That Night In Paris Page 8

  “Bonne nuit, ma chérie.”

  “Goodnight. Ride safely.” I gave him a half-wave, then turned and walked briskly through the gates of the campsite, my arms wrapped around me.

  I’d started the night exploring Paris with my friends, and I’d ended it with a serious crush on a super-hot French guy who’d once taught me how to swear in German. Scheisse.

  And French. Merde.

  I couldn’t remember if the door to our shed creaked or not, so I opened it as slowly as I could. “Hi,” said a whispered voice from the dark.

  “Oh, my God, Lou, you scared the crap out of me,” I replied far too loudly. I pulled the door shut behind me and plonked onto my bunk, dropping my bag on the floor. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been waiting up.”

  “No. But I mean, the door’s right there. And this cabin is so tiny—you were never going to sneak in.”

  “True. Sorry.”

  “Hey, no problem.” Lou was such a darling. “So, how was it?”

  “Oh, Lou, so much to tell, but first I need a wee.”

  “Oh-kay.”

  “Sorry, TMI.” I contemplated the long walk to the ablution block. If I hadn’t needed a wee, I would have forgone teeth brushing and face washing—I’d be showering in a few hours anyway. With a sigh, I foraged for my toiletries bag.

  “I’ll wait for you. I want to hear about your night.”

  I abluted quickly and returned to the shed less than ten minutes later, opening the door to a loud yawn from Lou’s side.

  “We can talk in the morning if you like. We have to be up in … bollocks, four and a half hours.” I slipped off my shoes and jacket and shimmied out of my dress.

  “Yeah, good idea. I don’t think I can keep my eyes open much longer.”

  I dug my PJs out from under my pillow and was pulling the top over my head when Lou whispered alarmingly, “Oh my heck, what is that?”

  I pulled the PJ top all the way on and sat on my bunk, looking around frantically for the offending item. Nothing.

  “What?”

  “The thing on the wall.”

  My eyes flew to all four of the cabin walls. Still nothing.

  “Which wall? Where?”

  “There, next to the door.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know.” The whole whispered exchange was becoming a poor rendition of Who’s on First?

  “But what do you see?”

  “A big white thing.” I scoured the darkness for the invasive white thing. A moth? A glowing white spider? Some kind of French iridescent slug?

  “All right, Lou, I’m turning on the light.”

  “Okay.”

  In one deft movement, I leapt out of bed and flicked on the light switch, my head swivelling as I took in every flat surface in the cabin in search of the scary white thing. Then I realised Lou was laughing.

  I spun towards her. She was laughing so hard there were tears in her eyes and she was fanning herself with her hand. “Oh, my goodness,” she gulped between barking laughs.

  “Lou, what?” My tone must have permeated the hilarity, because she met my eyes. The hand fanning became flapping and she started pointing, still gulp-laughing.

  “The thing … the thing …” She flapped her hand in the general direction of the door. I scowled at her. This was too much for one-thirty in the morning. “It was … it was the light.” Then she dissolved into a fresh bout of laughter and I finally understood.

  I sat on my bunk. “The white thing?” She nodded. “The terrifying white thing on the wall was the light?”

  “Yes,” she panted.

  The giggles bubbled up and consumed me. Soon we were both doubled over on our respective bunks. Eventually, I had the presence of mind to get up and turn off the terrifying light.

  As our laughter subsided, I said, “Night, Lou.”

  “Night, Cat.”

  Despite the time, it was a while before I could fall asleep. It had been a big night.

  ***

  I woke with a start to Lou calling my name. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but after that little sleep it felt like she was screaming in my ear.

  Why the hell had I booked a bus tour when I could have spent two weeks on the beach in the Canary Islands?

  “Ugghhh.” I threw my arm over my eyes to block out the weak morning light. “What time is it?”

  “You don’t want to know, but we should get to the showers.”

  “I hate you.”

  “I love you too, now get your little butt out of bed.”

  I did as I was told, and we made the coach two minutes before the 7:00am departure. I held two pieces of cold toast wrapped in a thin paper napkin and longed for a cup of tea I wouldn’t get.

