Chapter Thirty-Six
Tuesday 17th December
Olivier – Haut Marais, Paris
It was for the best, Olivier supposed. He’d kept letting the immediate thing that he wanted in the present – to be with Ashleigh – get in the way of what was fair. He’d hadn’t even said that he was definitely going back to Paris early, just that his papa wanted him to, but her reaction had told him everything he needed to know. He’d practically seen the shields go up around her. She didn’t want something long distance. All she’d ever had was bad experiences of them.
He’dknownthat. She’d known that. Even her grandmere had warned him of it. So here they were, right where they all had expected to be really.
And he was doing what he was expected to do. What his papa wanted him to do. It would be selfish otherwise wouldn’t it? To leave his papa trying to run the restaurant short-staffed.
So, he spent all of Tuesday in the back of the chocolate shop, removing the display figures from their moulds, warming their edges to make seamless joins as he pressed them together to create the different buildings, piping special details onto them, and giving his maman very specific instructions about how to lay it all out within the window. The atmosphere hadn’t been filled with the same laughter and lightness. He wasn’t happy that he wouldn’t get to see it be revealed but what would be the point?
Putting it together had been a dream really. One where he got to fill his days experimenting with food and spending time with friends and family he had missed.
It was time to leave dreams behind him and go back to living his life in Paris.
Celeste had brought him a bag of presents for Christmas from her and Tante Ruby. She’d hugged him goodbye, joking that she had been hoping he’d be able to come up with an ingenious way of making a meal that would actually taste of Christmas dinner for the first time in the years since her accident. He had wanted to do that for her too.
But there would be other Christmases, he supposed, like his maman had said. If he was lucky.
At 8pm on Wednesday, Olivier parked his car in the underground parking lot closest to his apartment in Paris and then sat in the dark. It felt like the whole journey had been done in the dark. Icy rain had been falling since he left England. As much as he’d wanted to go out on the deck of the ferry, he’d been confined to the fluorescent lights of the inside, mindlessly wandering around the duty-free shop in a half-hearted attempt to start his Christmas shopping.
He hadn’t bought anything, and now the thought of going up to his solitary apartment held zero appeal. What was his other option? Go straight around to Auguste at the restaurant and see how it was faring?
No. He didn’t want to do that either.
He got out the car, pulled his coat on and heading in the direction of Bertrand’s house. What were best friends for if you couldn’t turn up unannounced, soaking wet and in a foul mood? At least he knew that by the time he got there, Bertrand’s little girl would be tucked up in bed and not traumatised by the sight of jolly Uncle Oli, scowling.
Bertrand opened the door to his apartment, holding a corkscrew and still in the suit he wore to the office, albeit with the shirt rumpled and half untucked. ‘You’re not meant to be back yet.’
Olivier winced. ‘I’m not interrupting date night am I?’
‘No. Adele is out. I’ve just survived the trauma of putting my daughter to bed. She never wants to sleep, and it’sallI want to do these days.’ He laughed. ‘So, what are you doing here?’ He waved Olivier inside. ‘Why am I even asking that? He got you to come back didn’t he?’
Once Olivier was inside, sitting in front of the fire, coat off and Bertrand’s cat on his lap, his best friend passed him a glass of wine. ‘You look different. I can’t put my finger on it. Your face is…odd.’
‘Maybe it’s because I’m pissed off.’
‘Oh damn. You’re right. That’s it. I mean, it’s about time, but what about specifically?’
‘About the fact he clicked his fingers and I came running. Even though I’m not going to get to see my chocolate display be revealed. And I’m not going to get to spend Christmas with Maman.’ Olivier threw some of the red wine down his throat and sighed. He wasn’t even going to mention Ashleigh. That wasn’t his papa’s fault really. ‘And I’m not going to get to take her toCasablancaat the cinema next week like I planned. It’s one of her favourites.’
‘Hmm, it is a good film.’ Bertrand took a quiet sip of wine. ‘She would have liked that I’m sure.’
‘And I’m not going to get to see my cousin’s little boy have his first Christmas. Or to celebrate when my friend Romesh and his husband finally get approved for adoption.’
‘If—’
‘They will. The universe is broken if they don’t.’
Bertrand grunted. ‘I hope you’re right. That’s a lot of lovely stuff you gave up. Why? Do you care about what your father wants more than what you want? Do you care about the restaurant that much?’
‘No.’ Olivier took a deep breath as the honesty in that one word hit him hard. ‘No. Idon’tcare about the restaurant, at all. It’s a good restaurant, and it ticks the box of working with food, but I haven’t missed it one tiny bit. That’s so selfish isn’t it?’
Bertrand made a noise in his throat that neither confirmed nor denied his agreement. He crossed his legs, linking his fingers as though he was a psychiatrist. ‘And what about your father? Did you miss him?’
Olivier stroked the cat firmly, long rhythmic strokes that elicited a purr from the animal to fill the silence. He thought about the phone calls he’d dodged. He thought about the way he had been avoiding giving Auguste an answer about the promotion and the way that his thoughts and feelings about what happened with Nancy had all came up to the surface. How he’d most likely acted out of misguided rebellion and then ended up hurting himself and her. Maybe. But all his papa could say about it was ‘good riddance’ and ‘I told you so’ and how Olivier hadn’t dared to contradict him since and that appeared to be just the way Auguste liked it.
