by Mandy Baggot
‘It isn’t just the food,’ Keeley continued. ‘It’s the way it breathes.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Rach scoffed. ‘I like the hotel. Except that Antonie on reception. He could do with changing.’
‘You are staying at Perfect Paris?’ Jeanne asked.
‘We are,’ Rach answered.
‘The way it breathes?’ Ethan queried, looking only at Keeley.
‘Look at this place,’ Keeley said, indicating the café’s surroundings. ‘This is exactly what I was talking about before. It’s like stepping inside someone’s private collection of memories. It’s almost living. It’s almost breathing.’
‘It’s full of junk really,’ Rach remarked, running a finger over a shelf as if expecting to find lint.
‘I like it,’ Jeanne said with a snotty sniff. ‘It reminds me of my aunt’s house. Her place was full of… disques vinyles.’
‘Vinyl records,’ Ethan translated. ‘To play on a… gramophone.’
‘See!’ Keeley said excitedly, raising a little in her chair. ‘Already it has given Jeanne a feeling and a memory.’ She suddenly realised her excitement and tried to taper it down. She could almost sense Rach’s lack of understanding.
‘She was a terrible cook,’ Jeanne added. ‘Once she made me chicken livers with so much garlic no one would sit next to me on the bus. When I used to get the bus.’ The girl seemed to immediately break out of her reverie when she realised everyone at the table was looking at her.
‘Well,’ Rach broke in, ‘this would never do at House 2 Home. There you always make homes clutter-free before we show potential buyers around. Minimalism, right?’
Keeley bristled slightly. ‘Actually, it’s a bit more complex than that.’ Rach only saw problems and solutions. As brilliant as her best friend was at her own job, Keeley knew she didn’t see the full and complicated picture when it came to ‘framing’ a lounge area or widening a narrow shower room. Keeley put her fingers around the coffee cup, enjoying the heat against her palm, moulding her skin to the porcelain. Right away she was imagining all the other customers who had held it in their hands. ‘It’s about creating balance,’ Keeley said. ‘Like making an instant uplifting mood from the moment the potential buyer sees the property. Starting with the kerb appeal outside, then making a welcoming front porch, a spacious entrance hall that beckons people in… and then continuing a positive flow throughout. It’s not about how much or how little there is on the shelves. It’s about the kind of things that are there and how those items might stir people.’
*
Ethan was absolutely mesmerised. He was hanging on her every word yet again, thinking how, before now, he must have travelled through life with his eyes closed tight shut. Keeley, she saw things other people missed. Here she was, describing one of his favourite eateries, and he had never really known why he liked it so much. He only knew that whatever crazy combinations it was delivering on the décor and ambience front, it always hit his buttons, pressed at his heart. The way Keeley was talking now was making this place’s soul sound like a heady mix of science meets kismet. He ached to feel even more deeply what she was selling with her words. He also wanted to know what it would feel like to hold her in his arms and allow the notion of it all to seep slowly inside of him.
‘Bleurgh!’ Jeanne blurted out, tongue poking out and eyes lolling into the back of her head. ‘It sounds like you are writing a card for Valentine’s Day.’
Bo-Bo nudged Ethan’s chair and he fell out of the spell, almost spilling coffee into the saucer of his cup.
Rach’s phone began buzzing on the table and she swiped it up, getting to her feet and moving away. ‘Sorry, I’ll have to take this.’
‘Do you want some more cake?’ Jeanne asked Keeley, proffering the plate.
‘No, thank you,’ Keeley said.
What Ethan really wanted was for Keeley to keep talking about how décor could change the way people felt, but he sensed the moment had gone. Unless, maybe, he could draw it back again…
‘Oh! Look!’ Jeanne said, standing up, bashing Bo-Bo on the nose with the corner of her jacket as she reached to the bookcase covered with flyers. Below the shelves were posters unevenly pasted to the wall. ‘There’s a circus.’
