by Melody James
Cindy giggles behind her hand. ‘Oh, Gemma, you do make us laugh.’
I lift my chin. ‘I’m glad to hear it. If you want me to trip over on the way home or fall into the Seine, just ask. I’m sure Rupert will help.’
He looks at me sheepishly. ‘Sorry, Gem. I was just trying to help.’
It’s hard to feel cross when he looks so contrite. ‘It was just an accident,’ I concede. As I pat his hand, I spot a waiter heading towards us with a loaded tray. He whirls round the table, distributing food like a ballerina. My duck salad slides under my nose. Sam breathes in the steam rising from his cheese and ham toastie.
David stares at his plate. ‘Lamb chops?’
The little legs on his plate don’t look much like lamb. More like tiny tap dancers with their arms and heads missing.
‘It’s frogs’ legs, mate,’ Sam tells him.
Cindy practically crawls up the back of her chair in horror. Rupert peers warily across the table. Barbara tips her head. ‘Oh, David, you poor thing. Would you like half my toastie?’
David straightens. ‘No thank you, Barbara. I think this will be a good experience.’ I’m impressed by his courage. Like a soldier going into battle, he fixes his face into a determined grimace and begins to saw at one of the legs with his knife and fork.
We watch, fascinated. I’m trying not to picture little legless frogs in tiny wheelchairs, staring sadly into an empty pond.
David’s knife finally cuts through a kneecap. The little froggy stump flies off his plate in a burst of gravy, before arcing over the silverware and landing, with perfect precision, in the middle of Barbara’s beautifully framed cleavage.
She squeals and stiffens in shock as the stump disappears deep into her jacket. David turns ninja, reacting with such speed that he blurs in my vision. Without stopping to think, he thrusts his hand in pursuit of his escaped frog-stump. His expression is perfect as his thoughts catch up with his actions. He’s leaning across the table, his hand down Barbara’s jacket. His face freezes.
Meanwhile, Barbara’s unfreezing. With a scream, she pulls away and clutches her chest. David’s hand pops out. He’s holding the frog-stump.
Sam starts to clap. ‘That was a great save, Dave,’ he grins.
Poor Barbara is flapping and red-faced while Cindy tries to calm her. Rupert leaps to his feet and starts dabbing at Barbara’s gravy-stained jacket with his napkin. She fights him off, squawking like a wet hen.
David sits down, lays the frog-stump on the side of his plate and calmly wipes his hand. ‘No harm done.’
Barbara stops in her tracks and glares at him. Her pink jacket is polka-dotted with frog-juice. Her hair has escaped its chignon and is flapping round her face. ‘No harm done?’
‘What’s all the fuss?’ David crosses his arms sulkily. ‘It was just an accident.’
Rupert sits back down. ‘The waiter must think we’re insane.’ He pauses. ‘And we didn’t even have to jump in the river.’ He reaches out and grabs my hand. ‘River. In-Seine. Get it?’
‘Got it,’ I answer, unimpressed. Then I notice Sam. His delight at David’s flying frog leg has gone. He’s watching Rupert laugh heartily at his own joke, his expression stony. Clearly, Sam is not impressed with Rupert’s wit.
As I untangle my hand from Rupert’s, Cindy leans closer to Sam. ‘Be a honey and refill Barbara’s water.’ I wait for her Sugar Plum Fairy act to uncrease his brow. But he just frowns harder and sploshes water ungraciously into Barbara’s glass.
I glance round the table. David’s sulking, Sam’s scowling. Cindy’s helping Barbara towards the Ladies, so she can clean up and calm down. Rupert’s the only one smiling.
This is turning out to be the lunch from Hell.
Wistfully, I wonder how Treacle and Savannah are getting on.
I look up and marvel at the great glass roof pyramiding above us as we file into the Louvre. Not even Willy Wonka could have dreamed up something that amazing. A wide blue April sky shows beyond the thousands of triangular panes of glass. Tourists swarm round us, floating up escalators, queuing at ticket counters, bumbling around like lost sheep.
‘Green Park High!’ Madame Papillon’s voice wails over the murmuring of the crowds.
‘This way.’ Rupert grabs my hand and starts dragging me through the crowds. I glance over my shoulder and glimpse Cindy steering Barbara behind us. David and Sam dodge between sightseers to keep up.
