‘Right,’ she says, but I can tell her guard’s up, something Carly has always been prone to, particularly with men.‘I’d just like to know a bit more – the company he works for, the other authors, other than Christopher Rose.’
Carly pulls her phone out from the pocket of her jeans, types and reads, taps the screen countless more times and eventually puts it back where it came from.
‘Satisfied?’ I ask, assuming she’s been cyber-stalking him.
‘I couldn’t find much,’ she shrugs, then says grudgingly, ‘He’s Head of Events at a big company split between London and here. Their socials are full of publicity for the book train, the authors are stellar. It looks legit.’
‘So, there you go, just as he said,’ I say, carrying a tower of cookbooks to the back to begin inserting them alphabetically. Carly purses her lips.
‘I guess it would be great to meet some new people, maybe make some contacts that might lead to work. And I suppose we were talking this morning about you having more fun and getting ideas from the places you like to visit. You do love Paris. You always get that faraway look in your eye when anyone mentions it.’
‘What faraway look?’ I laugh performatively, not realising until now that Carly had noticed. Trying to act natural, I return to the front and reach for a plastic bag on the floor.
‘Ever since I was little . . .’ she begins, and though I can hear her continuing, all my senses are suddenly drawn to a book I’ve just lifted out of the bag.
The rich red leather with dark inlay transports me back, over thirty years, to twenty-four hours in Paris. I’d been to Shakespeare and Company and bought a copy ofThe Hunchback of Notre-Dame, which I’d planned to read in cafés around the city. But almost as soon as I left the bookshop, I struck up a conversation with a young man on the steps of Notre-Dame, and all plans to read were lost.
In truth, the book looks like a thousand others of its age but there’s something about it, so worn and soft, that causes my heart to pump a little faster. I turn the spine towards me. My heart skips a beat when I see the familiar gold print ofThe Hunchback of Notre-Dame.
‘It can’t be,’ I breathe, tentatively opening the cover to the title page. And there, my hands shaking, between the translation credit and the publisher’s logo, are the words:
Alistair,
Que sera, sera!
Bisous,
Fran
It’s as if the Leith river has broken its banks and swept me up and away in a torrent of memories that leads me straight to Sacré Coeur, kissing Alistair, under the moon, and feeling as if all my dreams had come true. I think of the times I’ve wondered about the man I let go all those years ago, and questioned how my life might have been had I chosen to exchange contact details with him.How on earth has this same copy found its way here?
I’m lost in the shock of it all when I hear Carly say, ‘Hi Dad.’
Her words cause me to snap the book closed and place it on the table with the others, a wave of guilt surging through me.
‘Was someone in the shop a moment ago?’ Robin asks Carly, barely looking at me.
Carly tells him about Flynn, and the book train to Paris.
‘You should both go,’ he says, not stopping to think about it. ‘It’s a great opportunity for you to do a bit of passion finding, Carly, and Fran, it might give you the headspace you need to get over your block.’
Even though I agree with him, an irrational wave of anger rises inside me, hurt that he’s so keen to get rid of me, and that he doesn’t stop to consider that it might be better for Carly to go alone so that we can stay home and work out what’s wrong with our marriage.
I want to show him the book and say how guilty I feel, to have passionate memories of someone other than him. How all I long for is to be visible again, for us to love each other as deeply as we used to, before blame and resentment crept in.
‘You’re so right, Dad. What was I thinking!’ says Carly, always so easily persuaded by Robin, something I’ve always envied. ‘It’ll be a great opportunity to network and promote the bookshop, plus I can look out for Mum at the same time.’
‘I’m really not in need of a chaperone,’ I snap, instantly regretting my choice of word.
‘Come on, Mum. We have to do this,’ says Carly, ignoring my outburst, her eyes lit up in a way I haven’t seen for a long while. Robin hugs her side on, both of them waiting for my response. I want desperately for him to say,You go, Carly, let your mum and me stay here, but he doesn’t.
From the corner of my eye,The Hunchback of Notre-Dameinvites me to revisit my past, to remind myself ofhow it felt to be seen. In that moment, all the other reasons to go flash in front of me too: time with Carly, income, contacts and inspiration, and the decision makes itself.
‘You’re right, let’s do it,’ I reply, and Robin high-fives Carly, barely managing a smile for me.
6.
ELSA
