La Vie en Bleu

by Jody Klaire

  “Phillipa, are you listening to me?”

  I nodded to my mother, smiling to cover my lapse in concentration. Could heartbreak be an ongoing thing? It had been long enough that I should have been over it by now.

  “Do you want these or in the other style?”

  Looking down at the shoes, I blinked back Berne’s soft smile. If I was marrying her, which ones would I have chosen? I pointed to a pair on the side. I liked how her eyes travelled over my legs when I wore heels. I liked knowing how I held her undivided attention. “Those.”

  My mother picked up the others, unflattering, boring. “She’ll take those,” she said to the shop assistant in French.

  If that wasn’t a reality check, what was? I wasn’t marrying Berne. She would be drooling over some other woman in Marseille by now.

  I was marrying Doug. Somehow I doubted if either he or my mother really cared who lay beneath the polite manners and well-choreographed responses. It didn’t matter what I wanted, what I needed. Berne needed me to stay away from her. She was better off without a coward like me.

  Besides, I would cease to be myself as soon as I walked down the aisle. I’d cease to be anything but Mrs. Doug Fletcher, the mother of his children.

  Yippee for me.

  PARIS IN THE springtime.

  Technically it was early summer and the city felt alive with an energy I couldn’t explain. The weather was warm and the cafés poured out onto the ancient streets. There was nothing like people watching the Parisians. You see, they were so very different to the rest of France. They were the capital’s dwellers and they carried themselves with extra confidence. Men sat cross-legged in shirts with jumpers tied around their shoulders. Others in polo-necked jumpers, jeans, and suede jackets. They just looked like culture. Of course, the younger generation looked like they did back home, texting, giggling, or wandering around in packs and yelling to one another.

  I’d consoled myself during the afternoon, watching young couples wander to and fro as I stood diligently being fitted for this and that. It reminded me of when I’d visited with Berne. One young boy strolled along with utter confidence. He threw his empty pop bottle in the air as he tried to act nonchalant for the girl beside him. She gazed up at him, attempting to look bored but I could see her nerves from where I stood. An odd ritual that I was sure happened the world over for the young and in love.

  I’d followed Berne down the same street towards the Eiffel tower. She’d been animated, dazzling me with the history of the city and making me laugh at her impressions. I knew I’d carried the same adoring look, attempting to cover it with some kind of coolness.

  Young love in Paris, what a perfect way to start the summer.

  I had lived in that memory during the evening until Doug and my father flew up to meet us for dinner. The very chic restaurant was exactly what most women would be awed by. The cuisine was perfect, the maître d’ was everything you could wish him to be and Doug looked every inch a prince.

  I felt as though I were watching the whole thing on a screen. Someone else’s life that I’d stumbled into. How had that happened?

  I’d kissed her. She’d kissed me back.

  “So how is the little project coming along?” my mother asked when Doug went to the men’s room. She had an odd smile on her face that made me wonder if she’d drunk a bottle of red by herself.

  “I’m certainly feeling it in my back.”

  She and my father laughed as he patted her hand. Had they both been drinking?

  “How far along?” Her eyes twinkled.

  “Not long, it’s going to be closer to Christmas than I would like.”

  My father clasped his hands together. “How wonderful. Such a gift for the new year.”

  Quite taken aback that they were so pleased with my professional life, I found myself quite flushed. They’d never really taken an interest in my work before.

  “When will we get pictures?” The tone in my mother’s voice made me smile. She really was interested, wow.

  “I’m thinking of creating a study, you know at each stage of development, so that I can document it.” I picked at the napkin. “It’ll be good to have when we go for more later on.”

  “You sound so calm about it all,” my father said. “How wonderful that you feel so confident.”

  “Well, I’ve got great support and I’m not alone. So it’s perfect and perfect timing really after leaving that place.”

  My mother “mmm’d” in agreement. “They never appreciated you, I told your father . . .” She nodded to him. “Didn’t I? I said, ‘They don’t know what a gem they have.’”