I get a glimpse of Madame Papillon, flapping students towards her like a ruffled chicken. Then I see a flash of chestnut hair and a streak of black.
‘Treacle!’ I break free of Rupert and push my way through to Treacle and Savannah. We hug like long-lost sisters.
‘How was lunch?’ Treacle asks.
‘Don’t ask.’ I know they’d love to hear about the frog leg incident, but they won’t understand what a setback it is in my David and Barbara love plan. ‘How was yours?’
‘Wonderful!’ Savannah beams. ‘Marcus found this cute little noodle bar that serves the best Thai-French fusion food in Paris.’
‘Cool!’ I wonder if I’d made a mistake choosing Cindy’s group instead of staying with Treacle and Savannah. I certainly hadn’t smoothed the path of true love. I might as well have been scoffing noodles with my friends.
Madame Papillon holds up a string of tickets. ‘Are we all here?’ She’s desperately head-counting as Green Park students flock round her.
Jeff peers over Treacle’s shoulder. ‘Hi, Gemma. How was lunch?’
‘We’re not supposed to ask,’ Treacle fills him in.
Savannah looks me up and down. ‘Gem’s playing mystery woman.’
‘I’ll tell you everything later,’ I promise.
‘Do you want to hang with us while we do the Louvre?’ Jeff asks. ‘I want to see the picture of Saint Sebastian. The one with all the arrows sticking in him.’
Treacle elbows him in the ribs. ‘You’re revolting.’
He puts his arms round her and squeezes. ‘But you love me anyway.’
Treacle squirms away, laughing. ‘You belong on a football pitch, not in an art gallery, you barbarian.’
Madame Papillon interrupts. ‘I want you to stay in your lunch groups.’ She looks at her watch. ‘And meet back here at five o’clock on the dot.’
My heart sinks, then plummets further as Rupert looms beside me. ‘Excellent,’ he says with a smile.
Savannah raises her eyebrows sympathetically. ‘Do you want to swap places with Marcus?’
‘Hey!’ Marcus objects.
‘No, it’s OK.’ I’m meant to be bringing lovers together not breaking them up. ‘I’ll stick with my group.’
Madame Papillon’s waving a streamer of tickets at me. ‘Gemma, take those for your group.’
Cindy’s suddenly at my side, taking charge. ‘I’ll look after those.’ She snatches the tickets off me. ‘We don’t want them getting lost.’ She sweeps into the crowd, Barbara, David and Rupert beetling after her.
Sam nudges me from behind. ‘We’d better keep up.’
As he steers me away, I glance back at Treacle and Savannah. They’re waving. I wave back until they disappear into the crowds.
‘The Denon Wing, right?’ Cindy’s leading us into the old building, moving like a sniffer dog after an escaped convict. I’m out of breath by the time she skids to a halt under a massive stone arch. A wide corridor opens behind it, the curved roof paned with glass. Paintings line the high walls.
‘Let’s start here.’ Cindy glances at a guidebook.
Rupert and Barbara, Sam and David gather round her like eager kids. I gaze into the distance, dreamy-eyed at the beauty of the building. Elegant columns and carved arches soar to a vaulted ceiling, rich with paintings of angels and saints.
I’m already writing my piece for the webzine in my head.
The Louvre
It was a palace built for kings; where the wealthy hoarded treasures while their countrymen starved. But revolution gave the Louvre to the pe
ople who filled it with the richness of 6,000 years of culture.
From Egyptian tombs to Modern Art, the Louvre holds within its exquisite walls some of the finest art ever created.
I follow Cindy and the others, stopping as I pass a breathtakingly beautiful statue of two lovers kissing.
‘They look chilly.’ Rupert spoils the perfect moment by pointing out that they’re butt naked.
I speed up, trying to outwalk him, but he’s at my heels talking. His comment was clearly just a taster of the lecture to come. He includes Sam, Cindy, Barbara and David in his next artistic appraisal, suddenly taking on the role of tour guide.
‘We have here Liberty Leading the People by Delacroix,’ he begins. A topless woman is leading a crowd of revolutionaries. ‘The French Revolution began when a pudding shop burned down.’
Cindy narrows her eyes. ‘Wasn’t that the Great Fire of London?’
