by Olivia Lara
Constance took her home as soon as the doctors allowed her to.
‘Where is he? Tell me the truth,’ she kept asking Constance. ‘Are there any survivors?’
‘Why don’t you try and get some rest?’ she said. ‘We’ll talk about it later when you’re feeling better.’
‘I can’t wait. I know he was on that plane. I need to know what happened to him. Is he alright? Where is he?’
‘Vincent was on the plane?’
Dominique shook her head. ‘Alexander. Alexander was on that plane.’
She tried not to cry again. ‘I had a dream about him last night. A reverie. I saw the plane crash. I didn’t know what it was, but I saw it. Something has happened to him; he might be hurt, and he needs me. I have to go to him.’
‘This is all because of a dream? The same dreams who told you Leon was the one? The same dreams who told you Vincent was the one? And the boy from Newport? And the man from New York? How many “the ones” are there for you? Listen to yourself. You don’t know what you want, my dear. You’re using these dreams as a crutch. Why would he even be flying to Paris? Isn’t his wife supposed to give birth right about now? See? You’re wrong. And you’ve been wrong before. Your dreams are just that. Dreams. Not some special gift. They’re a curse if you ask me—’
‘You don’t understand, Constance,’ said Dominique, exhausted. ‘I think I was wrong and Mama was wrong too. But not about the dreams. About the connection. There is more than one. You can love more than one person. Do you know how I know this? Because I love him. I love him, like I never loved Vincent. Maybe not all connections are created equal and only one is unbreakable. This is the one. He is the one. Nothing else matters. Nobody else matters.’
‘Dominique, you’re rambling. Whenever something happens, the dreams are to blame. I know you’ve been through a lot, but, please, try and be rational about this. This reverie fantasy has to stop. It’s been going on for too long. Enough, please, before it’s too late. Just stop.’
She sounded quite angry.
Dominique tried to calm herself. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll stop. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Just tell me he’s alright. I don’t want anyone to understand me. I just want to know he’s alive.’
‘I don’t know if he’s alive, alright? I don’t know. I’m sorry. There are survivors, I heard on the news, but I don’t know who they are or how many. I haven’t left your side for two days.’
‘Do you mind leaving me alone for a while? I’m tired. Maybe I can get some sleep.’
Constance tucked Dominique in and promised to come back in a few hours to check up on her and bring her something to eat.
The moment she closed the door, Dominique jumped out of bed. She didn’t have a TV in her studio, but she did have a radio. She turned it on and searched until she found news about the accident. They repeated the address of the hospital where they had taken the victims.
She kept hitting play, rewind, play on her answering machine and the more she listened, the more she convinced herself that couldn’t have been the end. No, their story couldn’t end like that. No, it must’ve been a mistake.
He was alive. He had to be alive. Her love would keep him alive. No matter what her mother said. She was wrong before; she could be wrong now too. What if he could hear her in the dreams? What if she could make him stay? Anything was possible.
There was no time to lose. She had to find him.
DOMINIQUE
12 DECEMBER 1964
LE HAVRE
The Medical Center Alain Quesnay in Le Havre. That’s where they took the victims of the crash. It was 200 kilometers from Paris. No time for packing, every minute mattered.
From the train station, she went straight to the hospital’s front desk.
‘Alexander Roberts,’ she blurted out. ‘Is his name on the list?’
A nurse looked through a long list of names.
She knew what he’d told her in the message, she knew what she dreamed, but she still held on to the hope that maybe he had taken a different flight.
‘Please wait, and someone will be with you soon.’
‘What does that mean? Can I see him? Can you please tell me where he is? At least tell me he is fine. Please, please tell me he is alive,’ she said her eyes brimming with tears.
The nurse repeated like a robot, ‘Please wait, and someone will be with you soon.’
Dominique heard raised voices coming from the stairs, then saw nurses running around agitated, a doctor talking to a guard and gesticulating, a whole lot of people and a flurry of frenzied activity.
She couldn’t hear what they were talking about, at first.
The doctor went into one of the rooms and returned with a file, which she showed to the guard. She spoke fast and her voice was high-pitched, agitated, but as loud as she was, there was too much noise in the waiting room for Dominique to properly hear more than bits and pieces.
‘…Violent. We restrained him. I don’t know how it happened.’
The guard said something back.
‘“I need to get out of here. I shouldn’t be here.” Over and over and wouldn’t stop. Be on the lookout,’ the doctor said as the guard walked away in Dominique’s direction.
‘What’s happening?’ she asked him when he passed her.
‘A patient disappeared. They think he ran away during the night.’ He scoffed. ‘That’s the last thing I needed today.’
Dominique continued waiting. It was a while. Every time she asked at the front desk, she was told a doctor would be with her soon. What was going on? Where was Alexander?
‘Mademoiselle Gardiner?’ Dominique immediately recognized the high pitch. It was the doctor who was talking to the police earlier. Her name tag read ‘Dr Thomas’.
‘Yes,’ said Dominique tentatively.
‘You are looking for information on one of the victims of the accident?’
Dominique got up. ‘Yes. Alexander Roberts.’
‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting. We had a situation here. Are you family?’