  “She did,” my father confirmed.

  Wow, I’d never seen this side of them before.

  “And bagging a catch like Doug,” she said, making my father nod in hearty agreement. “Wonderful man—”

  “Wonderful,” my father added.

  “And to think in college we were worried.” She laughed.

  I didn’t. How had I made her worry in college? I’d had the best marks in the year for a start.

  “Hanging around with those girls who were less than reputable.”

  “You mean Rebecca?” I had never been one for a million friends. Women tended to find me hard to figure out, so most of my social group was male.

  “Yes, well, the less we say about her the better.”

  “Now, Daphne,” my father said. “Rebecca is a wonderful young woman.”

  “Oh, you would say that after she fixed your car.” My mother looked over her thick-rimmed glasses at me. “Hopefully now, you’ll move in more acceptable circles.”

  Are you kidding me? was the first thought, followed by a sudden nausea that my mother felt such a thing about Rebecca. “She is acceptable.”

  “With all those tattoos? And that hair . . .” My mother clapped her hands in a dramatic show of disgust. “No wonder she can’t get a man.”

  “She doesn’t want one,” I hissed through my teeth.

  “What is she going to do when you’re busy, hmm?” my mother asked. “What then? She can’t just tag along everywhere.”

  “Why not?” I knew that was borderline teenager but I felt like someone had thrown the ice bucket down my back. “A ring doesn’t mean a lobotomy.”

  At least I hoped it didn’t. What if that’s what Doug would order? I shook that thought free. Not good.

  “You hardly want her influencing the little one.” My mother beamed at my stomach.

  I looked down to try and see what she was gawking at.

  “Little what?”

  Had I dropped something?

  My father laughed. “You were the same, Daphne . . . grumpy and in a daze.” He beamed at her, patting her hand as though she were a pet pooch. “Such a torrid time.”

  My mother leaned into him. “Sent you out to buy onions at three in the morning . . .” She turned to me. “You’ll need to take a good look at those toes because if Doug is anything to go by you’ll be twice the size I was.”

  The penny finally dropped.

  My stomach seemed to drop into the abyss with it.

  Oh shit.

  “Everything okay?” Doug sat next to me.

  I stared ahead, my mother’s mouth moving yet I couldn’t hear her words.

  “Pippa, you okay?”

  Oh shit.

  They thought I was . . .

  Oh shit . . .

  Nausea swished around in my stomach. All that perfect French food cried out in panic and readied arms to make a break for it.

  “She’ll get like that.” My mother was in my face now, her hand on my head. “We should get her back to the hotel, rest up.”

  Why, why would they think such a thing?

  Was I?

  Oh no . . . no, no, no . . . no . . .

  I wasn’t . . . was I?

  In panic I started cycling through my memory. When was the last onslaught from period purgatory?

  Was it two . . . ?

  Wait . . .


  Had I had it that month?

  The new car smell made me realise we must be in the car. My father was chatting to Doug happily in the front about stocks and shares. My mother rubbed my arm.

  Had I had my period?

  I needed to call Rebecca . . .

  She’d know . . . She was good with these things.

  Why didn’t I write the stupid things down like she’d told me to?

  “Slow breaths,” my mother said. “I’ll get you some ginger tea when we get back. Was a lifesaver for me.”

  I’d kissed Berne.

  I could be having Doug’s child.

  He wanted to get married.

  I wanted to go back to London, to Winston, and beg for my old job back. I also wanted to take Winston, drive to Marseille, and beg Berne to take me back.

  Uh oh. That was really not good.

  My chest tensed up so tight it was painful to breathe.

  “Calm,” my mother urged. “It’ll pass over.”

  My shoulders decided I wasn’t getting enough air and joined in, moving forward and back in support. The food continued its little revolution inside, charging to and fro with wild abandon.

  “Come on now. We’re at the hotel.” My mother guided me out of the car, Doug’s hand was on my back. The sweet reception girl waved hello.

