After a further four rings I answered with a brisk ‘Allô?’, earning a thumbs-up from Ryan. ‘Sally? C’est Jérémy à l’appareil.’ His voice sent tiny shivers down my spine. ‘Comment ça va?’ he continued, his ‘how are you’ rhetorical, as he didn’t pause to allow me to reply. ‘I was wondering whether you’d like to come and see a play with me on Saturday night. You said you never go to the théâtre and we must do something to rectify that…’
‘Mmm,’ I said, trying to sound as though I were consulting a busy diary. ‘Saturday might work… I did have some plans, but they’ve been cancelled. So, yes, okay. It’ll be nice to do something a bit different…’ Ryan was nodding vigorously now: my tactics met with his approval. But when Jérémy offered to collect me on Saturday at seven – even though the theatre was only a few métro stops away, at Bonne Nouvelle – I was unable to keep the smile out of my voice. ‘À samedi alors,’ I said gaily, putting down my phone and fanning myself with my serviette. ‘I can’t believe he called,’ I said, trying to recover my composure. ‘I really was beginning to give him up as a lost cause.’
‘Learned much, my apprentice has,’ said Ryan in a quavering voice. ‘Strong with you, the force is. Mind you,’ he added, his voice returning to normal, ‘I’m subtracting points for sounding so keen at the end. I thought you were about to start clapping your hands like an overexcited four-year-old…’
‘I’m going on a second date with Jérémy, and I don’t care what you say,’ I chanted, playground style, putting my hands over my ears. My imitation of a four-year-old, thanks to Lila, was second to none.
Waiting for seven o’clock to come around on Saturday should have been excruciating. I awoke soon after dawn, and my brain refused to let me slide back into sleep, intent on mixing and matching every possible outfit in my wardrobe, then weighing up the pros and cons of dipping into my overdraft to buy something new to wear for my date. Fortunately, I wouldn’t have too much time on my hands to devote to worrying about this evening: I’d already made plans to meet up with Kate at midday. Yves was back in the country again for his second visit and he’d informed her he was planning to take the children to visit his parents in Versailles for the day, minus Kate. Since Lila would be with Nico all weekend, I’d volunteered to keep my friend company.
When Kate answered her door, the first thing I noticed was how much weight had dropped off her frame over the past three months. She was wearing a pair of jeans I’d seen many times before, but she’d had to cinch them in with a belt to stop them falling down over her narrow hips and, as a result, the material was all bunched up around the waist. Although the weather was mild – a welcome respite from the frosty, headache-inducing weather we’d been having since early February – Kate had enveloped her shoulders in a pashmina shawl. As she raised her arms to give me a hug, the shawl slipped to one side, and I caught a glimpse of sharply protruding collarbone.
‘So, do you fancy going for lunch, or shopping, or for a walk somewhere?’ I said brightly, trying to sound as though this were a normal Saturday and Kate and I went on these sorts of outings all the time. Back in the days before our children came along, we’d often met up at weekends. But in recent years, shopping sprees had given way to playdates for our respective children, and even those were few and far between, these days. What a pity, I reflected, that we’d been forced to resurrect such a happy tradition in such dismal circumstances.
I followed Kate along the hallway and leaned against a sideboard, arms folded, while she rummaged inside the coat cupboard, pulling on first a pair of Ugg boots, then a thick woollen coat. The door opposite me was ajar, and through it I could see a narrow sliver of Kate’s spare room. The bed sheets were crumpled, and an expensive-looking piece of monogrammed luggage – presumably Yves’ – lay open on the floor.
