by Mandy Baggot
He swallowed another mouthful of coffee and watched a little boy, holding a snowman-shaped lollipop out into the air as he revolved around squashed into the seat of the turtle. The boy was wearing the purest of smiles on his face. And it was at that moment that Ethan saw her. Walking through the park, hands in the pockets of her red padded winter coat, was the woman he had chased the penguin with. The one he had left the map for. Keeley. He adjusted his stance, straightening up on the metal bench. Was that why he was really here? Because he knew he had marked this place on the map? No. That was madness. After all, if he had wanted to see her again, he knew exactly where she was staying. He took a breath, watching her pause, a few metres away. She took something from her pocket and unfolded it. The map. His map. So, she was following it…
*
This was it. Something called Dodo Menege. A roundabout. Cold-looking little children were currently circling around aboard manufactured animals to tinny-sounding music, looking either captivated or frozen in situ. Keeley was surprised this ride was marked down as a part of the hidden Paris she should see while she was here. What was so special about it? Although, maybe her penguin-chasing stranger’s X marking the spot wasn’t meant to be quite as specific. Perhaps he had simply meant to mark Jardin Des Plantes. Keeley had to admit that was beautiful even now in the winter when plants were few and far between. The large, ornate greenhouses had frost on their glass panes and the bushes and boughs of trees lining the pathways were jewelled with beads of December sleet. She imagined it would be even more impressive in the spring – lush green bulbs peeping out from beneath the earth – or summer – a riotous carnival of coloured blooms.
‘Bonsoir.’
Keeley jumped at the sound of a voice so close, jarring her rib cage and reminding herself that she still had bruises from her brush with the pavement. And that voice brought her right back to that moment.
‘Oh, it’s you.’ It was him, wasn’t it? In the half-light, the only illumination the small bulbs on the carousel, it could be that she had just acknowledged a beggar or a pickpocket as if he were a well-established friend.
‘Ethan,’ he greeted like it was possible she had forgotten his name. She hadn’t. Neither had Erica when they had caught up on the phone just before she ventured out on this walk. Erica had overemphasised the ‘e’ and said it loudly with a French accent that sounded like it came straight out of Croydon.
‘Hello,’ Keeley said, pure British.
He smiled. He had a nice smile to add to the other plus points – thick dark hair, grey eyes that somehow gave off both sexy sharp and deeply melty. ‘I do not want you to think I gave you that map so I could follow you around Paris.’
That thought hadn’t actually crossed Keeley’s mind. But was that what he had done? Was this statement bravado and bluff about it? How clever! Or frightening! Maybe her hair was still chemically ridden enough for her to use it to defend herself if necessary. He opened his mouth as if to speak again before she could think about how to reply.
‘I really did not do that,’ he said. ‘I can see you are thinking that might exactly be something someone would say if they had done that.’
Gosh! He had read her thoughts. That was scarier than the idea of him trailing her around the French capital.
‘So,’ he continued, delving his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and wavering a little on his feet, ‘I am going to stop talking now and you are going to tell me what you think about the carousel.’
‘Oh,’ Keeley said. It was an impulse ‘oh’ to buy her a breath of time before answering. ‘It’s… definitely not something I… would have thought I would see here.’
He laughed then, and it was such a warm, hearty sound, bursting the cold air, it felt like the gentle timbre of it was spiralling itself around her in a whirlwind of a touch that almost seemed to put its arms around her. She moved her feet to break the feeling. It was too intimate to feel that way about a laugh…
‘I was a little drunk when I made some of the pinpoints on the map,’ Ethan admitted in a whisper, like it might be a covert secret. ‘But it is one of my favourite places.’
‘From when you were young?’ Keeley queried.
‘You do not like it,’ he seemed to surmise.
‘No… I do think…’
‘You do think…’
‘That it’s…
‘It’s…’
‘Different,’ Keeley managed to finish.
‘I will not accept only that,’ Ethan said, his eyes now giving a flash of challenge. ‘Come on.’ He held out his hand to her.
‘What?’ Keeley gave a nervous giggle, the kind she usually thought was ridiculous when displayed by anyone else.
‘I do not know of anywhere else in the world you can ride a carousel on animals that have long-since died.’ He took her hand then and his skin was so warm compared to hers. She had given the gloves her mum had packed a hard stare before she left the hotel suite and decided to brave the elements without them. Rebelling in all the little ways still felt satisfying.
‘But,’ Keeley said, moving with him towards the roundabout that had stopped moving. ‘It’s for children, isn’t it?’ She looked at the size of the animals. There was no way she would be able to get inside the dodo. She wasn’t even sure her bum would fit on the seat of the something that looked half-leopard, half-giraffe.
‘Who is it that says children should be the only ones to have fun?’
‘But, Ethan, there are no adults on it.’ Suddenly she felt conspicuous. Like she was doing something really wrong and everyone was watching. Except it wasn’t very busy here. It had to be near to closing time and the city had better things to do than watch her spin around on a ride. Was she actually going to do it?
