That Night In Paris Page 29

  “Is that …?” she said, taking it from me and reading the return address on the envelope.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  “As if I didn’t feel bad enough.”

  She nodded solemnly. “Oh, Cat. This is quite the dilemma.” Coming from Lou, a professional counsellor, it was not soothing.

  If anything, my inner turmoil was increasing tenfold every time I remembered the look on Jean-Luc’s face that morning as I’d broken his heart, or how his arms felt around me when he said goodbye, or how wonderful it felt to snuggle up in the crook of his arm in our huge bed. Our bed.

  “I’ve completely cocked this up,” I declared, more to myself than to Lou. She was quiet, so I knew she agreed. People who don’t agree with you when you’re self-flagellating say so.

  “Do you want a distraction? Some gossip?” Lou asked. Lou didn’t strike me as the gossiping type, but perhaps she was delving into her stash of desperate measures.

  “God, yes.”

  She ignored the “God” part. “Well, Georgina was essentially AWOL for the past two days.”

  “Oh, really? How do you know?”

  “You know how she was upset about the lion monument?” I nodded. “Well, I overhead one of the reps saying she called head office and asked to be taken off the tour.”

  “What? What do you mean? We’re not that bad.” I recalled how snarky I’d been. Maybe I had been a little hard on her.

  I half-stood in my seat and saw Georgina reflected in the giant mirror hanging above the dashboard. It was there so she could see the length of the coach without turning around, but it also meant we could see her no matter where we sat. “She’s here, though. She’s up the front.”

  “I know. They must have told her no.”

  “Actually, I didn’t see her at the party last night.”

  “None of us saw her after we arrived on Saturday.”

  “What day is it?”

  “Seriously? It’s Monday,” she replied.

  “You haven’t lost track of the days once—on this whole tour?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, good for you.” She took the jibe with her usual good humour. The news about Georgina had done the trick, though. I had been pulled out of the maelstrom of emotions threatening to suck me under.

  “Where are we going again?” I asked.

  “Germany.” Oh, right.

  Georgina pressed play on the day song. “Because I’m happy … blahdeblahblahblah …” I was really starting to hate that song. When it ended, she stood up to tell us about the day. She looked terrible and that said a lot considering my wretched state. Even from the back of the coach I could see she hadn’t bothered with makeup and had dark circles under her eyes. What on earth was going on with her?

  She told us we were heading to St Goar on the Rhine where we would have time to explore or do an optional wine tasting. Then we’d drive to Koblenz, where we would stay overnight in a boutique hotel. At the word “hotel” my ears pricked up. “Lou. A hotel. Not a garden shed.” Said me, who had spent two nights in a luxury apartment with epic views and giant bathtub. I quashed the thoughts of “our apartment”. I didn’t like what they did to my stomach.

  “The accommodation’s definitely improving. You saw our room in Lauterbrunnen.”

  “Oh, right, you had one giant bed.” Their room was built entirely of wood—wooden floors, wooden beams running across the wooden ceiling, wooden walls, and flush against one wall was a giant wooden-framed bed. It was normal length and the width of about four queen-sized beds.

  “Yeah, it was cool, though—huge. More than enough room and we each had our own sheets and comforters.”

  “I forgot to look out the skylight. Georgina said you could stargaze from bed.”

  “That was the awesome part. There was some cloud cover last night, but the night before last, it was incredible. We still shared bathrooms, though—dorm-style ones, but yeah, much better than Paris, or Antibes.”

  “Or even Rome.”

  “It’s definitely been a little more rustic than I thought it would be,” she said.

  “So, a new country today, and another one tomorrow.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  I couldn’t believe how soon it was all coming to an end. After Koblenz, we’d drive to Amsterdam, stay two nights, then head back to London on Friday. I’d have the weekend to recover and to sleep in my own bed, before starting back at school the following Monday.

  But I’d be sleeping in my bed alone—completely my doing. I’d screwed things up with Jean-Luc and I certainly wasn’t going to ask Angus to pop around. The thought of sleeping with anyone besides Jean-Luc made me nauseous.

