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‘Riz au lait, monsieur,’ she said, ‘façon grand-mère.’
Harry wasn’t sure if that meant her grandmother was actually in the kitchen stirring a pot of rice pudding, but dammit, it smelled good. He raised another spoon. Soup, then stew, then milky pudding – was Noémie mocking him, he wondered. Hardly. Anyway, did it matter?
The screen on his phone lit up.
You’re wrong. Our first date we went to seeFatal Attraction.
She was right; of course she was. He was pleased that she remembered, at least. She’d hated that movie. She’d accused him of attempting to terrorise her into clinging to him. She was right about that, too; it was a fair accusation.
But the dress?
Yes, Harry. You’re right about the dress.
That was the thing about Nancy: she was fair, always fair, right up to the day when she told him he’d broken her heart. She’d stood at the kitchen counter and said she wanted out, just out, and not a cent of his Goddamned, lousy, stinking money.
He typed again.
Nancy, I’m sorry.
Her reply was instantaneous.
Sorry aboutFatal Attraction? I forgive you.
I’m sorry I ever let you go.
Three dots blinked on his screen. She was .?.?.typing, which he took to mean .?.?.thinking. The dots disappeared. He put his phone down on the table and finished his pudding. He hadn’t expected this interaction with Nancy; it wasn’t part of his strategy. He was unsure how much to risk.
Maybe thinking was the enemy. He grabbed the phone and typed.
I wish you were here.
Where?
Paris.
Nice.
VERY! Will you come?
.?.?.
He watched the three dots blinking. It was possible. He’d bring her here, to this exact table. And Noémie would be charming, because Nancy did that: she brought out the best in people. And the food and the wine would be a buffer between them. And Nancy would sit back in her chair and watch people, then lean forwards conspiratorially and share her deductions on who was secretly in love with whom. And he would let his leg press against hers beneath the table. And—
Harry, we burned our bridges.
Noémie placed a short coffee and a glass of calvados on the table. Harry drank the coffee. He picked up the calvados and swirled it so that the liquid painted amber waves up the sides of the glass. He wasn’t supposed to drink spirits. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t supposed to drink any alcohol at all. It didn’t combine well with the cocktail of pills his doctor had prescribed.
‘Fuck it,’ he muttered, raising his glass to the room at large, and knocked it back.
In Search of a Spectacular View
Giving them each a curt nod, their waitress firmly closed the door behind them. Claire was giggling as she buttoned her coat.
‘She was a bit scary.’
‘I was afraid she’d give out to me if I didn’t eat all my cabbage,’ said Ronan. ‘It was good though.’
‘It was a real treat. Thank you.’
