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‘Well, she was an excellent teacher. Cheers.’ Rachel touched her paper cup against Lucy’s. ‘Where are you from?’
‘London originally. Born and bred. But I’ve been in France since I was a teenager.’
‘What brought you here?’
‘Oh, you know,family.’ Lucy took a sip of her wine and then cocked the paper cup towards Rachel. ‘What about you? Do you live here?’
‘No. No. I live in London. I’m just …’ She licked her lips quickly. ‘Having a break by myself. This time last year I was on honeymoon. Now I’m separated. Just fancied getting away from reality for a few days.’
‘Funny,’ replied Lucy. ‘How people think that this isn’t reality.’ She gestured around the square. ‘When every inch of it to me is nothing but.’
‘Yeah. I guess. I mean, this …’ Rachel pointed at her violin, resting in its box. ‘Is this a lifestyle choice for you? Or is it …’
‘Necessity? Yes. It’s necessity. Believe me. I would much rather be wrapped up snug somewhere now in a lovely apartment with a TV and a fire and money in the bank. This …’ She sighed. ‘This was not a plan. Nope. This was not a plan.’
‘So, you’re a single mother?’
‘Yes. Yes, I am. Didn’t expect to be. But there you go.’
‘What happened to their fathers?’
‘Well, one up and disappeared. Left me in a flat in L’Ariane with six months of unpaid rent. The other—’
Rachel watched her face, keenly, painfully.
‘The other was – well, he was the worst person in the world.’
A muscle twitched in Rachel’s cheek. ‘God. Really. In what way?’
‘Well, just in the usual ways in which some men are the worst people in the world. You know.’
Rachel looked into Lucy’s eyes. She saw a chink of fear, a chink of pain.
‘You mean he hit you?’ She mouthed this so that the children would not hear.
Lucy nodded, her eyes flicking to her children and back.
‘How many years?’
‘A few. Long enough. Too long. You know.’
‘Yes,’ said Rachel. ‘Yes. I do know. My ex, he didn’t actually …’ She mouthedhit me. ‘But he was violent. In other ways. And if I’d stayed longer, it would only have been a matter of time.’
Lucy nodded, her eyes wide. Rachel saw tears shimmering on their surfaces and then Lucy clutched Rachel’s arm and squeezed it. Rachel looked down at Lucy’s hand and blinked. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ she said. ‘For you? For your children?’
‘Oh. God. No. You’ve been more than generous. But thank you.’
Rachel opened up her handbag and pulled out her purse. She slid out two more twenty-euro notes. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Take these. Go home. Order a pizza. Get the kids into bed. Take the night off. It’s getting cold.’
Lucy gazed at the two notes for a few seconds. Rachel expected her to push them away, but she didn’t. She took them and she put them in her pocket. Then she wiped some tears from her cheek with the back of her hand before pulling back her shoulders, picking up her violin and saying, ‘I’ll play a song for you. Any song you like. Just name it.’
Rachel sank her hands into her pockets and breathed in hard to control a wave of tears.
‘For us?’ she asked.
‘Yes. For us.’
Rachel thought for a moment, cast her eyes to the sky, looked back at Lucy and said, ‘How about “Firework”? Katy Perry?’
Lucy nodded. Knowingly. Then she put her bow to the strings and played and for three minutes Rachel stood and listened, tears coursing down her cheeks, the lyrics playing silently inside her head, overwhelmed by the sense for the first time in months that she was not alone in this world.