  I wished I had a stack of marking waiting for me, or something work-related to fill up my weekend, but other than washing my travel clothes and storing my case in the storage cage, my weekend loomed ahead of me wide open.

  I looked at Lou, who had taken out her Kindle and was reading. Only a few more days with my bus bestie, too. I didn’t want to think about that either. Sarah had been right about the friendships you made on these tours. I remembered it being a big part of her first day spiel: “Look around you. Even if you’re travelling with someone else, you are bound to meet people who will become lifelong friends.” Or something like that.

  Lou would definitely be a lifelong friend. I’d always wanted to go to Vancouver. I could visit her. And maybe Jaelee and Dani would be lifelong friends too. And Craig.

  New people, new friendships. And yet there was one person, whom for a long time I thought I would know my whole life, and I’d just said a final goodbye to him. Bollocks. Bugger. Fuck. Bum. Crap.

  I stared gloomily out the window.

  Switzerland

  ***

  At the morning tea rest stop, just outside Strasbourg, my posse convened. I had already given Jaelee and Dani the abridged version of the morning’s events when Craig walked up and gave me a much-needed bear hug. “Lou said you needed a hug,” he said as he lifted me up and smushed my face into his chest. I bit the insides of my cheeks so I didn’t start crying again.

  “Thanks,” I said when he put me down. I smiled a big fat fake smile while Dani stroked my arm and looked at me with pity.

  “I really liked Jean-Luc,” Craig said, clearly thinking he was being helpful.

  Jaelee cleared her throat and I saw her subtly shake her head at him. He looked horrified that he’d said something wrong, which he had.

  “All right, everyone. Thank you for your support, but what will help is not talking about …” I couldn’t say his name “… uh, that. No pity, no sympathy. Just … we should get some food, huh?” I turned and marched towards the services. I would squash my feelings down the way I was raised to, with food. Sarah often joked that “Food is love” is our family motto and at that moment, I needed lots of fattening, carb-filled love.

  Inside, I opted for a giant pretzel coated in melted cheese, covering two of the major European food groups, and I ordered tea—only because it was too early in the day for several shots of vodka.

  Back on the coach, I ate my giant pretzel in silence as I stared out the window. I could feel when the carbs hit my bloodstream, a flood of sugar making everything feel marginally better. I could never be one of those people who did a no-carb diet. I mean, what is the point of living if you are going to subject yourself to that?

  “Hey.” Craig was standing in the aisle.

  “Hi.”

  “I wanted to apologise. I didn’t know.”

  “You don’t need to—”

  Lou cut me off by offering her seat to Craig. “Here. Sit. I’ll go up to your seat for a while.” She smiled at us both and scooched past Craig. He sat down.

  “Really, you don’t need to apologise.”

  “It’s just that Dani said you needed a hug and I thought you were sad because you had to say goodbye.”

  “I was—am—but …”

  “She filled me in. Again, I’m really sor
ry.”

  “Craig, have you been spending too much time with the Canadians? Seriously, stop apologising. It’s fine.”

  “I’m s—” He cut himself off before he said it again, then sat there looking awkward.

  “So, tell me about you,” I asked. “How’s the tour been so far?”

  “Good, yeah. I mean, Switzerland was beyond, you know?”

  “I do, yes.”

  “And I’m from Oregon.” He’d said that a few times, as though Oregon was some benchmark I should have understood.

  “And?” I prompted.

  “Well, I mean, we have mountains, and lakes, and incredible scenery, but Lauterbrunnen was next level.” I smiled. “It makes me want to travel more. Actually, this whole trip has. I’m thinking I’ll come back next summer and backpack around, you know?”

  “That would be amazing.”

  “Did you ever do that, you know, when …?”

  “You mean when I was young like you?”

  He flushed. “Oh, God, I didn’t mean—what is wrong with me today?”