  “Hold onto me now.” My mother cooed like she had when I was a small child. The lift slid into motion.

  “You know what it is yet?” my father asked.

  “Bound to be a boy first time, don’t you think?” Doug said. “I mean, I’d love a girl too but be good to have an heir to hold the name steady.”

  “Best way,” my father said. “We did the same.”

  My own heartbeat thumped in my ears. Why had they turned into something from Pride and Prejudice? An heir? Doug wasn’t the king of England.

  Unable to hurl a tirade of abuse, I let my mother lead me from the lift and hurried into our penthouse rooms. It was less like a usual hotel suite and more like a large apartment.

  I staggered up the steps, into the bedroom, and shut the door behind me.

  “Be fine . . .” I managed. “Bathroom.”

  I could hear them all laughing in delight, more baby talk ensuing. I scrambled for my mobile and dialled Rebecca.

  Ring, ring . . . ring, ring.

  I could visualise the awful ringtone in my ears. Why she thought that TV theme tune was cool, I couldn’t fathom. The show had finished well over a decade ago.

  Ring, ring . . . ring, ring.

  “Pick up!”

  Where was she? I slumped down onto the bed. The realisation buckled my legs.

  She was in Marseille.

  With Berne.

  Berne and Viper-Vivienne, the creepy, toothless, old bat.

  Ring, ring . . . ring, ring.

  “I need you . . . Pick up the phone.” I held my forehead with my palm, hoping it would calm the pounding behind my eyes.

  “Pip?”

  Relief washed over me, then tears. “You sober enough to be trusted?”

  “Pip, it’s ten o’clock and I had a glass with dinner.”

  Oh, so the bat cooked. Bet she was like Mary Berry—focus!

  “When was my last red mark?”

  “Are you seriously—?”

  “Please.” I sounded like I was appealing for help on a desert island. I was half ready to unfold my clothes in the shape of letters and flag a passing helicopter.

  “Last week,” Rebecca said. “Yeah, you ate us out of Carte Dor, remember?”

  “So I’m not pregnant?”

  Rebecca sucked in her breath. “Not since last Tuesday. What is going on?”

  Relief flooded through every pore I had. Oh thank you, thank you, thank you. “Doug said I was.”

  “He what?” The anger in her voice made me smile, ever my hero. “What did he do . . . ? When—?”

  “Wait.” I knew what her next question was. “We haven’t . . . not since . . .”

  I didn’t remember when I’d last let Doug stay over. I’d been in flux since I’d left work.

  “Why did he tell my parents?”

  “He told your parents?” I could hear her explaining to someone, the muffled tones as she covered the mouthpiece.

  Berne’s voice in the background made me sigh in relief then tense that she wasn’t alone. Another voice, a sultry voice. My stomach revolted at the sound of the toothless cradle-snatcher’s soft tones.

  I dived for the bathroom. “I need to go.”

  “Wait . . . Pip . . . I’m here . . . talk to me.”

  I shook my head, stupid because she couldn’t see me, but it made me feel better.

  “It’s Pip,” Rebecca said to someone in the background. “Doug told her parents she was pregnant.”

  “She is?” Berne’s voice sounded like she wanted to strangle someone.

  “Who is Pip encore?” The third voice. Her voice. “She is your girlfriend, Rebecca?”

  “Er . . . yeah. She’s . . . er . . . my girlfriend.”

  Way to sound convincing Rebecca.

  “No, she’s not pregnant. He’s wrong. He’s also an idiot.”

  It had to be her if Rebecca was lying. Oh that hurt. My heart skipped several beats in response as if it wanted to stop then and there.

  Vivienne didn’t sound old, she sounded like she probably looked, gorgeous.

  “I have to go.”

  I disconnected the call and turned the phone off. I hadn’t even bothered to switch on the lights in my haste to slam out reality.

