French Kissing

by Catherine Sanderson

  ‘Oh, I was thinking about the play,’ I lied, chalking up another white lie to the evening’s tally.

  ‘He didn’t offer you a lift home? And you didn’t even get a proper kiss?’ Kate was flabbergasted. Curled up beside her on the sofa, I was attempting to chase away the taste of Jérémy’s herbal tea with a hot chocolate. ‘This Jérémy needs his head examining,’ Kate tutted to herself. ‘I mean, you looked amazing. What on earth is wrong with the man?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ I said with a shrug. I’d tried to laugh off the disappointing way we’d parted when I’d described it to Kate but, frankly, the memory still stung. After lingering over my tea for as long as possible, I’d conceded I should be getting on my way. Jérémy had walked me to the front door and I’d paused in the doorway, eyeing his full lips, my pulse quickening with hopeful excitement. ‘I had a lovely evening,’ I said, ‘thank you for inviting me out again.’

  ‘Me too,’ Jérémy replied, leaning towards me, and I lowered my eyelids and parted my lips, fully expecting him to kiss me on the mouth. Instead, he planted a tiny, sterile kiss on my right cheek, then another on my left. ‘I’ll call you,’ he said softly. ‘We’ll do this again very soon…’

  Crestfallen, I’d wished him luck for his audition, then walked reluctantly along the corridor to the lift, where I’d contemplated my face in the mirror. Spurning the métro, I’d trudged home, all the while trying and failing to make sense of what had just happened. If Jérémy wasn’t attracted to me, I reasoned, he wouldn’t keep promising we’d go out again. So there must be something else at work. Maybe he’d been scarred by a previous relationship and it had left him terrified of involvement? Maybe he was cautious, by nature, and liked to advance in slow motion?

  Kate wasn’t inclined to look upon Jérémy’s motives quite so charitably, probably because she’d never met him, leaving her immune to his considerable charms. ‘Sal, much as I hate to say this, there’s another possibility you ought to at least entertain,’ she said, her eyes filled with concern. ‘If he’s holding back from getting physical, it may be that he sees you as a friend. Next time you two go out, I think you ought to ask him, straight out.’

  ‘I hope your instincts are wrong, Kate.’ I sighed, draining the last of my hot chocolate and setting down my mug. ‘Because honestly, I’m about this far from falling for him.’

  I made a sign with my right hand, leaving only a couple of millimetres between my thumb and forefinger.

  21

  Lila seemed to have slept off whatever had been ailing her the previous day and had no qualms about waking me bright and early on Sunday. Padding through to the kitchen on autopilot, eyes still half-closed, I poured cereal into her favourite Sleeping Beauty bowl and set it on the table. My next mission was to locate the remote control. With a bit of luck, TiJi – her favourite of the various French cable channels aimed at young children – would allow me to doze for a little while longer on the sofa. Nico had arranged to take Lila at ten and keep her overnight, to compensate for the previous day’s debacle, and he would deliver her to Sophie the next day, for her trip to Disneyland with Lucas. But ten o’clock seemed a long way away. Try as I might, I’d never managed to convince Lila of the virtues of weekend lie-ins.

  Three hours later we were halfway through our second game of Memory – I was letting Lila win, this time, as our first attempt had ended in tears – when I heard a pinging noise emanating from my laptop. It was a sound I recognized: new mail had arrived on Rendez-vous.

  Once we’d finished dissecting my date with Jérémy, I’d treated Kate to a Rendez-vous tour, complete with a post mortem of each of my dates so far, illustrated by a peek at their respective profiles. She’d heard all about English Marcus and live-at-home Frédéric, my two non-starters. She’d winced when I told her about my aborted sleepover at Manu’s and, when I came clean about what had happened with Australian Rob, leaving nothing out, she’d been downright horrified. Last, but not least, I’d shown her Jérémy’s profile. ‘He’s devilishly handsome, I’ll give you that,’ Kate conceded, clicking on ‘aggrandir’ to take a closer look at his photo. ‘Good grief!’ She pointed towards the figure at the top of the screen which auto-refreshed every few seconds to display the number of members online. Despite the anti-social hour – ten past midnight – it was still in the high five figures. ‘I can see why finding a decent guy on here must be like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack,’ she said, aghast. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Sal, but I hope I never have to join…’ Her phrase hung in the air between us for a few excruciating moments while I flailed around for a suitable reply. A reassuring ‘Don’t worry, you and Yves will be fine’ would be meaningless. In the end, a fervent ‘I hope so too’ was the best I could muster. Kate left not long afterwards, steeling herself to face her empty apartment. I told her she was welcome to sleep on the sofa if she’d rather not be alone, but I could tell she wanted to be home, in case Yves showed up the next morning.