‘You are frightened to have fun?’ Ethan asked, turning to look at her.
‘No,’ she answered immediately. She wasn’t frightened to have fun. Was she?
‘Then, take your choice,’ Ethan offered, placing out an arm as if he were giving her a personal introduction to the animals.
Keeley eyed them all up. The lion had a flattish space she might be able to sit on without breaking any parts of the roundabout. It seemed the only sensible choice. Apart from obviously getting off the ride completely.
Then there was Ethan’s laugh again, followed by a whoop of excitement. ‘I have not ridden this one before.’
Keeley turned away from the lion and saw he was already aboard his stead – a large bird that looked a little like a giant ostrich. His legs were dangling over both sides of the beast, almost touching the wooden floor. He looked both ridiculous and yet still so attractive…
‘This is really silly,’ Keeley remarked, her cheeks reddening as she climbed onto the back of the lion. ‘We might be so heavy the ride isn’t able to turn.’
‘Bof!’ Ethan scoffed. ‘Have you seen the size of some of the children in this day from all the chocolat.’
This might not have been the quiet, thought-processing stroll through the city she had envisaged when Rach had left her for the theatre, but it was definitely lightening her mood. Suddenly the ride jerked forward and Keeley had to grab the lion’s neck to steady herself. An ‘oof’ left her mouth and then she laughed as the roundabout settled at slug-pace slow. ‘But… we haven’t paid!’
Ethan laughed then, looking across at her. ‘You English people do worry about everything, do you not?’
‘You say that as if it’s a bad thing.’
‘I read recently that when you panic you buy antibacterial handwash and toilet paper.’
Keeley sat firm, unmoved by his statement. ‘We like to be prepared for any eventuality. Some of us stockpile chocolate and wine too.
‘What do you fill your cupboards with?’ she asked. ‘Or do the French people not panic about anything?’
‘We fill our cupboards with cigarettes, cheese, red wine and baguettes of course.’
Keeley looked at his straight expression, somehow knowing it was going to turn into
a smile. Except it didn’t.
‘What?’ he asked, tone brusque. ‘You think I am joking with you?’
‘I…’
And then his face did crack and he laughed. ‘Of course I am joking with you! English! So serious!’ He put fingers to his eyebrows and, together with a face contortion, he moved them down into a frown. She couldn’t help feeling a little bit stupid. She was serious by nature. More so now than ever before. And it was going to take more than a pep talk from Erica or riding on a fibreglass lion to shift the layers of caution that had built up over her foundations this past year.
‘I was not insulting you,’ Ethan said quickly, maybe sensing his try for humour hadn’t hit the spot. ‘You might be serious as a nation, but you are right – you are organised and methodical in all your approaches. You will live longer. We French take too many risks.’
Keeley swallowed. She was living now, but living as long as a normal-haven’t-had-an-organ-transplant person might hope to live, well, that wasn’t in any way assured. In fact, it was likely she’d have to have another kidney transplant a few years down the line. But she couldn’t bring herself to even think about that yet. Another hurdle to get over when the time came. She was having to learn to be quite the expert in leapfrog…
‘I took a risk coming here to Paris,’ Keeley found herself replying before she really realised it.
Ethan took his fingers away from the elephant-bird and waggled them in the air. ‘Ooo so scary coming to France. Did you fly?’ He laughed again.
‘We took the train.’
‘We?’
‘I’m here with a friend.’ The friend who was currently at a performance of the ballet where she should be. She hadn’t thought through what she was going to say to Silvie Durand about that yet. Would she lie and say she hadn’t felt well? Or would she tell the truth about feeling overwhelmed? It felt wrong to think about not being honest.
‘Is he organised and capable like you?’ Ethan asked.
Keeley smiled as the ride continued to slowly rotate. There were parents watching children from the nearby benches, smiles and waves for their tots, looks of bewilderment every time she and Ethan moved past them. ‘It’s a she… Rach.’
‘And where is Rach tonight?’
‘She’s at the ballet.’
‘Alone?’ Ethan asked. ‘She did not invite you?’ He paused, looking at her as if he was trying to figure her out. She felt his grey-eyed gaze seeping under her skin somehow. ‘Or do you not enjoy the ballet?’
What should she say? Remembering her promises to both Rach and Erica she took a breath. She wasn’t going to be Kidney Girl. She was going to be all in. He didn’t need to know anything about the past year if she didn’t want him to. She could be her here in this moment with this formerly penguin-toting stranger.
‘She met someone. A guy,’ Keeley answered. ‘On the Metro. He’s taken her.’ It was only a partial untruth. Anything else would be tip-toeing close to a region where more explanation would be required.
Ethan looked immediately outraged. ‘She met a stranger underground and she let him take her out? This friend, she is not British. She is not even French. Is she crazy?’
‘She’s fine,’ Keeley insisted. ‘She texted me from the theatre.’
‘I understand that sometimes visiting another country makes you leave caution behind but… you should not simply feel that everyone you meet is who they appear to be.’ He looked away then, seeming to clamp together like a bad mussel. Was he talking about himself? Or about an experience he had had?