  I rolled off the bed and walked to the un-shuttered window. Paris carried on below, the lights of the city a stream of reds and whites. Summer in the air and the smell of possibility, of dust, and fragrant sweetness. Sounds of mopeds and distant life buzzed on. I’d always adored France, adored the history, adored the people and the flow of life.

  Berne had brought me here that summer weekend. We’d travelled up on the TGV train and stayed near to the Champs D’Élysées. Berne had shown me the city, every quiet forgotten corner that hid from the tourists’ eyes. A little café which made the best pizza that I’ve ever tasted.

  The owner was from Portugal. His laugh had filled the small place. His wife bounced their baby boy on her lap as she chatted with another woman. Berne’s hand in mine beneath the silvery-shined table. Her whispered purrs in my ear as she challenged me to order. I’d been so terrified to speak the language, so worried I’d get it wrong.

  A stroll along the moonlit Seine. Her gentle hum as the tourist boats swished by. Water lapped against the wall below us. I was due to go home for a week after our time there. I hadn’t wanted to go back, to leave but she wrapped me in her arms.

  “We’re only a moon away, non?”

  I looked up now, tonight, at the same full-beaming face high in the clear night sky. We couldn’t have been the first to use her quiet smile as a messenger while two hearts beat apart.

  Somewhere out there, I kept the comfort that Berne was gazing up in wonder too.

  THE MOON SHONE in glorious wonder over the Mediterranean. It was still tonight, the heat building as it always did this time of year. Marseille was an eclectic city, one Berne both loved and loathed. In her heart, she was as much part of the Ardèche as the rocks themselves. City life had never been for her but it had been too lonely in Ajoux-Sur-Rhône. She had great friends in the city and it was where Vivienne lived but it was nothing without Pippa.

  “You are quiet tonight.”

  Berne turned and smiled at Vivienne, taking the offered glass of champagne. “It is a beautiful night, there is nothing like a full moon.”

  Vivienne placed a kiss on her neck and Berne relaxed into it but her thoughts strayed far from the lips she could feel to the lips she desired.

  “This has much to do with your new colleague?” Vivienne smiled and touched the back of her hand to Berne’s cheek. “I know you too well. I know when you worry.”

  Sighing, Berne turned back to the room. Re
becca had left not long after the phone call to drive back to Ajoux-Sur-Rhône. It had taken every ounce of self-control for her not to go too. If Rebecca was worried, then no doubt she had good cause.

  “This man who her girlfriend marries, he is a bad man?”

  Was he? Was there any sign that Doug had done anything but adore Pippa?

  “Non, he is just. He does not always think before he acts.”

  Vivienne chuckled and held out a hand. “What lover ever does?”

  Berne knew what the gesture was, where Vivienne was going with the look in her eyes. It had always been enough, enough to make her feel something. Not a fiery burning need like she’d known before. No, not a soul-soothing relief, not even close to the emotion she had once felt and yet it had been sufficient.

  That was before she had kissed Pippa again. What was meant to be a moment of memory and nothing more had reignited every flame she’d spent so long fighting to extinguish.

  Foolish to think that any caress of Pippa’s could be resigned to a single second. It was so foolish to have given in. They had been in each other’s presence a week and already they had come undone. Already they had betrayed the people who loved and trusted them. Never before had Berne lied to Vivienne but to speak the truth about Pippa was madness. She would never allow her to work alongside Pippa. Regardless of their arrangement, Vivienne expected faithfulness and Berne just wasn’t the kind to be anything but.

  Yet, she’d kissed her. She’d already been unfaithful. Why did it feel as though being here was the crime?

  All that deceit seemed to be worthwhile, for the sound of those words, “I love you,” echoed in every thudding of her heart.

  Pippa still loved her.

  “You must not fret so.” Vivienne’s voice grew more insistent. “She will only break Rebecca’s heart anyway, non?”

  “What do you mean?” The instinct to leap to Pippa’s defence only barely restrained, Berne tried to cover her frown as though she were contemplating Vivienne’s words.