When Kate called the next morning, I was running around like the proverbial headless chicken. Lila and I were about to leave the house, with only a few minutes to spare before we were officially late for the Centre de Loisirs. I stared at her name on the phone’s display screen for a moment, weighing up my burning desire to find out how Yves’ homecoming had played out against my fear of incurring the wrath of the dragon guarding the school gates. Kate won, but only by a hair’s breadth.
‘Kate! I’m about to run out of the door with Lila, but I’ve got a couple of minutes, so please, tell me in a nutshell how it went?’
‘Good news, Sal,’ trilled Kate, her voice ecstatic. ‘He got back last night and we had a long talk, and I really think we’re going to be all right … I was wondering whether I could catch you for lunch today for a proper chat. I’ve got so much to tell you …’
‘That’s fantastic, Kate!’ I shrieked. ‘And I’d love to catch up!’ I grimaced at my watch, frustrated that I had no time to beg her to elaborate. ‘Listen, I’m going to have to sprint off now, but how about you take a look at my timetable and you can text me to tell me where and when we should meet?’ Replacing the receiver, I grabbed Lila’s hand and slammed the front door closed behind us. My watch read 8.40 a.m. I was thrilled to hear Kate sounding so positive, and dying to hear all the details, but the smile she’d summoned to my lips wouldn’t afford me any protection against the door dragon.
As we approached Lila’s school I set the door in my sights, lunging forwards as it began to swing closed in excruciating slow motion but hearing the fatal clunk of the locking mechanism catching while I was still a couple of paces away. Groaning, I waited outside for a moment, hoping to dart inside as another latecomer left. But no such latecomer was forthcoming, and the door remained stubbornly closed. I had no choice but to ring the intercom, draw attention to our plight and brave the icy stare of the gardienne.
‘Oui?’ said a stern voice, intent on prolonging my agony rather than simply opening the door.
‘C’est la maman de Lila Canet,’ I replied, casting about for a watertight – if fabricated – excuse for our lateness. ‘I’m sorry to be arriving so late, but I had to deal with an urgent family matter on the phone …’ It wasn’t so far from the truth. Kate was almost family.
‘The doors will open again at 1.30 p.m.,’ the disembodied voice replied, devoid of compassion. ‘You can come back then if you’d like to drop her off for the afternoon.’
‘Non! Ça va pas aller du tout!’ I cried, beginning to panic now. ‘I’m a single mother, and I work full time. I can’t afford to risk losing my job!’ I couldn’t believe how humiliating it was being forced to beg over an intercom, even if I knew that Kate would never fire me for something like this. Lila, seeing how close I was to tears, looked up at me in genuine alarm and tightened her grasp on my hand. Suddenly, there was a click as the lock mechanism was released and, when I gave the door a violent push, it obligingly swung open.
‘Rentrez vite!’ the gardienne hissed. ‘Before the directrice gets back to her office.’ Her face remained impassive, but I detected a glimmer of compassion in her eyes. Something I’d said must have struck a chord. Her heart had thawed, if only for a moment.
Once I’d signed Lila in to the Centre de Loisirs and she’d joined one of the groups of children drawing pictures in a corner of the préau, I waved her a hurried goodbye, conscious that my problems weren’t yet over: there was still the small matter of getting to my first appointment on time. At the front door, I placed my hand on the doorknob and glanced at the gardienne, waiting for her to release the mechanism and set me free.
I couldn’t be sure, but I could have sworn that, just as I was leaving, I heard a whispered ‘Bon courage, Madame’. Mumbling a bemused ‘merci’, I escaped into the street and began my sprint towards the métro.
When Kate swept into the bistro she’d chosen for lunch, close by the Arc de Triomphe, the transformation in her was inspiring. Back on top of her game, groomed, perfumed and wearing her favourite carmine nail polish, she swept across the room, causing several of the lunching businessmen present to raise appreciative eyes from their steak-frites, just like she used to. As she drew closer, I noted that her cheekbones still protruded a little too much for my liking, but Paris wasn’t built in a day. It would only be a matter of time, now, before she was back to her old self.