A silence between them grew, the only sound the musical accompaniment from the roundabout. ‘Well,’ she began, ‘I met you on the street. And you were chasing a penguin.’
He raised his eyes to hers then. ‘But I have not taken you out.’
The way he said the words made Keeley’s heart beat a touch faster. She didn’t know what to say in response. She was so out of practice. Did she want him to take her out? And then just like that the ride came to a halt. She needed to say something. Take the lead. Own her future.
‘Have you had dinner?’ Keeley found herself asking, her voice all the shaky and hesitant. ‘I mean, I had quite a big meal at lunch time but—’
‘Non,’ Ethan said, getting down from the ostrich-bird. ‘I have not had dinner.’ He put his hands into his pockets and said no more.
‘We could… maybe… get something together?’ How old was she? This was not sounding all that smooth and confident like she had hoped. But she knew, no matter what his answer was, Erica was going to be so proud of her. This was a giant step forward!
‘Oui,’ Ethan answered. ‘OK. How about we can choose somewhere from the map?’
He had said yes! Her heart grew little butterfly wings as he held his hand out to her.
‘I know you have enjoyed it, Keeley,’ he whispered as she placed her hand in his. ‘But it is time to get down from the lion.’
The way he said her name – all the sultry and all the French accent – made her insides feel like they had been dipped in the fizziest prosecco. She smiled and descended with as much grace as she could, until she was stood beside him. ‘I understand why you like it here.’
‘You do?’ he asked, his warm breath visible in the air between them.
‘I do,’ Keeley said, nodding. ‘It’s… I don’t know… somewhere they don’t make postcards of.’
Ethan nodded. ‘They should make postcards.’
‘They should,’ Keeley agreed. ‘I would definitely buy one now.’
He smiled at her. ‘And, I know exactly where we should go next.’
Twenty-Six
Rue Des Barres, Paris
‘This is so beautiful,’ Keeley breathed.
Ethan smiled at the pleasure in her tone. This was exactly what he had hoped – almost quietly anticipated – to come from her when they arrived in this thirteenth-century street situated in the 4th Arondissment. It was the soft, peaceful, old-fashioned side of Paris that he loved so much. With its cobbles on the ground, the pretty church of Saint-Gervais and tables still outside under heaters, it was an oasis of winter calm amid the bright lights and bustle of the city. A small touch of Christmas had arrived in the shape of coloured fairy lights adorning the frontage of eateries and apartment balconies. Ivy cascaded down buildings in places – some still green, other leaves red, for the most part dark – and all-weather alpines stood stoic in planters and pots, some decorated with tinsel.
‘Would you like to sit inside or outside?’ Ethan asked, stopping in front of a bright blue, painted bistro he hadn’t been to in quite some time. He was still a little apprehensive about being here now. There was an underlining fear running through him that all the good times he had shared with Ferne at this place might jump out and become the sharpest reminders of her absence rather than sweet treasured memories. But here he was, holding his nerve.
‘Outside,’ Keeley replied.
He watched her pull her coat a little tighter, shrugging herself down into it. Even under the warmth of a heater it was going to be cold outside and she looked freezing already. ‘You are certain?’
Her lips trembled and she let out a laugh then. ‘No.’
He laughed too. ‘Come. It is nice inside also. Warm. We can find a table by the window.’ He pushed open the door and led the way wondering what she was going to think about the interior. The salon de thé was anything but contemporary. It was basic and bohemian and definitely not the Paris offered in holiday packages.
‘Oh,’ she remarked as they stepped inside, feet hitting the tiles.
Even her breath sounded excited and that did something to Ethan. The few women he had lost himself in since Ferne’s death would have all turned up their noses at this setting, expecting champagne and five stars from the owner of a hotel chain. But in this moment there was no expectation. This woman only knew his name. He could be anyone he wanted to be – perhaps even himself – the man behind the Perfect Paris brand who didn’t know where he ha
d come from and didn’t really know what he was going to do with the rest of his life.
‘You like it?’ Ethan asked, stepping forward to a table by the front windows and pulling a seat out for her.
‘It’s not at all what I was expecting,’ she answered. ‘In a good way.’
Her eyes were still roaming around the interior and he watched her taking it all in as if she was standing in one of the city’s famous museums, admiring the artwork and statues. But instead of paintings from famous artists, here there were posters – their edges ripped. Old adverts for perfume, pictures of parasols and Chinese characters, music concerts showing performances long since passed. The wooden tables were worn with age and shelves of mismatched glasses of all sizes, cups and condiments lined one corner. He watched her remove her coat and put it over her chair before sitting down. He sat down opposite her feeling something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A connection of sorts, a hidden unable-to-fathom vibe between them.
‘In the summer,’ he said, ‘when it is warm, they open the doors right up.’
‘It’s so relaxed here,’ she said, settling into her seat and smoothing her fingers over the rough scratches on the table, varnish lost through years of use. ‘It’s like places used to be until someone decided to make everything so chrome you could use every surface as a mirror.’