‘I think I could do with going to a different part of town,’ Kate replied, her eyes following my gaze then snapping back to the coat she was frantically buttoning. ‘A change of scenery would be nice… The Parc Monceau is driving me slowly mad. All those achingly perfect bourgeois families out for a stroll with their kids in Petit Bateau outfits…’
‘Well, how about we take the métro down to somewhere on the Left Bank, like Saint Sulpice?’ I suggested. I’d been studying the map on the way over, trying to formulate some sort of plan. My hunch – that Kate would need me to be decisive in her place – had been correct. ‘I haven’t been down there in ages,’ I added, ‘but there are plenty of places we could grab a bite to eat and, if you’re feeling naughty, I wouldn’t be averse to wandering in and out of a few shops…’
Once we were seated on fold-down strapontin seats inside the métro carriage, which was bursting at the seams with Saturday shoppers and only marginally less hectic than during the weekday rush hour, I resisted the impulse to pull Libé out of my bag and pore over the day’s Transports amoureux. Better to steer clear of the subject of love. In fact, it wasn’t easy to think of any conversation topic which didn’t have the potential to destabilize Kate: I’d resolved to keep my butterflies about tonight’s date to myself, and even ordinarily safe subjects like children or work were riddled with potholes. So I was almost thankful when a man with a shabby suit and an Eastern European accent wedged himself inside our carriage at Madeleine and began murdering the theme tune from Amélie Poulain with an ageing accordion.
The café I’d been picturing in my mind’s eye, with tables spilling out on to the square in front of Saint Sulpice church, turned out not to be such an inspired idea. It was one of those places that seemed enormous when the weather was fine and you could take full advantage of the outdoor seating, but possessed only a tiny indoor space which was soon filled to capacity in winter. Turning off into rue des Canettes, I began to hunt for an alternative lunch venue. ‘How about we get some Flammenküche,’ I suggested, pausing to peer inside a bar which, judging by the huge copper tanks in the window, brewed its own beer as well as serving the Alsatian version of ‘pizza’, a thin bread crust smothered in crème fraîche and sprinkled with bacon and onions.
‘Sounds fine,’ Kate replied listlessly. ‘Although I don’t think I’ve got much of an appetite…’ I hesitated a moment, then pushed open the door, determined not to leave until I’d seen food pass her lips. Kate wasn’t going to be allowed to fade away; not on my watch.
When our order arrived, served straight from the oven on a large wooden board, I set it to one side to cool for a moment. I’d tucked into a Flammenküche prematurely once before, taking a layer off the roof of my mouth in the process, and wasn’t keen to make the same mistake twice. Kate, her beer untouched, didn’t even seem to notice we’d been served. Her posture was tense and defensive – elbows crossed on the tabletop, hands on shoulders – and she was gazing unseeing into the middle distance, lost in her thoughts.
‘I think Yves is seeing someone else,’ she said suddenly, her eyes locking with mine. ‘He came home wearing a brand-new suit, and with this trendy, expensive-looking haircut, looking better than he’s looked in months.’ Kate’s voice remained steady, but her pallor and her haunted expression left me in no doubt as to how wretched she was feeling.
‘Do you have any real reason to suspect he’s having an affair, apart from this makeover?’ I said, trying to keep things rational. ‘Or is this pure speculation on your part?’
Kate shook her head. ‘I haven’t been snooping, if that’s what you mean’, she said, her voice filled with resignation. ‘And, to be honest, I don’t think I could handle seeing actual proof of whatever it is he may have been doing. All I know is, he’s definitely making an effort and, given the current state of play, it’s unlikely to be for my benefit.’
I cast my mind back to the weeks and months before I’d stumbled upon the evidence of Nico’s involvement with Mathilde. If he’d gone to extraordinary sartorial lengths to impress his secretary, I’d been oblivious to them. I didn’t think he had, but I couldn’t be sure. Without realizing it at the time, I’d dropped the ball. May
be one of the reasons he’d been attracted to her in the first place stemmed from the fact that he and I had been together for so long that we didn’t really pay proper attention to each other any more; a sobering thought.
‘So what are you going to do?’ I picked up my knife, intending to slice into the Flammenküche but, a moment later, I set it down again, thinking better of the idea. Who was I fooling? Kate wasn’t in the mood for eating, and the turn our conversation had taken had seen off my appetite now, too.
‘I don’t think there’s anything I can do,’ Kate replied doubtfully, her shoulders sloping in defeat. ‘His secondment finishes in three weeks’ time and I’m on standby, waiting for him to tell me what happens next. I’m pretty sure I’ve forfeited the right to play the role of jealous wife, so even though I can’t bear the idea of losing him, I’m going to have to sit tight, and pray this New York thing – if it exists – is just a tit-for-tat fling.’
