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Tuscany
We arrive back at the castle just before six, Sarah and Josh having eaten three plates of food between them, and Sarah insisting on stocking up on late-night snacks?just in case?wine, and several days’ worth of breakfasts before making our way back. That meant buying out most of the enoteca and then heading back through the town to the supermarket?away from the castle.
By the time we unload the shopping, I am starting to feel the exhaustion of the day’s travel, though I say nothing, as Sarah will likely give me a serve, having been in transit for thirty hours.
It was quite a day, however?an early morning flight from Heathrow to Milan, which meant up and out of the flat by 5:00am, collect our luggage in Milan, store our luggage at the airport, then a cab to the consulate for my appointment?thank goodness they weren’t running too far behind, so it took less than an hour?then a cab back to the airport, collect and recheck the luggage, grab a quick lunch from the Milanese equivalent of Pret, and back on an aeroplane.
But I have all my paperwork now and this marriage will be legal in the UK, Australia, and France. At that last thought, my stomach clenches. Being married to a Frenchman makes it a lot easier to move to Paris than not being married to a Frenchman, and one of my reasons for not moving there will vanish in a week’s time.
Hello, my name is Catherine Parsons and I am about to marry the love of my life and we still don’t live in the same country.
Pathetic. No doubt there are hundreds?no, thousands?of women and men who, given the chance to live in a beautiful apartment in the eighteenth arrondissement of Paris with Jean-Luc, possibly the most perfect man ever born, would leap at it. But Paris, with all its beauty and culture and the incredible food … it’s not home. And I know deep within my heart that it never will be. I will never belong, I will never feel at ease as I traipse about Paris doing normal, everyday things, and Jean-Luc’s family …
Well, that’s a whole other thing.
I’m now convinced they hate me?well except Louis, Jean-Luc’s brother-in-law and his nieces, Abigail and Alice. Only, two of my allies aren’t coming to the wedding. Cécile didn’t want the girls to miss any school, which is ridiculous?they’re five and seven, not about to sit their A-levels, for crying out loud. And I doubt her decision had anything to do with their schooling. She just wants to punish me.
Beware Cat Parsons?shrill Englishwoman, poor second to perfect Vanessa, and evil thief of precious son and brother, Jean-Luc. She’ll steal him away and make him sever all ties with us forever!
His family has become a firm mark in the ‘Please, can we not move to France?’ column.
And even though I continue to (outwardly) extoll the virtues of London?it is my home?I don’t feel any less anxious when I think of Jean-Luc moving there to be with me. I’ve never lived with my significant other before?I’ve barely even had a significant other before Jean-Luc?and I am fairly certain I will make a mess of it and be divorced within a year. That’s if he’d even agree to live in London. Any time our marital home comes up it’s Paris, Paris, Paris.
So, even though my fiancé has broached the topic numerous times, I’ve (barely just) managed to put him off. Even poor Jane still doesn’t know if she is going to live with a married couple or whether she’ll need to find a new flatmate.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
These thoughts consume me as I watch Sarah and Josh assemble a platter of food?how are they still hungry??uncork some wine, and set up on the balcony to watch the sunset with Jean-Luc.
Actually, that could be rather nice?sipping wine while watching a Tuscan sunset. And a good distraction. But first, I need to shake off this fatigue. ‘Lovelies,’ I say, slipping past them and heading towards our room, ‘do you mind if I freshen up a bit before joining you?’ Perhaps a shower will rejuvenate my waning energy. There’s an array of affirmative responses and I disappear inside.
Now, as soon as Sarah arrives at her destination, she likes to nest?unpacking and arranging everything just so. I am the opposite, the type of traveller who literally lives out of her suitcase. On the few occasions we’ve travelled together?and every time I’ve visited her in Sydney?it drives my sister bonkers. But I stand firm that a little chaos when you travel is one of the best parts?who wants everything to be as orderly as it is back home?
Tonight, however, as I rifle through my luggage seeking out my toiletries bag and something more casual to wear than my travel clothes, I make a sickening discovery.
‘Sarah!’ My sister comes in from the balcony, swatting at the gauzy curtains before emerging fully into the room.
‘What’s up?’
‘Did you see a garment bag when we unloaded the car?’ Do not panic?it’s here somewhere, I tell myself. My stomach ignores the instruction, spasming.
‘Um, there’s the one we brought with us?with Josh’s suit and my dress.’
‘Jean-Luc!’
‘Oui, chérie.’ He appears at the doorway, followed closely by Josh.
‘My garment bag.’ The way the thoughts flicker across his face is almost comical. Only this is not a comical moment. He starts looking about the room.
‘I’ll check the car,’ says Josh, rushing past me. I’m vaguely cognisant of the front door opening, so intense is the roaring in my ears. Jean-Luc is looking under the bed now and I want to snap at him to stop, because why would we slide a garment bag under the bed? Sarah does a cursory look about the room, then steps close and rubs my arm, the universal sign for ‘everything’s gone to shit, poor you’. Oh, god.
‘Not in the car,’ says Josh, returning slightly out of breath. Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god.
‘Do you remember us having it at Heathrow or on the aeroplane?’ I ask Jean-Luc, rising panic strangling my voice. His face is blank and so are my thoughts. Did we have it with us when we checked in? Bugger! I can’t remember?it was far too early in the morning.
Maybe I left it at home?that’s it! It’s got to be. ‘Jane!’ I say so suddenly that the others start. I delve into my handbag for my phone, sit on the bed and, fingers shaking, call her. She’s coming for the wedding and can bring it with her. As I wait for her to pick up, relief and anxiousness fight for dominance.
‘Hi, love,’ she says.