  I laughed and it felt good. “I’m kidding. Really. I teach kids your age—I mean, young adults—sorry. See? It’s not just you who’s putting your foot in it.” He grinned. “And, no I never did the backpacking thing. Maybe I should have, but I like proper showers and I hate sharing a room—also, I don’t really like getting somewhere. I prefer being somewhere, but the whole ‘in transit’ thing … I’ve just described a Ventureseek tour, haven’t I?”

  “Uh, yeah. So, why did you come if you hate all that stuff?”

  “It’s a long story.” Warning, Will Robinson—deflect, deflect, deflect.

  Craig, who was more child than man, did not need to know the ins and outs of my sex life, so to speak. It was strange enough that he’d met my latest lover.

  Jean-Luc.

  His name sat like a tongue ulcer in my head. It hurt to touch it, but I couldn’t leave it alone.

  “So, any trysts since the château?” I asked, turning the spotlight back on Craig. He blushed again, so utterly adorable I wanted to pinch his cheeks. “So, that’s a yes, then?”

  “One of the reps. Isla. She’s Scottish.”

  “From Lauterbrunnen?” He nodded. “Hmm. Well, good for you.” He dropped his head and stared at his lap. “Want me to change the subject?”

  “More than anything.”

  “Right. Oh, I meant to ask you—sorry—how’s your mum?” The extent of my self-absorption was becoming more evident every day. I squirmed under my own scrutiny.

  “Oh, yeah, actually, she’s great. Well, hang on, she’s kinda upset right now, but it’s because she and her boyfriend broke up.”

  “You mean the horrid boyfriend?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “So, ultimately a good thing, but her heart is currently broken.”

  “Exactly.” He ran a hand through his hair and the gesture nearly undid me. I hadn’t seen him do that before and it was so Jean-Luc. “I’m mostly relieved, you know. And when I get home, I can be there to support her, but she’s better off without him. He was really bad for her.”

  “So, good news then?”

  “Yep.”

  “She’s lucky to have you.”

  He smiled. “Thanks. I just want her to be happy, you know. It’ll make it easier when I do go away to school. Hey, I’m gonna let Louise come back now, ’kay?”

  “Sure. Thanks for the chat,” I added lightly. He smiled again and he and Lou swapped places.

  “He’s such a sweetheart,” she said as she sat down.

  “He is.”

  ***

  “Hey, Sez,” I said quietly. I wanted to talk to my sister and I’d decided to call from the coach instead of waiting for the next rest stop.

  “Hi, Cat! How’s it all going? How’s Jean-Luc?” I winced at his name.

  “Um, actually, that’s why I’m calling.”

  “Oh, sounds ominous. What happened?”

  “I think he has feelings for me, major ones.”

  “Oh, wow!” I was silent for a beat and she leapt back in with, “Hang on, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Well, you know. I don’t want anything serious. That hasn’t changed.”

  “But, isn’t it different with Jean-Luc?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  I was quiet again, wishing I’d texted instead of called. “Look,” she said, “I’m a little confused about what you want me to say.”

  “That makes two of us.” It was her turn to go quiet. Maybe I’d lost the connection. “Sez?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I—look, sorry, I probably shouldn’t have called. It’s just—I feel like an utter cow, Sez.”

  “I’m sorry, Cat. That sounds awful.”

  “Yes.”

  “Look, when you get home, FaceTime me and we’ll have a proper chat, okay?”

  “Yep. Will do. Bye.”

  “Hey. I love you.”

  “I love you too.” I tapped the big red button on my phone. Well, that went well. I snuck a glance at Lou and she was clearly pretending she hadn’t heard the whole exchange. “What?” I snapped, instantly regretting it. “Sorry, Lou.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Why was I treating the people I cared about like rubbish? I gave myself a mental slap about the face.

  “We should do the wine tasting,” I said.

  “In St Goar? I thought you wanted to avoid the excursions.”

  “Yes, I know, but I’d like to go. Basically, I want to get drunk.” At that moment, getting drunk and not feeling anything was preferable to wallowing.

  “At a wine tasting?”

  “Yes. Don’t judge me.”

  “No judgement. How much is it?”

