Page 191 of The Stranger

“I don’t keep them.” My answer is choppy and halting.

“Brutal.” She reaches for her water glass. “The man is obviously obsessed.”

I snort. “Not even.”

I’m out to lunch with my sister who is approximately 97 weeks pregnant. And while I can’t believe I’m initiating this conversation with her, I know I need to speak to someone about Luc. I’m weakening and I know I shouldn’t!

Not that I’ve seen the man since he turned up at the hospital with his apologies and his words of love. Oh, I’ve received plenty of flowers and prettily worded notes, but that’s the extent of his reappearance in my life. Unless, of course, you count how he seems to be on my mind all of the time. And that I am not happy about.

I mean, was it not torturous enough to make me love him, that he had to come back into my life to remind me of the things I like about him when I’m busy? Busy trying to learn how to unlove him?

“So flowers. After he just… turned up at the hospital?”

“Without a word of warning and pretending to be lovesick.” I pull the crust from the garlic bread. “Maybe I should’ve just called security.”

“Don’t eat all that. I ordered it for the baby.”

“The baby wants garlic bread?” I pull a doubtful face as my gaze drops to her rotund stomach, sitting above the waistband of her leggings and under a bright red T-shirt. She reminds me of Winnie the Pooh, not that I dare say so.

“Yes, this baby wants garlic bread. And an ice cream afterwards. She’s a very hungry bubba. She also wants sushi, a wedge of Brie as big as her mama’s head, and a margarita that comes in a glass the size of a bucket. But she’ll have to wait for all that, won’t she?”

“Until she’s at least ten.”

“Only for the margarita.” She gives a sly smile as she reaches for her water glass. “So what I’m hearing is you took my advice and had a holiday fling with la billionaire bleu. Thanks for the news. The belated news.”

“You’re welcome.” A whole world of discomfort swims through my answer. I’m not big on sharing. I shove the chunk of garlic bread in my mouth.

“But ohmygod!” she says, leaning in, all big eyes and entertainment. “He is well fit, Prim. What did I tell you about older men!” She holds up her hand for a high-five.

“I can’t believe I expected sensible advice from you,” I lie, as my hand meets hers, my lips twitching with a smile. Lavender’s advice is usually blunt but very good.

“Down to business, then.” She grabs a fry from my plate and pops it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before beginning again. “It was only meant to be a summer fling but you both caught feelings.”

“Catching feelings is worse than catching herpes. At least for herpes you can prescribe an antiviral.” I put my elbow on the table and my head to my fist.

“I thought herpes was incurable?”

“It is.”

“Well, so is love,” she says, sounding exactly like our mum. “Moving away from the delightful topic of STDs.” She gives a heavy frown. “I take it you’ve come back to London because of your job and your amazingly wonderful family. Not to mention, you need to be here to meet the newest edition.” Her fingers gravitate to her bump. I’m not even sure she realizes how often it happens. “And now he’s what? Love bombing you now that you’re not together? Trying to win you over just so he can keep you dangling?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s it. Other than that day at work, I haven’t seen him. He hasn’t contacted me. He isn’t pressuring me. Just sending me flowers with these insanely lovely messages.” I put my elbow to the table and sigh.

“Printed or…?”

“Handwritten.” One shoulder lifts and falls. “He must’ve bulk-written them or something because he must be back in Paris by now.” And the kids will be in school.

Today’s arrangement included hellebores, blue delphiniums, white anemones, and a couple of sprigs of rosemary and was addressed, as usual to ‘his heart’.

Mon cœur,

Hellebores provide hope in the darkest season, and delphiniums represent an open heart.

Anemones are for forsaken love and rosemary is for remembrance.

I remember everything, and I deeply regret how I made you feel forsaken.

Despite the season your loss has left me in, my heart remains open.