‘No. Not yet. I mean—’ Dominique took a deep breath. ‘Where is he? Can I see him?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and, at that moment, Dominique had a sensation of déjà vu.
A hospital in Colmar. Ten years before. The same feeling. The same panic. It couldn’t be happening again.
She grabbed the doctor’s arm, feeling dizzy. ‘What are you sorry about?’
‘I’m afraid he didn’t make it. There was nothing we could do. He died on impact.’
‘No, no, you’re wrong, you’re wrong,’ Dominique kept repeating. He wasn’t dead. She didn’t feel he was dead. She’d asked him to stay with her. And he would’ve never left her. She’d saved him. If the dreams were good for anything, then they should be good for that. She didn’t care if they were wrong about everything else. She didn’t care if she broke all the rules, if she went against fate and what was predestined. She loved him too much for him to die. The doctor was mistaken.
‘I want to see him. Please, let me see him.’
The doctor seemed to avoid looking at her. ‘The family already identified him.’ She patted her hand. ‘And I’m afraid there’s not much to see.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Most of the victims have suffered massive injuries and they’re beyond recognition. It would be better for you to remember him as he was.’
‘This must be a mistake. It must be.’
‘I’m so very sorry, mademoiselle, it is a terrible tragedy. I understand.’
‘Dominique,’ she heard and turned.
JJ was standing behind her. When she saw him, she burst into tears.
‘Please tell me it’s not true. Please tell me he’s not dead.’
He took her in his arms and held her for a long time. Dominique couldn’t stop crying.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said. An incredible sadness in his voice.
His eyes were red. He
had been crying too and he looked completely destroyed.
She knew what that meant but couldn’t accept it.
‘No,’ she wailed. ‘No!’
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Let me take you back to Paris. You’re not well.’
Dominique fell to the floor and couldn’t stop crying.
‘I want to see him. Why won’t they let me see him?’
He squeezed her hand. ‘I did. Trust me, you don’t want to. It’s better if you remember him as he was.’
‘I don’t care what he looks like. I want to see him. I want to be with him.’
‘Dominique,’ he said firmer now. ‘I am going back to Paris and I’m taking you with me.’ Lifting her from the floor, he held her by the shoulders and led her to his car.
She had no energy left to fight him, to break loose. The pain, the incredible pain of losing Alexander numbed her.
For hours, in the car, she didn’t say anything. What was there left to say?
Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing, and the tears wouldn’t stop.
JJ struggled too. ‘He told me everything before – before.’ He couldn’t continue. ‘I know how much he loved you and I’m so sorry. I know how it feels. Now that he’s gone—’
‘I don’t want to hear it, JJ. I can’t. Please. Just don’t.’
She couldn’t accept that he was gone. It was all a big mistake. This wasn’t how their story was supposed to end.
DOMINIQUE
17 DECEMBER 1964
PARIS
Back in Paris, Dominique couldn’t let go. She didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, stopped going to school, to work. She stayed in the coffee shop, at their table, waiting for him to come back. He was coming back. He’d promised.
Hearing JJ talking about the funeral was like a nightmare.
‘I convinced his mother to let him rest here. He always said Paris was home,’ he said.
‘I don’t want to talk about this, JJ,’ said Dominique.
‘I know you don’t. Nobody does, believe me. Especially me.’
‘I just can’t sit here and listen to you talk about him as if he’s gone.’
‘He is gone,’ JJ said sadly. ‘The sooner you accept it, the better it’s going to be for you. Trust me, I’ve been through this before.’
She did trust him, but not with this.
‘You are coming to the funeral though, right?’
Dominique shook her head. ‘I can’t.’
She left the room and went outside. She couldn’t hear any more of it. She just couldn’t. He wasn’t gone. In her mind, in her heart, he wasn’t gone. Why would she go to the funeral?
But the next morning, Dominique found herself taking the bus to the Père-Lachaise Cemetery, although she still felt they were making a mistake, and whoever they were burying, it wasn’t Alexander. But if she wasn’t going, JJ would be hurt. And he was hurting enough already.
When she arrived, it was snowing. The wind blew hard, whipping her face and making her eyes tear up. The cemetery was full of people and she realized other victims of the crash were being buried on the same day. Everywhere she looked, there were new tombstones; all with the same date of death – ‘9 December 1964’. It was heartbreaking. Dominique pushed on, trying not to break down and cry, when she saw an older woman who looked painfully familiar. Dominique walked towards her.
‘Are you Mrs Roberts? Alexander’s mother?’
The woman dried her tears with a handkerchief.
‘Are you a friend of Alexander’s?’ she asked and took Dominique’s hand in hers. Her fingers were cold and bony.
‘My name is Dominique Gardiner.’
The woman’s face changed abruptly. She let go of Dominique’s hand like it burned her.
Then, behind her, she saw Nicole. Dressed in all black, her long blonde hair tucked away in a black pillbox hat, her face covered by a short black veil, she was dabbing her eyes every few seconds with a handkerchief.
