple of years before when Samantha had been over to Paris for Lydia’s birthday. The three girls had painted the town red and Laura and Sam had hit it off immediately. The two girls were strong-minded and confident; within a few hours they were chatting like old friends.
‘I’m really happy for her,’ continued Lydia. ‘She asked me to be bridesmaid. Yet sometimes I think … what if I’d stayed with Dom. This would be me right now.’
‘Would you be happy?’ Laura asked seriously.
‘I suppose. I mean, he was a fantastic guy. He had a great career and was gorgeous-looking. My family loved him.’
Laura didn’t comment.
Lydia threw up her arms in defeat. ‘No, I wouldn’t be happy. I would have lived a limited life.’
‘There. Now, stop the moping. You get to wear a darling frock and there will be lots of parties. Who knows? The best man might be fit.’