‘I lost my best friend, Nancy, a long time ago. Her husband Tom found and moved in with someone else only months after she died. I couldn’t make sense of it, but his theory was: don’t dwell on the past, be grateful for every moment, and take whatever opportunity comes your way. Tom was able to let go without forgetting.’
‘Admirable, but not possible for this chap,’ says Frank, his military demeanour returning. But there’s something in his eye, a look of curiosity that makes me wonder if his heart isn’t quite in sync with his words.
‘I’m inclined to think I’ll be more in your camp than Tom’s,’ I say, the impending loss of my darling Bill still utterly incomprehensible.
‘Time is still on your side,’ he says, and he tenderly places his hand over mine and gives it a warm-hearted squeeze.
‘Indeed,’ I reply, glad of Frank’s friendship.
Gingerly, he pours me another cup of coffee and then, with another clearing of his throat says, ‘I must thank you for enabling me to speak about Lillian. There are very few people I feel comfortable talking to about her.’
‘That must have been a heavy burden to carry by yourself all these years,’ I reply, grateful for his kind words which give me a boost of confidence, the reassurance that the decision to try a counselling course is the right one.
‘In my day that’s what people did – all of us were“closed books”. But I see now that it’s good to talk, that others inevitably understand much of what you’ve been through. No man lives without suffering.’
‘How true that is,’ I say, thinking of all the loss I’ve known over the years. ‘If only there were a way to live without it.’
‘What is it they say: we can only know good times through knowing the bad.’
‘Or as Marleen said, “From the mud the lotus grows”,’ I say, wondering how any good will come from the inevitable loss of my beloved Bill, and how I’ll ever manage to let go.
30.
CARLY
Mum and Elsa aren’t at breakfast when I arrive, so I ask the waiter for a table just for one. He shows me to a table for two by a window in the marble and wood-panelled restaurant. Having ordered avocado on toast and a detox juice, I sit and stare out over the courtyard, nursing a cup of coffee which is warm and soothing in my hands, a welcome moment of calm after the busyness of the night before.
Watching the morning light on the maple trees and listening to the birds chirruping in the greenery, I think about that moment with Flynn beneath the Eiffel Tower, the intrigue, the sizzle between us despite his angles, and how I can’t quite compute then meeting Georgia in the hotel bar. And I think too of Nicolas and how comfortable I am with him, how last night I might have kissed him, even if I’m not quite as attracted to him physically as I am to Flynn. And then I remember the dispute between them, Flynn tight as a knot, Nicolas loose as slack rope. I wonder what itwas about, if it was something to do with now or something from their past.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ sings Daisy, arriving with Joe at the table next to mine.
‘I was thinking about Nicolas,’ I answer, a half-truth, curious to know what he’s up to this morning. After he went into the café, and Mum came to join me, I didn’t see him again. I keep thinking about what he said about slowing down,Art de Vivre, and how incredible it would be to let go of the race, and just be. I find myself wondering if that’s something I could do with him.
‘Uh,barking,wrongandtreeare the words that spring to mind,’ says Daisy.
Joe kicks her gently under the table.
‘What about Flynn?’ she asks.
I roll my eyes to the ceiling. ‘Not happening, ever.’
‘How come? Flynn’s way hotter than Nicolas; right, Joe?’
Joe holds up his hands to saykeep me out of this, then buries his head in the menu.
I explain about the near-kiss under the Eiffel Tower, the partner at the hotel bar, and then his ignoring me last night at the café, how confusing it all is, how cross I feel. And I explain too about Nicolas, how much I like his authenticity, his composure, and the fact we share an obvious love of literature.
‘And get this,’ I say, referring to Flynn. ‘Mymum andhisdad know each other from thirty years ago. They had a thing, here in Paris, for twenty-four hours.’
‘Oh my God! How dreamy is that?’ says Daisy,fanning herself with the menu, clearly not taking on board the part about Flynn having a partner. ‘You guys aresomeant to get together. This istotallythe universe talking to you.’
‘It’stotallythe opposite, Daisy,’ I say firmly, but inside I’m laughing at how Jude would no doubt be telling me exactly the same thing were she here, if she hadn’t been completely seduced herself by Nicolas’s French-ness.
‘Tell her, Joe.’
Joe puts down his menu. ‘It is a crazy coincidence, andmaybea bit weird too.’
This time it’s Daisy who kicks Joe under the table.