‘You look incredible,’ I exclaimed, rising to my feet and giving her an enthusiastic hug. ‘I feel like I’ve travelled back in time for a lunch date with the old Kate!’
‘You’re looking pretty good yourself, Sal.’ Kate took a seat, then reached across to caress Delphine’s scarf. ‘I don’t know whether it’s your experiences on Rendezvous lately that have changed you, but you seem different somehow …’
I was feeling upbeat, but I didn’t think it would be fair to let Rendez-vous take all the credit. Seeing how keen Matthias had been to take things further had certainly given me a confidence boost – even if I had pushed him away – but the fact remained that Jérémy still hadn’t manifested himself, and it was now almost a week since our previous date. In the meantime, I suspected making my peace with Mum and clearing the air with Anna and Ryan had played a far more important role.
‘Vous voulez commander, Mesdames?’ A waitress had appeared at my elbow, wielding an order pad and paper. ‘I can recommend the steak tartare today,’ she said, pointing with her pen at the chalkboard listing the specials. ‘It’s one of our chef’s most popular dishes.’
‘I think that’s a little hardcore for me,’ I said to Kate in a low voice. ‘Rare I can deal with, but I think it’ll take me another decade in France before I graduate to raw …’ I ordered the provençale cod, instead, and Kate did the same, closing her leather-bound menu with a decisive snap. She requested a half-bottle of Chablis and some sparkling water to accompany our meal, and I raised an eyebrow.
‘Wine at lunchtime? I think it’s about time you told me what we’re celebrating.’ Placing my elbows on the table, I rested my chin on my hands. ‘I mean, I got the gist this morning. But I need details! What exactly happened between you and Yves when he got back?’
‘Well, I confronted him,’ Kate said with a half-smile, pausing for dramatic effect. ‘I asked him if something had been going on while he was away, and he admitted he’d been infatuated with a colleague in New York.’ I gasped. This wasn’t at all what I’d expected to hear. I thought Kate had good news. ‘Hence the makeover, you know,’ Kate continued, her pace accelerating, as though she didn’t wish to dwell on this part of the story, ‘and the haircut, and the new suits … But when the opportunity to make a move on this woman presented itself, he froze. He realized he couldn’t go through with it. He said all he wanted to do at that moment was get on the next plane and come home to patch things up with me.’
Kate’s eyes slid downwards to her napkin for a moment, her cheeks flushed, as though she was remembering some precise detail of their reconciliation. ‘Sal, the make-up sex was amaaazing,’ she confessed, blushing a shade deeper. ‘And afterwards, I felt like I’d been reborn. I was ravenous. Yves had to get dressed and dash out to hunt and gather me some takeaway …’
‘So you’re both going to put all this behind you? You’re not curious about the other woman?’ I didn’t mean to rain on Kate’s parade, but in her shoes, I knew I’d have been consumed with a morbid desire to know what the mystery lady looked like. I could all too easily picture myself scouring the bank’s website for photographs of the women in his team, wondering who had cast a temporary spell on my husband.
‘I’d rather keep my ignorance intact,’ Kate replied firmly. ‘In the same way that Yves will never be privy to the details of what went on between me and François, if I can help it. I mean, look how destructive it was when you found all the evidence of Nico and Mathilde’s affair … I often think you’d have been so much better off if you’d spared yourself all the gruesome details.’
‘You’re right,
of course.’ I sighed. ‘I doubt I’ll be able to buy Lila a Chupa Chups lollipop without thinking about those two as long as I live …’ I was aware of how ridiculous that sounded, but it was true, nonetheless. ‘And I’m sorry, Kate, I didn’t mean to be negative about any of this. I’m delighted for you both. I’m so glad Yves saw sense and came back when he did. I’ve been worried about you, these past couple of months.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Kate, brushing aside my concerns. ‘You’ve been brilliant, Sal. When I think how worried I was about telling you about the whole thing in the first place, because of Nico … We’ve come a long way since then.’
‘While we’re speaking of the devil, you’ll be unsurprised to hear that Nico came clean about Albane moving in with him,’ I added. Kate said nothing, but gave me a questioning look. ‘I feel surprisingly okay about it,’ I reassured her, moving my neatly folded serviette aside so that the waitress could lay my plate before me. ‘I suppose it must be weird for Lila, though, getting used to seeing Albane taking my place in our old apartment.’