  “I think it’s only ten euros. Doesn’t matter, though. My treat.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “I’d like to.”

  “Sure, okay, thank you. Want me to check with the girls, see if they want to go?”

  “I can.”

  “Eh, I’m on the aisle. I’ll go.”

  She returned a few minutes later. “They were already going. I asked Georgina if it was too late to add us, but it’s fine.”

  “Oh, good. Thanks for taking care of that.”

  “She looks terrible, like she hasn’t had any sleep.”

  “Georgina? What’s going on there, do you think?” She started to stand up. “Lou?” I grabbed her arm and she sat back down. “You can’t go talk to her.”

  “She may need a friendly ear. The whole time we were talking, she looked like she was about to cry.”

  “It’s nice you want to help, but you’d have an audience.” A frown skimmed across her face.

  “I feel bad I left her there like that.”

  “If it was me, I wouldn’t want to have a heart-to-heart up there in front of the whole group.”

  “Yeah, okay, you’re probably right. I’ll see if I can get a moment with her later. The poor thing.” Lou was right. I couldn’t find a shred of the annoyance I’d felt when she’d been “Georg-bloody-ina”. In its place was curiosity and a smidgeon of pity. Well, maybe more than a smidgeon.

  ***

  I grew up in a family of wine lovers, and whenever I flew home to visit Australia, we’d invariably drive out to the Hunter Valley, the closest wine region to Sydney, and spend the day going from winery to winery doing tastings. My dad would drive, and if one of us said a particular wine was worth trying, he’d taste it and spit. He took his role as skipper—or designated driver—seriously.

  The Hunter’s tasting rooms typically had high ceilings and glass for days, many of them overlooking neat rows of vines that tumbled over gently rolling hills. Timber abounded, as did polished concrete floors and furniture made from old wine barrels. More often than not, the winery had a dog, usually friendly, often old, and always named something quintessentially Australian, like Mac, or Bluey, or Sally.

  Our lat
e-afternoon wine tasting in St Goar, a quaint and welcoming town nestled in the Rhine Valley, was quite different from my experiences in the Hunter Valley. It was held in a giant cellar, for a start—not a pane of glass in sight. The walls were made of brick and the low ceiling was raw wooden beams which had been smoothed by time. It was cool, as you’d expect from a cellar, but not dank or musty. We sat at long tables of polished blonde wood, and there were candles interspersed every few feet which, along with the soft electric lighting overhead, gave off a warm glow.

  A handful of young women and men scurried about, pouring generous splashes of wine into the four glasses set before each of us—three white and one red—and placing large platters of soft cheese and pumpernickel-style bread along the table. It had been quite a good turn-out with about twenty people from the tour taking part.

  Once everything was on the tables, our host called for our attention and told us his name was Gunther. He was long and lean, with angular cheekbones that would have made Johnny Depp envious. His English was slightly accented but fluent, and when he smiled at us, I found myself smiling back.

  I’d had a pretty crappy day. Yes, it was mostly my own doing, but after six hours on the coach—far too much time for someone in my predicament to think—I was ready to lose myself in a favourite pastime. I wasn’t much of a connoisseur and I rarely retained what I learnt, but I enjoyed the wine-tasting experience.

  The wines were a gewürztraminer, a spätburgunder, or what German winemakers call pinot noir, and two sweet rieslings, which we would taste last. For each wine, Gunther explained where it was grown and made, and the main characteristics to look out for. Only the rieslings were grown in the immediate region. I had some vague knowledge from a long-ago wine tasting that they were sweet in the Rhine because it was a colder region and something, something, something … See? Wine knowledge is wasted on me.

  I liked the crisp, almost floral taste of the gewürztraminer, which I’d never had before. I’d seen it in Sainsbury’s and Tesco sometimes, but I’d figured it would be sweet like the rieslings, so I never bought it. I made a mental note to pick some up the next time I went shopping.

  The spätburgunder was amazing, but that didn’t surprise me—I love pinot noir. What did surprise me was learning that the Germans produce more of it than any other country. Until then, I’d thought New Zealand had the monopoly.