  Lou and I handed our cases over to Tom with an apology for being so late. He took them with a smile and squashed them into the hold under the coach. I had a sudden memory of Sarah telling me that she, the driver and the cook slept under there when they were on a camping tour—more comfortable than tents apparently, but the thought made me shiver. I’m claustrophobic.

  When I climbed onto the coach, Craig was sitting in the seat next to Lou—my seat. I looked about for Dani and Jaelee. Jae was on her own and gave me a wave. I plopped down next to her, gratefully. I wasn’t in the mood to make new friends.

  “Hi,” I said through a mouthful of toast, my hand over my mouth.

  “Hi. You look terrible.”

  I threw her a look and swallowed. “So, are you still ticked off with me?”

  “About last night?” I nodded. She shrugged.

  I changed tacks. “Where’s Dani?”

  “She’s back there.”

  I turned in my seat and saw Dani—sweet, adorable Dani—seated in the middle of the back seat surrounded by Kiwi guys. My brows nearly met my hairline. I swivelled back to Jaelee waiting for the explanation.

  “I really don’t know how or when, but she and the tall one—Jason—have a thing.”

  “A thing?”

  “He thinks she’s cute.”

  “He’s right.” I turned back around right as Dani threw her head back and laughed. “Hmm. Good for her.” Jaelee sulked beside me. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Everyone’s pairing up.”

  “Uh, no.”

  “You are.” I rolled my eyes—it was involuntary, but I was not in the mood for a sulky seatmate either. I ate my toast as the coach pulled out of the campsite and Georgina stood up and turned on the microphone.

  “Bonjour everyone,” she said with an appalling French accent. I knew mine wasn’t particularly good either, but I think my lack of sleep had got the better of my goodwill towards (wo)men.

  She told us the ride to the château would take nearly five hours, including a stop for morning tea. Tea! I latched onto the word as the life-preserver it was. I finished the cold toast and did my best to wipe the melted butter—actually, it was probably margarine—from my fingers with the near-useless napkin. I rested my head on the seat and closed my eyes.

  “So, how was last night?” Jaelee was not going to let me snooze.

  “It was …” The thought fizzled, because I didn’t know. I hadn’t had time to process everything we’d said, and all the feelings Jean-Luc had aroused in me. Aroused. I wondered how Jaelee would react if I told her it was arousing. A small bark of a laugh escaped me. Oh, God, I needed sleep.

  Jae looked at me expectantly. “It was lovely.” An insipid response, but it was all I had.

  “And?” Geez, Jaelee.

  “And … well, it was completely out of the blue. I mean, when you stopped him in the street, I thought he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. And I mean, he’s just so …” My hands left my lap to gesture exactly how gorgeous Jean-Luc was.

  “He is. He’s definitely ‘just so’…” My annoyance dissolved and we shared a smile. “Yes, and then when we were at the pub and I realised who he was … I mean, it was the most surreal moment of my life. And the whole night I k
ept looking at him trying to see the fifteen-year-old, you know? There were glimpses, but they were eclipsed by him—the man. He’s so, well … manly.”

  “Mmm.”

  I was on a roll, my tiredness forgotten. “We were close, though, when we were teenagers—closer than I was with any of my girlfriends—nearly as close as I was with Sarah—she’s my sister. It was kind of like having this super cool French guy as my brother. In the year he was in Sydney, he spent more time at our house than with his host family. It sucked royally when he went home.”

  “Did you keep in touch?”

  “We did, yes, absolutely. He was a great letter writer—me too. I mean this was, what, ninety-eight? No, ninety-nine, so email was a thing, but back then, we didn’t have the internet at home. And even when we got it, Jean-Luc and I kept writing letters. Some weeks I’d write a little every day, almost like a journal. Then I’d mail it before it got too big to fold.”

  “Huh. So, what are we talking, every month?”

  “Every week.”

  “Seriously? For how long?”

