Chapter Ten
Olivier – 36 Tilgate Road, Brighton
Olivier woke up late the following morning, his mouth dry and the faint press of a hangover behind his eyes.
When he got downstairs there was a note from his maman propped up against the fruit bowl in the centre of the kitchen table, along with an array of trays and moulds and thermometers.
Left you to sleep as you obviously had such a fun night out! :) Thought you might like to see the equipment you already have to play with to build the display for the shop. If there’s anything missing, I’ll put you in touch with my mould designer. Enjoy your day tinkering (or not if you had other plans.) See you later. xxx
Tinkering? Tinkeringdidsound like a fun way to pass the day.
Outside he could hear occasionally passing traffic but no voices. Once again he savoured the quiet. Even though he’d slept for a long time, he still felt tired, as though now his body had a taste of rest, it wanted more. At his papa’s restaurant – like most restaurants – the hours were long. Early mornings, late nights. Sometimes no more than one day off out of seven.
He moved slowly around the kitchen, still in his pyjamas, making coffee, as he figured out where his maman kept everything in her fridge and pantry, and then pulled himself together a croque-monsieur, with added mushrooms. Gooey cheese, chewy mushrooms, crisp bread and salty, thick-cut ham were the perfect thing to soak up any lingering alcohol and it was refreshing to be able to cook at his own pace. So much of service felt like a race being run in a gear that surpassed ordinary thinking speed. When he’d started work in the kitchen it had been an adrenalin rush, but he supposed he was long past the excitement of it now.
He’d just finished eating and started looking over the moulds – there was everything from small silicone ones with inset shapes, to large heavy-base Easter-egg-shaped ones – when his phone rang, breaking the silence. He had to race upstairs, hampered by his full stomach, to grab it.
‘Hey. Are you coming out tonight?’ His friend Bertrand’s voice greeted him.
‘Not with you, I’m in England.’ Olivier laughed and moved back downstairs again to grab his coffee.
‘Noway. I thought for sure Auguste would convince you to stick around until Christmas.’
The casual acceptance that his papa bossed him around jarred him – even though Augustewashis boss. ‘Really? You thought he wouldn’t approve the holiday?’ He forced his shoulders to relax and pulled his chair out at the kitchen table, propping his feet on the other one.
‘Well, sure. When was the last time you got away? We should have gone on that trip I suggested after your divorce. You were sorely in need of a bachelor’s break.’
‘You weren’t a bachelor.’
‘No, but I could have been your wingman. And now look, your first opportunity to get away and you’ve had to go visit yourmaman. No opportunities to get back on the horse there.’
‘The horse?’
‘Dating.’
‘Oh.’ Olivier took a loud slurp of coffee. ‘How does dating even work these days anyway?’
‘This is precisely my point. You weren’t married that long, Oli.’ Bertrand burst out laughing. ‘I’ve had relationships with stale baguettes that have lasted longer.’
‘Thank you for that,’ Olivier said dryly.
‘I’m sorry. It’s just so frustrating to see you mooning around like a wounded puppy when…’
‘When what?’
‘Well…when Nancy is not doing that.’
Olivier ran his index finger along the smooth slope of the coffee cup’s handle. He waited to feel something, anything, about the revelation that his ex was out there living her love life to the fullest. But…he felt nothing. And, of course, it wasn’t really a revelation. ‘I wouldn’t expect her to be. That’s the reason we’re apart after all.’ He stood up abruptly and took his cup to the sink, cradling his phone in the crook of his neck while he washed the cup for an unnecessary length of time. ‘And I’m readjusting to being single because of it.’
‘You know what would help you to readjust to being single?’
‘What’s that?’ Olivier placed the mug on the draining board and dried his hands on a towel, the scent of lemon washing-up liquid wafting up to him.
‘Seeing other people. Or maybe even just grab a girl for a kiss under some mistletoe or something.’
Olivier laughed and shook his head. ‘I donotgrab women and force them to kiss me because of a poisonous plant.’
‘Such standards for someone who hasn’t got laid in eighteen months.’