  I realized now that I must have left the browser open on the Rendez-vous homepage after Kate left. So while Lila endeavoured to remember where she’d seen the second pig to match the card she’d turned over, I shuffled across the room to switch it off. Leaving myself logged in to the site for hours on end – even if it was by accident – wasn’t a good thing. A flashing icon next to my profile picture would be proclaiming to all and sundry that I was ‘online now’, and being constantly connected smacked of desperation.

  Although there were a number of messages in my Rendez-vous inbox, they were all marked ‘non lus’ (‘unread’). Since meeting Jérémy, I’d been unable to muster up the enthusiasm to follow up any other leads. I intended to ignore the most recent arrival too, until I caught sight of the title: ‘Transports amoureux – édition exceptionnelle!’

  ‘Mummy, it’s YOUR TURN!’ bellowed Lila, evidently a little put out that she’d failed to find pig number two. Pulling the life-support cables out of my laptop, I returned with it to the patch of floor where the remaining cards were spread out in higgledy-piggledy rows and, momentarily forgetting that I was supposed to be letting Lila win, turned over two tigers in quick succession.

  With one eye on the screen and another on the game in progress, I opened my intriguingly titled email. ‘Vu le samedi 16 février sur Rendezvous.fr,’ it read. ‘Jolie petite anglaise habitant Belleville, comme moi, et partageant mon obsession avec les Transports amoureux. Deux bonnes raisons de se rencontrer?’

  It was undeniably the most original email I’d ever received via Rendez-vous. Not only did its author live in the neighbourhood and share my love of Transports amoureux, but he’d described me as a ‘pretty’ English girl. A glance at his profile revealed that its author – pseudonym: dazedandconfused – was twenty-eight years old, a full four years younger than me and the wrong side of the all important thirty watershed. He listed his interests as photography and reading, and his profession as architect. His photo was odd: instead of smiling or attempting to smoulder at the camera, as most members did, he was frowning at the lens in genuine annoyance.

  I dismissed dazedandconfused outright as date material. He was too young for me to take seriously, for one thing, and, besides, I was focusing all my energies on Jérémy. I couldn’t resist replying to his email, all the same. A little voice inside was telling me that this neighbour of mine might be an interesting person to get to know, so why not use Rendez-vous to try and make a friend? There couldn’t be any harm in that, as long as I was upfront about it from the start.

  After toying with the idea of trying to compose a copy-cat Transports amoureux ad of my own, I decided I’d rather take a different tack. ‘What had the person who took your profile picture done to deserve that look?’ I typed instead, in French, hastily turning over two cards – a lion and a snake – in between sentences to mollify Lila. ‘If you can promise you won’t look at me like that,’ I continued, ‘then maybe we could meet for a friendly drink between neighbours…’ Then, closing the comput
er, I brought my full attention back to the game in hand, allowing Lila to claim a resounding victory.

  A few minutes before ten we set out to walk to Nico’s. Lila, who darted out of the lift ahead of me, paused in the empty courtyard to stroke one of the neighbourhood cats, an overweight ginger and white monstrosity which belonged to an elderly lady on the ground floor. ‘Lila! Please don’t touch that cat,’ I snapped, impatiently. ‘I’ve told you a million times! She could be crawling with fleas!’ Madame Morin always left her window ajar, enabling the cat to wander in and out as it pleased, but she was hard of hearing and unlikely to have a perfect grasp of English, so I wasn’t unduly worried about causing offence if she overheard.

  ‘You’re English?’ The male voice came from somewhere behind me, and I almost jumped out of my skin, not only surprised that Lila and I had company, but that we had English company. Wheeling round, I saw a man standing in the doorway of the concrete bunker where the communal dustbins were stored. Tall and lean, with closely cropped sandy hair and a sprinkling of freckles, he wore faded jeans and a Depeche Mode T-shirt. At a guess, he was in his early to mid-thirties, like me, and his accent, if I’d placed it correctly, sounded Liverpudlian.