Nicole saw her too. With a swift move, she lunged at Dominique, grabbing her by the collars of her coat. ‘How dare you show your face here? You took Alexander away from me. You confused him, bewitched him and made him forget all about his family, and the promises he made,’ she said, looking at Dominique with pure, unadulterated hatred. ‘Abandoning me, after he promised we would get married and have a family, giving up the life he was supposed to lead. And for what? A simpleton without a penny to her name? What could he possibly see in you? I don’t know what you did and how you did it, but I know it was you.’
‘No, please, you have to listen to me. I—’
‘You killed him! What was it? You couldn’t have him so nobody could?’
She was hysterical and everyone was looking at them.
‘I loved him more than you ever did. I gave him everything. I waited for him for years to finally get his life in order, so we could be together. And you ruined everything. You took it all away from me,’ sobbed Nicole.
Alexander’s mother took Nicole by the shoulders, trying to calm her down, but Nicole wouldn’t have it. She wrestled out of the woman’s embrace, but JJ showed up and took her aside.
Dominique was shaken.
‘Nicole is right. You are to blame for all this. You have some nerve coming here after everything you’ve done,’ said Mrs Roberts.
‘Mrs Roberts, I loved Alexander with all my heart, and I will always love him. I never tricked him into anything. Nicole is wrong,’ said Dominique, trying to reason with her.
Alexander’s mother broke down crying. ‘I don’t want to talk to you anymore. I don’t want to see you again. Ever. You don’t deserve to be here. Leave. I don’t want Nicole to suffer more than she already has. Don’t you dare say how much you loved him. I want her to think of Alexander as her fiancé, not the doormat you turned him into.’
JJ stepped between them, and turning to Dominique, he said, ‘I think you should go.’
Dominique’s eyes swam with tears. People shook their heads and stared at her with looks of disgust. She ran away, her head down, and didn’t stop until she reached the gate of the cemetery. She wanted to go as far away as possible from that place. But then she stopped.
Where would I go? Where would I go without you? What would I do? If I am wrong, and they’re right, you are dead. You are being buried now, and I didn’t even say goodbye. I didn’t get a chance to tell you all the things I wanted to tell you. How can I leave you here alone?
She turned around. She couldn’t attend the funeral, but nobody could keep her away from him. So she waited. She waited in the cold until the sun set and everyone was gone. And then she went to his grave, dropped on her knees, and between tears, she told him. She told him how much she loved him and how there was no reason for her to be without him. And she told him she was never going to leave him. She was never going to stop waiting for him.
*
Valerie wipes away her tears with the back of her hand, hoping, perhaps, that I won’t notice.
Maybe it is too much for her. It is a lot for me too, to relive all this. I don’t say anything and close the book.
Valerie stares at me, confused. ‘What? This is it? This can’t be how your story ends.’
I smile. ‘My mother used to say that all the time. This is not how your story ends.’
‘Tell me this is not how it ends,’ she says, almost begging me.
‘No, this is not how it ends. I just thought we’d take a break. Cookies and cocoa are not exactly dinner. Let me make you something to eat.’
‘No,’ she says, with a fierce look on her face that reminds me of myself. Many years ago.
Before I can say anything, she runs to the kitchen, and comes back with the fruit basket.
‘I’m eating, look,’ she says and takes a big bite out of an apple.
I chuckle. She really is like me.
‘Please, go on. I want to know what happens next.’
PART VIII
‘Come back. Even as a shadow, even as a dream.’ — Euripi
des
DOMINIQUE
29 JUNE 1965
PARIS
Lisa retired, sold everything in Massachusetts and came to Paris to live with ‘her girls’.
Dominique knew the real reason she came, despite Lisa’s protests that she did it because she needed a change. She was worried. Constance was worried too.
‘Dominique, you need to eat something. You look like a ghost,’ said Constance. Lisa nodded approvingly.
Dominique sat at their table by the window, with a plate of macarons and two cups of cinnamon coffee in front of her. One for her and one for him.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Don’t care if you’re hungry or not. You have to eat to live.’
Dominique took an apple from the kitchen and bit into it. ‘Happy now?’
She grabbed her keys and headed for the door.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Lisa.
‘You know where I’m going.’
‘It’s been over six months. You have to move on with your life,’ said Constance.
‘I don’t want to move on. Don’t you understand? You can’t move on from love. I still dream of him, Constance. I dream of him trying to talk to me. I can’t hear what he’s saying but I feel like I’m getting closer. If I could just hear the words, I would know what to do.’
‘Don’t tell me you still believe he’s alive.’
‘I never stopped believing. And I never will. Never.’
*
‘It’s the grave you took me to, earlier today, isn’t it? Why did you keep going back? Why torture yourself?’
‘It was the only constant in my life. The only link, if you like, to him. Ironically, in a way, because I refused to believe he was dead. Yet there I was, every single day. I stayed there for hours, talking to him, telling him what I was doing, although it wasn’t much. I tried to go back to school, to continue the life I had before, but I couldn’t. My dreams, my plans, they made no sense without him. Lisa and Constance tried to help, and so did JJ, but I couldn’t pick up the pieces. Nothing made sense anymore; everything was pointless. My hopes of becoming a curator all turned to ash. I isolated myself from everything and everyone.