Rupert’s unfazed. ‘Clearly, there were a lot of fires that year owing to the great amount of pudding shops.’ He moves on to another painting further down the hall. ‘This, of course . . .’ He stops to peer at the label beneath the painting. ‘. . . Is David’s Coronation of Napoleon. You’ll see a sculpture of David further down the hall, made by Michelangelo, shortly after David had finished this painting.’
I search his face, trying to work out if he’s serious.
‘Let’s move on to the Mona Lisa.’ He ushers us down the hall and into a room where crowds cluster round a surprisingly small painting at the end.
‘This, of course,’ Rupert begins, ‘is the postcard version painted by Leonardo da Vinci to hand out to tourists. The real-life painting is kept in storage for safety.’
Sam steps forward. ‘This is the real one,’ he tells Rupert.
‘Can’t be.’ Rupert stares at it. ‘Only big paintings are famous.’
I stretch up on tiptoes, trying to get a glimpse. As if by magic, the crowd parts. Mona Lisa is staring back at me, her gaze fixing on me as though I am the only person in the room and she is staring only at me. Calmness floods from her, the light in her face, and on her hands, luminous and breathtaking.
I realize I’ve stopped breathing.
‘Pretty cool, huh?’ Sam whispers in my ear.
I drag my gaze from the portrait and look into his too-blue eyes. ‘Uh-huh.’ I’m still half-hypnotized by Mona.
Then Rupert speaks. ‘It’s well known that the mysterious woman shown in Leonardo’s painting was actually a man. He lived close to Leo’s studio and was called Montel Limon. He only agreed to sit as Leo’s model after Montel lost a bet over how many paintbrushes Leo could fit in his ear.’
I’ve stopped caring whether Rupert’s trying to be funny or whether he’s just an idiot. All I want is some peace from his endless burbling.
I break away from the group and head for another room, fighting my way through the crowds until they start to thin. At last, I find my way to a wide, airy room, almost empty. Relieved, I wander across the marble floor, relishing the echoing clip-clop of my shoes. In front of me is a painting of the night sky. Stars dot the inky blackness, swirling into a mass at the centre, and I stop and stare, losing myself in the picture.
I wonder if the stars can really guide our fates.
Oh, darling, don’t be silly. Jessica Jupiter sounds in my head. A few coincidences, that’s all. Our fate is not in our stars, you silly goose. We control our own destiny.
I guess she’s right. After all, it was me who steered Treacle and Jeff together and helped Savannah realize Marcus was the only boy in the world for her. Stars didn’t guide them. I did.
I think of David and Barbara. Perhaps this is one love match too many. Savannah and Treacle were easy. They’re my friends. I know them inside out. But Barbara and David live in another world – a strange planet inhabited only by Year Tens. Perhaps I shouldn’t be meddling with things I don’t understand.
‘It’s the Milky Way.’
Sam’s voice takes me by surprise. I spin round and see him standing behind me. How long has he been there?
‘It’s beautiful.’ I turn back to the painting and let it draw me in again.
Sam moves beside me. But he doesn’t speak. No non-stop jabber like Rupert. He stands and stares into the Milky Way. The silence of the gallery enfolds us, so it’s like we’re bubble-wrapped. Calm and happy to just be there, gazing at a painting in the Louvre.
I don’t know how many minutes pass before I hear Sam’s trainers scuff the floor beside me.
‘Gemma,’ he says.
I look at him. ‘What?’
‘There’s something I want to ask you.’ His eyes shine brighter than the stars in the painting.
‘Gemma!’ Treacle’s whoop splits the air, and the paintings seem to rattle on their hooks. I jump, my heart pounding. Savannah and Treacle are racing towards us, their footsteps echoing. Sally, Ryan, Marcus and Jeff are on their heels. It’s like a wave crashing onto an empty beach. I brace myself for the impact, as Treacle grabs my hands and swings me round.
‘Isn’t it magic?’ She looks up at the painted ceiling, her face lit by wonder. I smile and nod.
Savannah’s hanging off Marcus. ‘I have seen so many beautiful women today – in paintings and sculptures and walking round the galleries! I’m going to have to totally redesign my whole wardrobe when I get home. Beauty is SO not about make-up and bling.’ She smiles, suddenly serene. ‘I’m going to work on my inner beauty,’ she announces dramatically. ‘It will bring me a glow more radiant than Max Factor ever could.’
Marcus throws her a sugary look. ‘I’d better buy some shades.’