‘Well, I’m rooting for you both,’ I said softly. ‘I really don’t want you and Yves to go the way of me and Nico. Even if it would mean we could meet up on Saturdays more often.’ It was a feeble attempt at humour, and no sooner had the words left my mouth than I wished I hadn’t bothered. The last thing Kate needed to hear was that this isolated weekend without the children could be the first of many. When our waiter made his next lap of the room, I signalled to him to bring over the bill. ‘Okay, so maybe eating out wasn’t such a good idea’ – I gestured towards our untouched food – ‘Maybe we should go and look in a few shops instead? A bit of windowlicking never did anyone any harm.’ Kate managed to summon the ghost of a smile at my literal translation of the French phrase for window shopping – faire du lèche-vitrine. ‘Let’s face it,’ I said, recycling an old joke of Ryan’s, ‘most of the size-zero women shopping in this part of town look as though the weight of their shopping bags might snap their scrawny arms in two. They probably are ravenous enough to lick a windowpane.’
We were about to cross the threshold of a boutique called ‘Les Petites’ on rue du Four when my phone began to ring. Fishing it out of my bag, I frowned, perplexed, at the number displayed on the screen. It looked familiar, yet I couldn’t quite place it… Then, in a flash, I remembered. My old landline. Since Nico always used his mobile, I must have deleted the entry last time I upgraded my phone.
‘Salut, Nico, il y a un problème? Lila va bien?’ But the stricken voice which answered didn’t belong to Nico. It was Albane, and she sounded anything but okay.
‘Je suis désolée, Sally. I didn’t know what to do. Nico isn’t answering his phone and I have a big problem here with Lila… She’s been sick, very sick. And she is crying for her maman.’ I slumped against the shop window, my head spinning and my eyes unfocused. ‘What can she mean, Nico isn’t picking up his phone?’ I muttered out loud. ‘He’s supposed to be there with Lila. Where the hell has he gone?’
‘I’ll be with you as soon as I can, Albane,’ I said, pulling myself together. Now was not the time for questions or recriminations. ‘I’m in Saint Germain, but I’ll try and flag down a taxi. In the meantime, try and get Lila to drink some water and tell her Mummy’s coming.’
When I turned back to where Kate had been standing seconds earlier, she’d disappeared. I span round, panicking, opening my mouth to call out her name. But then I caught sight of her slight figure by the kerb a few metres away: she was opening the back door of a taxi and beckoning me over. ‘I overheard enough to get the gist,’ she explained, as I hurried across to join her. ‘And I’m coming with you.’ She lifted a hand as if to deflect any protests. ‘Come on, Sal, hop in. Don’t tell me you couldn’t do with some moral support around Albane.’ Having someone else’s crisis to attend to had galvanized Kate into action, and she seemed to have set aside her own worries for a time, distracted by my own. It wasn’t what I’d had in mind when I’d arranged to spend time with her today, but the transformation was a welcome one, all the same.
Sensing the urgency in my voice when I barked out Nico’s address, our taxi driver did his utmost to get us from A to B in record time, speeding along dedicated bus lanes whenever he could, but rejoining the rest of the traffic whenever a slow-moving bus loomed into sight far ahead. As he weaved in and out, I kept my phone handy, dialling Nico’s mobile and stabbing my index finger repeatedly on ‘redial’. I was determined to give him a piece of my mind. ‘What on earth was he thinking, leaving his girlfriend in charge?’ I fumed as I got through to voicemail for the fifteenth time. ‘Whatever his reasons might be – although I bet you anything he’s gone into work – leaving his phone switched off while he’s out is so irresponsible!’
When Albane answered the door, dressed in jeans and one of Nico’s T-shirts, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, I darted inside without even waiting for her to speak, following the sound of Lila’s sobs along the corridor to the bathroom. I found my daughter sitting on the floor by the toilet, wrapped in a clean towel. Her curls were soaking wet and plastered to her head. ‘Mummy, j’ai vomi,’ she wailed, as soon as she caught sight of me. Dropping to my knees, I wrapped my arms around her. She was shivering, but her skin was hot to the touch and her breaths came short and shallow. ‘It went all over Daddy’s bed,’ she added, her teeth beginning to chatter. ‘And all over me. So Albane did wash me with the shower.’