  I thought about Scott’s horrible ultimatum and felt the familiar sting of guilt. “Around four years. We stopped writing when we were nineteen.” I omitted the part about me being a giant cow.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever written to anyone like that, letters or emails. It would be cool to read back over your letters to him, don’t you think?”

  “I guess.”

  “But, hang on. You must have tried to find him on Facebook or Insta or something?”

  “Of course, but do you know how many Jean-Luc Carons there are online? And I could only guess what he looked like as a man—and I obviously had no clue anyway, or I would have recognised him right away.”

  “True. So, did anything happen?” She loaded “happen” with all the meaning it could possibly hold.

  “Last night?” She nodded, a conspiratorial smile on her face. “No.” The smile dissolved. “We talked, caught each other up. He’s been married.” I wasn’t sure why I added the last part.

  “Oh. But divorced now?”

  “Yes. They’re still friends, apparently. Vanessa.” I really wasn’t sure why I’d shared that.

  “Mmm. That ‘still friends with the ex-wife’ thing.”

  “Right?” So that’s why I’d brought it up—to validate my feelings about Vanessa, even though I had no claim on Jean-Luc, or any reason to be jealous that his ex-wife was still on the scene.

  “So, no kiss goodnight?”

  “Do you count kisses on both cheeks?”

  “Uh, in France? No.”

  Then I remembered the forehead kiss. “What about him touching his forehead to mine and then kissing it?”

  Her eyes widened. “He did that?”

  “He did that.”

  “Like a quick smack?” her eyes narrowed, questioningly.

  “No, like softly pressing his lips to my forehead.”

  She fanned herself with her hand. “Well, darlin’” she said with a pretty good Southern accent, “that is something.”

  “Hmm. I thought so. Oh! I almost forgot! He’s coming to Rome. I’m seeing him on Thursday night for dinner.”

  “Way to bury the lead, Cat.”

  “Sorry.” I laughed. “I’ve had four hours of sleep. My brain is a little … you know.”

  “So, again, you’re not pairing up?”

  “Oh, well, maybe. I mean, at the very least I have a date.”

  “With a hot French guy who, apparently, has your heart.”

  “No, he doesn’t …” I stopped myself. Did he? Sure, we’d had a childhood friendship a million years before, but I was madly in lust, that’s all.

  ***

  “Hi, Mum, it’s me.”

  “Who?”

  “Me, Cat.”

  “Oh, Catherine. Hello, love.”

  “Why did you have to ask who I was? There are only two people in the world who call you ‘Mum’.”

  “You and Sarah sound so alike, love.”

  “I’m the one with an English accent.”

  “If you say so.” I was regretting the decision to call my mother during the stop for morning tea, but curiosity is a powerful motivator and talking to Jaelee had got me thinking.

  “All right, Mum, I need a favour.”

  “Where are you calling from?”

  I looked around. I had no idea where we were. It was just some random highway rest stop. Besides, it didn’t matter and I needed to hurry things along—the call was costing me an absolute fortune. I would have used FaceTime, but Mum still didn’t know how.

  “I’m in France, Mum. I told you I was going on a tour. Anyway, I need a favour.”

  “Of course, darling. Do you need money?” Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  “No, Mum. I’m … I have a job. I make money. I just need you to get something from the box in the guest room.”

  “Which box?”

  “The only box I have stored in the wardrobe in the guest room—that box.”

  “Oh, yes, I’ll have a look.” I realised she was about to go and look. “Mum. Wait.”

  “Yes?”

  “Sorry, you don’t need to go look now. Or, you can, but take the phone with you.”

  “Okay.” I could hear her on the move, then a door opened. “Oh yes—the one with all the packing tape on it.”

  “Yes, that’s it. So, in there are some shoeboxes—they’ve got dates on them—and I need you to get the 2004 box out—”

  “Well, your father’s going to have to get the box down, love. I can’t do it.”

  “I know, Mum. I’m just telling you what I need, all right?”

  “Okay, so the box inside the box that has 2004 written on it. What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Inside the 2004 box are letters—they’re in order. I want you to get out the last one.”