Savannah wrinkles her nose and returns the sugar. ‘Aw, Marcus.’ She kisses his cheek. ‘You’re such a sweetie.’
Sam stares at his shoes. He’s probably embarrassed by Year Nine soppiness. I’m not. I glance back at the Milky Way. How could I think of giving up on Barbara and David? Look how happy Savannah and Treacle are.
Get ready, Jessica, I warn my alter ego. We’ve got some serious work to do. I’m going to get David and Barbara to fall in love in Paris if it’s the last thing I do.
The sky behind the Eiffel Tower is starting to darken as Madame Papillon herds us along the concourse below. Everyone’s here – Year Tens and Year Nines mingling as they head for the tower. My feet ache after an afternoon in the Louvre, but my heart is soaring. I can still hardly believe I’m here. As I hurry along beside Savannah and Treacle, I start rewriting my Paris article in my head.
The Eiffel Tower, symbol of progress and pride, the most romantic landmark in Paris. How many lovers have looked out from its highest platform and gazed at the city stretching below?
Madame Papillon’s voice chimes into my thoughts. ‘Hurry up! We don’t want to miss the sunset.’
Mr Chapman and Miss Davis trail behind. They’re gazing more at each other than at the massive pile of wrought iron looming ahead of us.
Savannah glances back at them. ‘I wonder where they had lunch?’ she says meaningfully.
Treacle hides a giggle behind her hand. ‘You don’t suppose they’re dating?’
Ryan overhears. ‘Ew!’ he groans. ‘Teachers dating. That’s revolting.’
I notice that Miss Davis is wearing her bun looser; stray strands of hair have escaped and frame her face. Mr Chapman doesn’t take his eyes off her as they chat. He doesn’t even notice Ryan making kissing noises on the back of his hand.
‘Shut up, Ryan!’ Sal thumps him on the arm. ‘It’s sweet.’
I’m pleased to see Paris is still working its charm. If it can seduce a geography teacher, it must be weaving a pretty powerful spell.
Madame Papillon stops beneath an arching leg of the tower and we cluster round her. ‘We’re going to the top!’ She points up with a flourish. ‘You can take the stairs or the lift.’
I clap my hands with excitement. The Paris sky is purpling with dusk. The city is lighting up and, as my heart flutters, the tower suddenly flickers into a thousand lights. �
�It’s beautiful.’ If David and Barbara gaze across Paris from the top, they are bound to fall in love.
It’s absolutely inevitable.
‘Miss.’ Barbara raises a trembling hand. ‘I’m scared of heights.’
I freeze. Scared of heights? No! How’s David meant to melt with love at the top if Barbara’s dissolved with terror at the bottom?
Madame Papillon doesn’t hear her. She’s heading for the stairs, a gaggle of Year Tens and Nines at her heels.
‘Come on, Gem!’ Treacle flaps at me, as Jeff drags her after the crowd. Savannah and Marcus have already disappeared into the seething mass of anoraks and trainers.
I yell back, ‘I’ll see you at the top!’ I can’t abandon Barbara. Somehow I have to get her up the Eiffel Tower.
Barbara’s staring up, eyes wide. Cindy’s squeezing her arm. ‘You’ll be fine, Barbie.’
‘I won’t be fine,’ Barbara gasps. ‘I’ll die!’
Sam loiters behind them, staying near Cindy. David’s consulting his guidebook, as usual. Rupert’s hanging around like a bad smell while Will paces the tarmac, one eye on Barbara and Cindy. Why doesn’t he disappear after the others? Maybe he’s hoping to turn Barbara’s fear of heights into an in-depth article on phobias.
David starts to head towards the lift.
‘No!’
Cindy and Sam turn as I squawk at David.
‘You can’t go!’ I yelp. ‘Barbara needs our support.’ I can’t let him miss out on his chance at true love.
He frowns at me. ‘She needs a therapist.’
‘But we can help! If we all think positive thoughts.’ I look round desperately. ‘It’ll help Barbara feel more . . .’ A blush is rising in my cheeks. ‘. . . More positive.’
‘Really?’ David looks unconvinced.
Barbara gives an anxious squeak. ‘I don’t know if I can.’ She stares helplessly up at the top of the tower.
‘Of course you can.’ Rupert puts his arm round her shoulders and gives her a squeeze. ‘Just think of it as higher education.’
David snorts impatiently. ‘I’m going with the others.’