‘It’s going to be all right, my love. Mummy’s going to take you home,’ I said comfortingly, unconsciously reverting to referring to myself in the third person, just as I used to when she was a baby. I could sense someone behind me, and half-turned – still hugging Lila close – to see Kate standing in the doorway. ‘If you could look inside the cupboard above the sink,’ I instructed, ‘on the top shelf, I think you’ll find a thermometer… And maybe some rehydration salts too.’
‘Here you go.’ Kate passed me the thermometer, then upended the tooth mug sitting by the sink and filled it with water. ‘Good stuff this,’ she said darkly, tearing open the sachet of medicine and stirring the contents of the mug with the handle of a toothbrush. ‘You ought to try it next time you have a hangover, or a bout of uncontrollable weeping…’
While we dressed Lila in clean clothes I didn’t spare a thought for Albane who was hovering out of sight, in the corridor. It was only later, when Kate and I had got Lila back home – Kate carrying her weekend bag while I somehow managed to transport all fifteen kilos of Lila home in my arms – that it began to dawn on me how difficult the situation must have been for her. It was bad enough being left to deal with Lila – and Lila’s vomit – all alone. But Albane had also had to step aside and look on helplessly while two strangers – one of whom clearly knew her way around Nico’s bathroom cabinet far better than she did – relieved her of her temporary responsibilities, with scarcely a word of thanks.
Once Lila had been dosed with the French version of Calpol – similarly pink and strawberry-flavoured – and parked in front of The Little Mermaid, her eyes soon began to lose their glassy sheen. Tucking her blanket around her and planting a kiss on her forehead, I picked up the phone. Kate, who was busy filling the kettle to make us a pot of tea, looked up in interest. No doubt she assumed I was trying Nico again, and anticipated fireworks.
‘Albane? It’s Sally. I’m calling to say thank you, and to apologize if I seemed ungrateful when I saw you earlier.’ When Albane began to protest that no apology was necessary I talked over her, determined to deliver my speech in full. ‘I wanted to say that you did the right thing, by calling me,’ I told her, ‘and that I thought you handled everything really well. Nico put you in a difficult situation – it was unfair of him – and I’m so sorry you had to cope with all that.’ Unwittingly, Nico had managed to rally his girlfriends past and present to a common cause today, uniting us in our disgust for his irresponsible behaviour.
‘That was big of you,’ Kate said, miming applause, when I replaced the receiver. ‘Any sign of Nico yet?’
‘Albane said she’d ask him to call me,’ I said, shaking my head, ‘b
ut frankly I don’t think I should let myself speak to him until I’ve calmed down. I’m guessing he went into work. Unless he’s cheating on her now, too…’
‘Well, so much for things not being serious between them.’ Kate handed me a mug of tea and took a seat on one of the stools by the kitchen counter. Seeing my frown, she faltered for a moment, as though she was having second thoughts about what she’d been going to say. ‘While you were seeing to Lila,’ she said hesitantly, ‘I went to help Albane strip off the dirty bedclothes… And I couldn’t help noticing one of the open wardrobes seemed to be filled with her clothes.’
She must have been relieved when I didn’t bat an eyelid. In actual fact, all Kate’s mention of clothes had done was to remind me, with a sinking feeling, of my date with Jérémy. Or, more to the point, that I’d have to contact him and cancel it, now that Lila was back home with me. ‘Of course, all this had to happen when I had important plans for the evening,’ I groaned, picking up my phone again and scrolling through the address book for Jérémy’s number. ‘A second date with a guy I really rather like, no less.’
‘Hang on a minute,’ said Kate, as I found Jérémy’s number and my index finger was poised to hit ‘call’. I looked up at her quizzically, my finger obediently still. ‘I’ve got a few things to do this afternoon,’ she continued, ‘but I can be back here in plenty of time for you to go out, and I’d much rather babysit for Lila than pace around my apartment alone. Yves and the kids are staying over in Versailles tonight.’
‘That’s lovely of you, but how can I go out?’ I protested. ‘I mean, what sort of a mother goes on a date when her daughter is ill?’
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