He really did need to get rid of the girl. In the nicest possible way. She had to belong somewhere. Except he suspected he already knew the answer. Most likely, she was an inmate of one of the authority-run homes or worse still an orphanage exactly like the one he had existed in. The thought of sending her back to a place like that didn’t sit well at all, but what was the alternative? To know that she was going to be curling up in a cardboard box every night? To know that she would be cold, hungry, frightened to close her eyes or even more scared not to close them? Jeanne offered him a flyer now and he felt obliged to take it.
‘Le Cirque Pinder,’ Ethan read.
‘Look at the acrobats on the horses!’ Jeanne marvelled, face hanging over the flyer in his hands.
‘I didn’t know there was a circus in Paris at Christmas time,’ Keeley remarked.
‘This circus… it is on the outside of the city,’ Ethan said.
‘You’ve been to it before?’ Keeley asked.
‘Yes, once.’
It had been one of the first outings with the Durands. One of the orphanage-approved ones before he had made his own decisions about his future. They had picked him up in their fancy car from outside the wicked building. Pierre was driving, Silvie was dressed in a bright red dress with a fur stole around her shoulders, Louis in dark smart trousers, a shirt collar visible under a jumper with garish cartoon character braces Ethan felt he should have laughed at but was secretly a little envious of. And Ferne, she had been alive with excitement that they were going to the circus and that he was being permitted to go with them. She had been dressed smartly too – a pale pink dress with a matching wrap that should have made her look the age of her mother but had instead, in Ethan’s eyes, made her look like an advertisement for everything that was good about life. Ferne had chattered all the way from the centre of the city to the big top at Boir de Vincennes. We are going to see ponies who can dance. We will laugh so hard that our stomachs ache and Louis will burst his braces. And so it had been. Alongside Ferne and Louis in their fancy attire, Ethan in ragged jeans and a jumper that was too small for him, they had eaten hot dogs with the sweetest caramelised onion atop them and watched acrobats, magicians, clowns and daredevils complete amazing tricks of sheer skill.
‘Was it as amazing as it looks?’ Jeanne wanted to know, her grubby fingers inching over the photographs of horse, ringmaster and tightrope walker. ‘Sometimes, in photographs, things look better than they are.’ She sniffed. ‘Like all the photographs of Big Macs.’
‘It was amazing,’ Ethan breathed, being transported right back to that night. He could smell the sawdust, the spent gunpowder from the cannonball man, Ferne’s bubble-gum…
‘Can we go?’ Jeanne asked. ‘See the circus?’
Ethan passed the flyer back to her quickly. ‘No. Don’t be crazy.’
‘Why is it crazy?’ Jeanne wanted to know.
‘Because… I am… not… someone who should be taking you to the circus.’
‘Do you have to be a certain type of person to be allowed to go to a circus?’ Jeanne asked him. ‘A president? Like Macron?’ She turned up her nose. ‘Here. See. There are only prices for “adults” and “children”. No price for “presidents”.’ She raised her eyes to meet his. ‘You are an “adult” and I am a “child”. So we can go.’ Ethan watched Jeanne turn her attention to Keeley then. ‘You want to go to the circus, do you not?’
‘I should see what Rach wants,’ Keeley said, getting up from her seat. Ethan saw then that Rach was waving at Keeley from the doorway of the restaurant, her phone still placed against her ear.
As soon as she was gone, Jeanne jabbed him in the side with her elbow. ‘What are you doing? I am providing you with the perfect date
night solution and you are not leaping on the opportunity.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Ethan asked her.
‘The circus! Take us to the circus!’ Jeanne ordered. ‘I want to see it and I will sit quietly, eating hot dogs and candy floss and sweets and we can get the grumpy guy at the hotel to look after Bo-Bo for the night and you can sit next to Keeley and keep staring at her like you have been doing the whole time since she arrived here.’
Ethan sighed. It seemed Jeanne was as astute as they came. ‘It is not a good idea.’
‘What part of it is not a good idea?’
‘All the parts.’
‘You do not like her?’
Bo-Bo let out a bark as if he was questioning too.
‘This is not a conversation for you and me to have,’ Ethan said, pushing his coffee cup away from him. ‘We need to talk about one thing only and that is finding you a permanent place to live.’