  “Okay. Only that one?”

  “Yes. Then send it to me.”

  “Mail it to you?

  “No, sorry, can you scan it and then email it?”

  “Scan it?”

  “Yes, with the scanner in the study.”

  “I think your dad will have to help with that too, Catherine.”

  “All right, Mum. That’s a good idea. And one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s also a smaller box of photos in there—they’re photos of me and Jean-Luc, do you remember him?”

  “Of course, darling. He was like part of the family.”

  “Yes, well, if you could scan one of those too? The one of us at my fifteenth birthday party, if you can find it. If not, any of the others will do.”

  “Sure, darling. Uh, Catherine? Why do you need these? I mean, now. Didn’t you say you’re on a tour?”

  “Yes, yes, I am. But it’s important. I uh …” I was about to tell her I’d seen him, but Lou appeared at my side with two giant takeaway cups of tea. I took mine from her and whispered, “Thanks,” as she tapped her watch at me. It was nearly time to get back on the coach. I held up a finger and she nodded.

  “Mum? I have to go. We’re getting back on the coach. You’ll get Dad to help, right?”

  “Okay, darling. Will do.”

  “Love you.”

  “I love you too, bye.”

  “Bye.” I pocketed my phone. “Thanks for the tea.”

  “No problem.” We started walking back to the coach. “So, you’re fine with me sitting next to Craig for the next leg, yeah?”

  “Of course. Jae’s good company. And, I mean, we’re not Bert and Ernie …”

  “Nice one. Chandler and Joey.” I loved that she got my FRIENDS reference right away. “Anyway, Craig’s got some stuff going on, and I think I may be helping him sort through it.” Louise was a counsellor for troubled teens. Craig was more of a young man than a teenager, and certainly wise beyond his years in many ways, but if anyone on the tour was going to help him, it was Lou.

  “No, no, it’s totally fine. I get it. As long as we
still get to sleep together.”

  “Did you just hear yourself?”

  “I did, yes.” She laughed and nudged me with her shoulder, almost toppling me. She was quite a bit taller than me. “Yes, yes, leave me alone. I barely slept, you know.” She climbed on the coach ahead of me, just as Georgina caught my arm.

  “Um, Catherine, can I talk to you for a moment?”

  “Sure.”

  She walked a few steps away from the coach door and I followed. She turned towards me and in a hushed voice said, “It’s about last night.”

  “Oh. Yes?”

  “It really is best for you to ride back with the group at the end of the night.” Was she kidding? I searched her face for any signs of mirth. She wasn’t kidding.

  “Did the girls tell you I had a ride?” I was sure they had, but I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Yes, they did, but still …” Still, what? Resentment bubbled up in my veins. I was a paying customer and a grown-up, and I was at least five years older than her—maybe more—but she was telling me off like I was a naughty schoolgirl. My mind flashed to the first day of the tour when she’d shushed us with her teacher look.

  She was clearly waiting for me to say something. I had a choice: tick off the tour manager or get her back onside. “Well, good to know. I will keep that in mind. Thank you, Georgina. If that’s all?” Without waiting for her reply, I turned sharply, stomped to the coach and climbed aboard.

  I never was one to take the easier path.

  I sat down heavily next to Jaelee. “Do I want to know?” she asked in a low voice.

  “We don’t like Georgina,” I replied.

  I got the sense that Jae could—and would—turn “mean girl” with me, no questions asked.

  “Got it,” she replied. See?

  “So, did you talk to Dani?” The coach pulled away from the rest stop and I sipped my tea. Calm and happiness spread through me along with the warmth of the liquid—yes, really. Tea is magic like that.

  “Briefly. I think it’s on with Jason.”

  I leant into the aisle to peek at the Kiwi four-pack, singling out the tallest one. “He is cute.”

  “He seems okay.”

  At that exact moment, Dani laughed at something he’d said, touched his arm, and batted her eyelashes at him. Flirting 101.

  “Dani seems to think he’s more than ‘okay’.”