  ‘I am indeed,’ I replied with a shy smile. ‘I’m Sally, and this is my daughter, Lila. Do you live here too? I don’t think I remember seeing you before…’

  ‘Name’s Pete.’ He wiped the palm of his hand – presumably the hand which had been grasping a dustbin bag seconds earlier – on his jeans and came closer, extending it for me to shake. ‘And I’m new in the building, yes. I moved into the ground-floor flat next door to our ginger friend here last week.’ He gestured towards the cat, and I frowned at Lila, who had stretched out her hand to stroke it as soon as my back was turned. ‘My son Ethan comes to stay on Wednesdays and every other weekend,’ Pete added, looking at Lila. ‘He can’t be much older than your little girl, actually. He turned six last month.’

  Lila had returned to my side, sheepish at having been caught ginger-handed, so to speak, and she now began tugging at my coat. ‘I want to go to Daddy’s house now,’ she said impatiently. ‘Come on, Mummy, we’re going to be late.’

  ‘As you can see, I have a similar arrangement with Lila’s father.’ I gave Pete a knowing look. ‘Maybe we could have coffee at mine or yours sometime when Ethan is around,’ I suggested. ‘I’m sure Lila would love to have a playmate in the building…’

  ‘That would be great, yes. I’ll keep an eye out for you next time Ethan’s over, shall I?’ Pete replied. I was conscious of him sizing me up, his eyes scrolling down from my head to my feet, then travelling upwards again. ‘I wouldn’t mind a playmate in the building myself,’ Pete added with a mischievous little smile. And with that, he turned on his heel and returned indoors, although not before he’d given us a cheeky little wave.

  As we walked along rue Rébeval, hand in hand, I caught myself humming a song Lila had learned at school and performed for me several times that morning. I’d gone to bed feeling glum after Jérémy’s rebuttal, but seeing dazedandconfused’s message this morning and meeting Pete on the way out had buoyed my spirits. If they both appreciated my charms, there was no reason why Jérémy wouldn’t come around too. And really, when I thought about it, our evening had gone incredibly well. It was only the last thirty seconds that I had a problem with.

  Wearing the striped bathrobe Mum and Dad had bought him for his birthday, more years ago than I cared to remember, Nico looked contrite when he answered his front door. ‘Ça va mieux, mon amour?’ he said, swinging Lila up into his arms for a hug. Lila nodded and hugged him back. It was lucky for him that four-year-olds have short memories and don’t bear adult-sized grudges.

  ‘She hasn’t been sick since yesterday,’ I explained, wondering whether Albane was lurking somewhere out of sight, listening in. ‘I never saw the damage, although I hear she did a pretty good job of baptizing your bed…’

  ‘To be honest, neither did I,’ confessed Nico. ‘By the time I got home from work, the sheets were spinning round in the washing machine. But I’m told it was pretty spectacular.’ He had the good grace to look guilty about neglecting his duties, but I bet he was relieved to have missed the worst of it. He’d never been much help when it came to unpleasant tasks like changing nappies or administering medicine, and had always left these things up to me when we lived together. ‘Alors, mon coeur,’ he said, setting Lila down on the floor again, ‘if you go into your bedroom, you’ll find a lovely surprise.’ Lila needed no further encouragement and scampered off along the corridor. I didn’t approve of Nico buying her forgiveness in quite such an obvious way, but was grateful, nonetheless, to be able to snatch a few seconds to talk to him alone.

  ‘Is Albane here?’ I spoke in a hushed tone, gesturing towards the living room.

  Nico shook his head. ‘She’s out. So if you want to tear a few more strips off me, be my guest.’

  ‘I was wondering whether you still expect me to believe Albane isn’t living with you?’ I concentrated on keeping my voice too low for Lila to overhear, and devoid of sarcasm for once. ‘Only Kate was here with me yesterday too, and she tells me your girlfriend’s taken over half your wardrobe…’ I paused before I delivered my punch line. ‘Forgive me if I’m wrong, Nico, but that sounds like cohabitation to me.’