‘No,’ Jeanne answered, lifting a defiant chin. ‘We need to talk about why you do not want to tell Keeley that you own the very hotel she is staying in.’
Ethan let out a sigh. Why had he not been upfront with Keeley about owning part of Perfect Paris? And trust Jeanne to pick up on it. He well remembered the skill of expertly learning to be alert to anything that might come in useful to gain traction in any given situation.
‘Of course,’ Jeanne began, ‘I could go along with the pretence that you own an inferior establishment with only two stars if you were to say… let me stay in a room at the place with the five stars and take me to the circus.’
He watched Jeanne tilt her head and hit him with what could only be described as the look of someone in prison, their mind set and determined for a last chance at parole. He knew he was caught.
‘You will need to make me some assurances,’ Ethan told her firmly.
‘What assurances?’
‘You must promise me that you are not a missing person.’
‘I am not.’
‘That you are not being actively sought by the police.’
‘Not today.’ She grinned. ‘Sorry, that was a little street joke I was certain you would appreciate.’
‘Jeanne, I am being serious. I do not need trouble.’
‘No one is looking for me,’ Jeanne said in as serious a tone as Ethan had ever heard from her. ‘No one is missing me. No one even cares if I exist or not.’
As those words settled on Ethan, Bo-Bo let out a whine and got up onto his hind legs to lick Jeanne’s face. Somehow, even though it sounded every kind of crazy, it seemed he had become a temporary guardian to a girl and her death-defying dog. It almost sounded like a circus act itself.
Thirty-Nine
Tour Eiffel, Paris
It had started to snow again and Jeanne and Bo-Bo were currently running around, both trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues, while Keeley walked next to Ethan on the way back to L’Hotel Paris Parfait. Rach had caught a cab back to the hotel a little earlier after the phone call with, what turned out to be, Roland. From what Keeley had gathered from the garbled telephone conversation she could only hear one side of, there had been another ‘incident’ at Mr Peterson’s place. Rach had rushed out something about ‘squirrels’ and ‘rabies’ and ‘are you OK to get back without me’ and after Keeley had affirmed she was OK to do that, Rach had left.
‘I apologise if I was picking your professional brains a little earlier,’ Ethan said as they continued to stroll along under the darkening skies. ‘It is only because you make the dressing of places sound such an uncomplicated thing, yet I do not find this to be the case.’
‘Oh,’ Keeley said, smiling. ‘I didn’t realise you were exactly picking my brain. If I had known I would have set out a quote for my services.’
‘You absolutely should do that,’ Ethan answered. He bent down and picked up a used takeaway coffee cup, popping it into the bin.
‘I was kidding,’ Keeley said.
‘Why kidding?’ Ethan asked. ‘I am serious. The things you say, about how people behave and what they look for in a place… the things that make them feel comfortable. These are insights and expertise that should be highly paid for.’
‘Maybe,’ Keeley said, shrugging.
‘Completely,’ Ethan answered. ‘Most definitely.’
He sounded so sincere. He was walking extremely close alongside her now and she was enjoying it so much. She looked up and observed the snow settling on his thick, wavy dark hair. Every flake was speckling the colour with white that then quickly melted into silver. He was so outwardly handsome yet also inwardly so in tune with his own spirit. That easy self-confidence simply oozed from him. But there was also an air of reticence too that Keeley found sexy as well as curiously endearing.
‘My hotels,’ he began again, ‘they need change.’
He took a long, slow breath and Keeley couldn’t help wondering what was running through his mind now. She almost yearned to see inside.
‘For quite some time now everything has been at the mercy of familiarity.’ He sighed. ‘I know how that sounds but, bear with my thoughts for a moment. In this case, familiarity that was once “comfortable” was bred out of being too scared to implement alterations. It is not the kind of “comfortable” you speak of. It is the type of familiarity that ferments and sets firm a certain way because of a lack of ingenuity, or, maybe, because of fear.’ He looked directly at her then, his gaze seeming to draw them both to a halt at the iron base of the Eiffel Tower. ‘But I do not want to be afraid of change anymore. And, if I want the business to continue, then change, it must happen.’
