‘Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. It’s already gone six isn’t it? I think I’ll tuck down for the night once I’ve had this.’ Nan sipped her tea again. Her eyes really did look tired. ‘Besides I’m still full, from lunch. Olivier came by like you said, and he’d made this soup – you could stand your spoon up in it. Delicious. I think he’s left more of it in the fridge.’
‘Oh?’ Ash’s heart did a little flip. ‘That was sweet of him.’ And so typical, to go the extra mile.
‘Yes. Very kind. He’s a nice boy. Shame he doesn’t live here permanently.’
And just like that Ash’s heart crashed like a gymnast whose somersault was completely mistimed. Splat.
No, he wouldn’t be staying, but did that mean it wouldn’t work out for them? He’d said on the beach about visiting more often. That really, France wasn’t that far.
But was that truly how things would play out? It would be expensive and difficult for him to travel all the time because he worked such long hours at the restaurant, and she couldn’t really afford it, not until she got that job she hadn’t even identified yet.
Did long distanceeverwork? I mean, look at her mother – and they were related. Inextricably linked forever, the fruit of her loins, and yet, the call of her other life was always stronger than her desire to see Ash. Too busy with her audition to even call back when her daughter said it was urgent. It was coming up to forty-eight hours since she’d left that message.
And would it be any different for Olivier? How would there ever be space for Ash in his busy world full of restaurants and Paris city life, and beautiful, cultured women? Would she be doomed to spend even more of her time checking her phone to see if the person she wanted to hear from had responded yet? Her heart leaping at every notification sound and splintering again when she found it wasn’t from them.
‘You could invite him over for the evening. I won’t disturb you.’
‘Maybe.’ Ash forced a smile and they chatted some more about the neighbours’ comings and goings, and how work on Beth’s wedding dress was going. When they’d finished their tea, she shut the curtains for her nan and went to get changed out of her elf costume.
Snuggled into a thick jumper and stretchy jeans, she went out into the garden to sit on the old swing in the corner. She’d spent days and days every summer out here – even when she was a teenager. It was so freeing to be weightless, watching the world slide by, rocking back and forth, legs stretching for the sky and then falling away again, only to get the chance to try once more, and maybe get even higher.
As she swung she could see the light from the back of Olivier’s house just peeking over the fence but only the top edge of the kitchen door. Not enough to see if he really was in there. She stopped kicking her legs and let the swing settle back down to a gentle rock. Should she knock and invite him over? Or should she just leave it?
Then she heard it. Singing. Soft and quick and happy, but she couldn’t make out the words. She got up and went closer to the fence, listening with her ears even as her heart was what seemed to open up and flood with feeling at the noise. Olivier was singing in French. It was so rare to hear him speaking it. His English was impeccable really – she almost forgot he was bilingual.
She would have thought this obvious reminder of where he really lived would bum her out even more, but it was too lovely. His lilting accent was even more breathy and expressive in his – well, not his mother tongue – his father’s tongue.
Pulling a garden chair up to the fence, the way they had done the other day, she climbed up and waited until he stopped singing. She could see him moving around the kitchen – washing up at the sink it looked like – and she called out to him.
He looked up instantly and a smile broke out over his face as he saw her through the window. He came out, wiping his hands on a tea towel and then slinging it over his shoulder as he stood beneath her on his side of the fence. He was that much taller now and he didn’t really need to step up on a chair.
‘Are you here to complain about the noise? You caught me singing.’
‘No. I’m not here to complain. Thank you for checking on Nan today.’ And no matter the wariness that was creeping in around her, she couldn’t help but ask: ‘Would you like to come over for dinner?’
‘I’ll be over in ten minutes.’