‘I think children of that age can adjust to almost anything,’ Kate said confidently. ‘And Albane seems nice – from the little I saw of her – but she’s so young. I bet Lila considers her as more of a friend, or a babysitter, which is a blessing, I think. This way, there’s unlikely to be any confusion about her role versus yours …’ She paused for a moment before continuing. ‘I never wanted to spell this out before, but imagine how much worse it would have been if Nico had someone older and more experienced in his life or, worse still, a woman who already had kids of her own.’
I hadn’t really given that subject much thought before now – after all, Albane had been on the scene ever since I moved out – but I took Kate’s point. Albane’s youth may have brought all my insecurities about my age and appearance to the fore, at first, but Kate was right, I’d never perceived her as a threat as far as Lila was concerned. ‘And how about the Rendez-vous situation?’ Kate enquired, after the Chablis had arrived and we’d toasted her newfound happiness. ‘I spoke to Ryan earlier, and he hinted you had an awful lot going on …’
I decided to edit out the events of the previous evening, which I hadn’t shared with anyone, as yet. ‘Well, let me see,’ I began. ‘Jérémy, the one you know most about, hasn’t called since the night you came to babysit Lila, but that hasn’t prevented me from thinking about him far more often than I should.’ Although I’d managed to keep my tone of voice flippant, my anxiety levels were rising fast, and I’d graduated from checking my phone once or twice a day to on the hour, every hour. ‘Then there was this other guy, Matthias,’ I continued, ‘who I had a lovely date with, but decided not to meet again, on account of being too hung up on Jérémy.’ I decided not to admit that Matthias and I had slept together on our first date, and was relieved when Kate didn’t press me for more information. ‘Oh, and there’s this single dad called Pete, who recently moved into my building,’ I added, noting how Kate sat up and took notice when she heard an English name. ‘He’s from Liverpool,’ I said, ‘and he seems quite nice … I wonder whether we might become friends. But so far we’ve exchanged all of a dozen words, so there’s not a lot to tell …’
‘Well, it sounds like it’s becoming even more urgent for you to put Jérémy on the spot and find out where things are going,’ Kate insisted. ‘We can’t have you turning down this Pete, or anyone else for that matter, while Jérémy’s keeping you in the dark …’
‘I suppose I could ring him?’ I said, my expression doubtful. In fact, I’d resolved that if I heard nothing from him by the end of the day, I’d send him a carefully worded text message.
‘Of course you can. There’s no law against you calling him, is there?’ said Kate scornfully. ‘Give the man one more chance. But if he doesn’t step up and say what you want to hear, for God’s sake, Sal, cut him loose and move on.’
My next appointment of the day was with Kate’s newest client, the human resources director of an insurance company based out at La Défense. I tended to avoid trips out west if I could help it. Not only was the business district outside the city limits at the end of ligne 1 – almost as far from Belleville as it was possible to travel by métro – but it was the most soulless place I’d ever had the misfortune to visit. When I climbed the steps leading on to the vast concrete parvis extending from the Grande Arche to the foot of the surrounding skyscrapers, the crosswind whipping across the forecourt almost took my breath away. How I pitied the people who had to commute here every single day.
I was half an hour early for my appointment so, once I’d consulted the La Défense map and established that my destination was above the Quatre Temps shopping complex, I decided to venture inside for a coffee. Quatre Temps was as depressing and claustrophobic as every other American-style mall I’d ever set foot in. There was no natural light whatsoever, and I could almost feel the weight of the tower blocks overhead bearing on to the ceilings above my head. Just inside the entrance, I spied a Paul bakery with a seating area. I was about to venture inside to get a coffee when my telephone began buzzing in my pocket. At long last, it was Jérémy.
‘Allô?’ I hadn’t let the phone ring three or four times, but Ryan would have been proud of me for maintaining the illusion that I still hadn’t stored Jérémy’s number in my phone. Leaning against the bakery window, I stared at a display of pastel-coloured macarons without really seeing them. Appetizing as they might be, they were no match for the picture of Jérémy I carried inside my head.