‘Change is always challenging,’ Keeley answered straightaway. ‘Because sometimes it’s change you want, and other times it’s change you’re dealt.’
‘Agreed.’
‘But,’ Keeley said, watching his breath dance in the air between them, ‘the challenge isn’t always the “what”. Usually it’s more the case of the “what if”.’
‘I am not sure I follow.’
Keeley smiled. ‘The difficulty lies in the procrastination that happens once a decision has either been made or has landed in your lap. Like… what if someone’s pearlescent-pink is someone else’s raspberry-ripple? Or what if someone’s promise of a special offer is more than you paid in the first place? Or what if everyone stops going to hotels forever?’
‘Do not joke about that. It was a very bad start to 2020 for everybody.’ He cracked a smile.
‘The “what ifs” are absolutely vital to decision-making. Obviously no one should make a decision without thinking through the consequences but…’
‘But?’
‘But “what ifs” are just excuses at the end of the day.’ Keeley took a breath and looked up at the tower winding its way into the sky above them, lit up now in festive red. She shuddered. ‘I’ve realised that even more since I’ve been in Paris. I’ve learned you shouldn’t leave things until it’s too late. My sister, she always said she would rather regret the things she had done than the things she hadn’t done.’ She looked back to Ethan. ‘Bea, she was always so wise. And determined. And brave. Always braver than me.’
Keeley wanted to be braver. She had pledged that to herself only this morning. She so much wanted to take this second chance at life and to hold on tight.
‘If I was braver,’ Ethan whispered. ‘I would kiss you right now.’
There was no hesitation in Keeley’s reply. ‘If I was braver… I would let you.’
Her heart was hammering in her chest as she gazed up at him and he looked down at her. She almost felt like she could pause here with him and let that moment elongate and expand and grow, maybe as far as eternity. Life suddenly felt completely suspended. The sound of the traffic had faded to a faint hum, the Christmas music from stalls around them became merely a gentle backing track to the melody of her heart. This was her time to be all in, like she had promised Erica. She leaned forward a little, holding her breath and saw Ethan do the same…
A loud w
histle broke the hush and Keeley backed up, the bubble burst.
‘Ethan!’ Jeanne called. ‘Can we go ice-skating?’ The girl was bouncing up and down, pointing at the tower and mimicking gliding around on the pavement as Bo-Bo ran around in circles weaving in and out of her legs.
Keeley laughed, a little embarrassed, but more disappointed than anything else. Perhaps it simply wasn’t meant to be.
Ethan put a finger in the air and moved away. ‘Just… please… give me a moment.’ He shifted a few steps then turned back to her. ‘Wait right there.’
Keeley smiled, watching him moving away from her but also seemingly reluctant to turn his eyes away.
*
Ethan’s heart was pounding in his chest. He was out of control and overcome and… he wanted to kiss Keeley. He wanted to hold her in his arms. He wanted to feel her skin with his fingertips. He wanted to press his lips to hers… and Jeanne’s presence was the only thing stopping him.
‘Can we go ice-skating?’ she asked again, making the expression he assumed he was supposed to be rapt by the cuteness of. Ethan almost lost his footing as Bo-Bo jumped around him as if he might be meat on a stick the dog wanted to devour.
Taking his wallet from his pocket, he produced a twenty-Euro note. ‘If I trust you with this will you go to find us some food? Or will you run into the night and spend it on alcohol you are too young to be drinking?’
‘I do not like alcohol. It tastes like piss,’ Jeanne answered, making a gagging noise.
‘Pizza?’ Ethan suggested.
‘You have pizza at the hotel.’ She sniffed. ‘But… it comes with enough rocket on it to feed a family of rabbits.’
‘We are not going to the hotel.’
‘We are not?’
He saw her small face crumble then, the façade of bullishness dropping away and the reflection of the real vulnerable child appearing for only a moment before her petite features were once more poker-straight. Did she really think he was already turning her back out into the street?
‘You really cannot live in my hotel,’ Ethan told her. ‘But you can have my spare room. Just… until we think of something else.’