  ‘It’s very recent,’ Nico replied, his voice defensive. ‘But you know how it is… She was always here, and it didn’t seem sensible to keep up two apartments…’ He let his sentence trail off and gave a shrug that spoke volumes. For Albane’s sake, I hoped he was playing things down for my benefit.

  ‘Well, who says romance is dead?’ I chuckled. ‘But seriously, though… If Albane’s living here with you, then it stands to reason she’s going to spend quite a bit of time with Lila. Didn’t you think I had a right to know? If only so I could keep an eye on Lila and make sure she wasn’t finding the new situation confusing? I mean, not so long ago you were all for consulting a therapist…’

  Nico contemplated his feet for a moment. I got the impression he was weighing his words carefully: turning them three times around his mouth, as the French say, before he spoke. ‘I didn’t want to upset you,’ he said at last, lifting his gaze to meet mine. ‘You’re on your own. I’m not. I was hoping to find a way to tell you things were moving in that direction when we met for dinner at Chapeau Melon, but you ended up walking out on me, remember?’

  ‘Well, I know now,’ I said, ignoring his reference to our disastrous outing. ‘And from what I’ve seen of Albane, she seems nice. So let’s try and all make this work, shall we, and minimize the upheaval to Lila as much as we can…?’

  ‘Ta-DAAA!’ Lila reappeared in the hallway, looking immensely pleased with herself. She’d removed her clothes and wriggled into a brand-new Little Mermaid costume, the gift Nico had mentioned earlier. ‘Am I pretty with my new tail, Mummy?’ She twirled around to show me her new outfit from every angle. The ‘tail’ was composed of two separate sections which hung down at the front and back, gaps at the sides making it possible to walk around.

  ‘You make a beautiful mermaid, honey.’ I dropped to my knees and stole a brief hug as soon as she pirouetted within range. ‘Now, you have a nice time at Daddy and Albane’s house,’ I said, glancing at Nico over her shoulder. ‘And I’ll see you tomorrow, after school.’

  As I walked home, my right hand missing the subtle pressure of Lila’s and closing around the keys in my pocket instead, I tried on a mental image of Lila wedged in between Nico and Albane on the sofa for size. It faded, replaced by a picture of Albane wearing a silk negligee and slipping between the sheets of what used to be my bed. But, try as I might, I didn’t seem to be capable of causing myself any actual pain. It was like digging a blade into my skin and finding I couldn’t draw blood.

  I supposed this must be because I’d had almost a year to get used to the idea of the two of them together and, despite Nico’s repeated denials, I’d seen the writing on the wall long
ago. If anything, I decided, it was a relief that things were out in the open. I had Lila’s timely stomach upset to thank for that. Otherwise, goodness knows when I would have found out.

  I was pottering around the apartment, putting off my lesson planning for the coming week until the last possible moment, when it occurred to me to sneak a peek at my Rendez-vous profile to check whether dazedandconfused had made any reply to my email that morning. A cursory glance at my inbox revealed nothing new, but when an ‘invitation to chat’ window popped up, seconds later, there he was, online.

  ‘Ça te dirait de prendre un verre aux Folies, ce soir?’ he suggested. ‘Unless you have your daughter with you, that is?’ I smiled. Without making a big deal of it, he’d shown he was making allowances for the impact motherhood must have on my freedom of movement. It was the first time someone I’d met on Rendez-vous had struck the right balance.

  ‘20 heures, ça te va?’ I wasn’t in the mood for playing hard to get or pretending I’d had important plans which had been cancelled. ‘My name’s Sally, by the way,’ I added, deciding it was time to lure him out from behind his pseudonym. ‘Et toi, tu t’appelles comment?’

  ‘À toute à l’heure, Sally… Moi, c’est Matthias,’ he replied, leaving me his mobile number in brackets. ‘And don’t worry, I promise not to give you that look,’ he added, signing out before I could riposte.

  After signing out myself, I couldn’t resist clicking on the jpeg of Jérémy’s theatre poster that I’d saved to my desktop and sneaking a peek at his naked torso before I got down to some lesson planning. If he were to call me today, I’d have no qualms about bowing out of my arrangements with Matthias. In my mind, there was no ambiguity about where my priorities lay.