‘Sally? C’est Jérémy. T’aimerais sortir boire un verre un de ces quatre?’ My heart leapt in my chest. He did want to see me again. Despite all the negative things my friends had to say about him, here was the proof that I’d been right to trust my own instincts, all along. He liked me. Enough to plan a third date. Whatever issues he needed to work through, all I had to do was be patient. We’d get there in the end, and he’d be well worth the wait.
‘I could do something tomorrow night …’ I suggested, praying Jérémy didn’t have plans on my one and only night of freedom.
‘That could work,’ Jérémy replied, after a long, unnerving pause. ‘I have a rehearsal earlier in the evening, but we could meet up afterwards, if ten isn’t too late?’
‘Ten would be fine,’ I replied, dizzy with relief. ‘Why don’t you phone me when your rehearsal is finished and we’ll take it from there?’
When I replaced my phone in my work satchel and looked around me once more, my surroundings no longer seemed quite so oppressive. Could it be that at long last – almost a year to the fateful day when I’d stayed home sick and found the evidence of Nico and Mathilde – everything was falling into place in my new life? I drifted through the rest of the afternoon’s lessons on a cloud of optimism, and nothing – not even the elderly pervert on the métro home who tried to slip a hand inside my coat – could bring me back down to earth.
When I emerged from Belleville station, I was greeted, to my surprise, by grey skies and icy drizzle. Criss-crossing the city below ground level could be treacherous that way. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d left a sundrenched Champs Elysées only to be greeted by gloomy skies at Bastille or pavements made as slippery as a skating rink by a recent downpour at Châtelet. Paris might be small in geographical terms, but it sometimes seemed as though every arrondissement had its own micro-climate.
Groping around in the depths of my satchel for my absent umbrella, I bowed my head in resignation and forced my way through the loiterers and free-newspaper distributors clogging up the street corner between the métro exit and the newspaper kiosk. At least Lila had worn her waterproof jacket that morning, I thought to myself, as the drizzle morphed into a more persistent, drumming rain.
The préau was in semi-darkness when I ventured inside, the children sitting with unexpected docility on rows of chairs, hypnotized by a television screen. When I spotted Lila, on the near end of the front row, I sidled up to her and dropped to my knees to whisper in he
r ear. ‘Time for home now, sweet pea,’ I said, bracing myself for a battle. To my surprise, however, she came willingly, putting her hand in mine and without further ado leading me to the peg where her coat hung.
‘We were watching a film called “Les Trois Brigands” that I already seen at the cinéma with Papa,’ Lila explained as I zipped her up and pulled the drawstring tight on her hood. ‘We did watch it another day: me, Daddy and Albane. And we ate some popcorn au caramel!’
I felt a spasm of voyeuristic discomfort as my daughter offered me this fleeting glimpse into the secret life she led with Nico and Albane when I wasn’t around. Maybe I found it easier to deal with the idea of them all being together when their doings remained shrouded in mystery, like her days at school, which she could seldom be prevailed upon to describe to me in detail. But this was the most vivid snapshot I’d been confronted with to date: the three of them sitting together in the dark – Lila, no doubt, in the middle – munching their toffee-covered popcorn in unison while they watched cartoon images dance across the screen.
As we trudged home – Lila doing her utmost to splash through every puddle – I was so preoccupied that at first I didn’t notice Pete standing in the doorway of our building, his back braced against the open door, a little boy’s hand clutched in his. Pete was wearing a hooded top in lieu of a coat, and he was shivering, in spite of the long scarf wound around his neck. He wasn’t drenched like me, though: in his free hand he held a battered-looking black umbrella.
‘Hi Sally, Lila. This is my son Ethan.’ Ethan squinted up at us through a pair of blue-rimmed glasses. The lenses were covered in raindrops, and I doubted he could see through them, but he smiled nonetheless, proudly displaying a missing front tooth.
‘Pleased to meet you, Ethan,’ I said solemnly, before turning to Lila. ‘Ethan is our new neighbour, sweetie,’ I explained. ‘He lives with his mummy sometimes, and with his daddy sometimes, like you …’
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