After a few minutes of soothing back pats and a wad of wet tissues, Dani’s tears started to subside.
“Dani, we’re all so sorry.” Jaelee and Lou nodded in camaraderie. “Look, Lou and I were going to skip the group dinner tonight. Why don’t you and Jae come out with us? We’ll find a nice little bistro, have some delicious food and some wine, and you can bitch about Nathalie all you want.”
She snuffled and wiped her nose again. She nodded. “Okay.” Not quite over the moon, but it was a start.
“So, is there a reason for skipping the group dinner?” Jae looked at me over Dani’s head.
“Tip from my sis. We’ll have a better meal if we find our own place.” I’d already told her about Sarah’s insider info and Jae nodded in quick agreement.
“Well, why don’t we just go out from here?”
“Jaelee’s got a point,” said Lou. “We can wait for the coach, tell Georgina what we’re doing, and find out where they’re picking us up tonight.”
Part of me loved the idea of an extra couple of hours in Paris. The other part of me scrutinised my outfit. Did I really want to go out in boyfriend jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers—in Paris? Uh, no. I did not.
Dani spoke up. “Uh, guys? Would you mind if we did go back to the campsite? I really want to clean up and I need to deal with this.” She waved her hand in front of her tear-stained and blotchy face. “And we have all our shopping bags.”
“Actually,” said Jaelee, “I really should change my shoes. I don’t know how much longer I can walk around in these.”
Dani gave us a diluted, but somewhat hopeful, smile. It was settled. We’d freshen up at the campsite, catch a ride back to the city, then head out to dinner, just the four of us.
Or five of us. On the ride back to our sheds, Lou invited Craig to join us and he accepted. He was probably in for a night of girl talk, but hopefully he wouldn’t mind.
As the coach pulled into late-afternoon traffic, I leant my head against the window and yawned, helpless to stop it. For a fleeting moment, I wished we were back in London and our girls’ night out was a girls’ night in at my place—pyjamas, no makeup, home-made cocktails, takeaway pizza and ice cream for dessert.
But I was in Paris and I could rally.
Ten Years Ago
“Hello?”
“Sez, it’s me.”
“Hello?”
“Sarah, it’s me, Cat. Can you hear me?”
“Oh, I can now. Hey. What’s up? How’s the trip?”
“Well … we broke up.”
“What? Sorry, I can’t hear you. You’re breaking up.”
“Yes. We broke up. Me and Scott.”
“Hang on. I’m going somewhere quieter. Okay, say that again.”
“It’s Scott—we broke up—I’m leaving him!”
“Oh, Cat. Shit, I’m so sorry. What happened? Are you still in Paris?”
“Yes. I’m trying to get back to London—today. I’m at Gare du Nord.”
“And where’s Scott?”
“He’s at the ticket counter. He’s trying to get me on the last train back to London.”
“But what happened?”
“He cheated, Sez.”
“What?!”
“He cheated on me. He told me before we came away.”
“Oh, my God! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t … I don’t know.”
“But why’d you go away with him?” She was only asking me the same question I’d asked myself a thousand times this week.
I sigh. “Because I thought it would be all right. I thought we’d work it out.”
“Oh, darling.”
“But he lied. He said he’d ended it, but he lied. I read his email to her.”
“His email? Hang on, how?”
“He used my laptop and forgot to log out, the dickhead.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I wish I was with you right now.” I wish she was here too. Her voice quietens. “But who is she?”
My throat tightens, but I answer. “Her name’s Helen. He works with her. It started right after I left Sydney.” Saying the words aloud somehow makes it even more real, and the lump in my throat sends snaking poison into my gut.
“Oh, Cat. You poor love. This sucks.”
I flick a glance at Scott. He seems to be arguing with the ticket agent.
“He keeps saying he’s sorry. He’s been crying and everything, but Sez, I … I hate him so much right now.” I glare at him, even though he can’t see me.
“Of course you do, darling. I hate him too. I’m so sorry. I wish I could be there—I’d smack him in his stupid head.”
“Hah!” The thought of my affectionate, funny, sweet sister thumping my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend gives me a moment’s reprieve from the pain. “So, where are you?”
“Rome.”
“Oh.”
“It’s bad luck, the timing. I was in Paris last week. I could have come and got you … Cat, you poor thing. Are you going to be okay?”
“I just really wish you were here right now.” I let the self-pity settle on my shoulders and feel the sting of tears. Scott suddenly appears at my side, interrupting my self-pity party. “Hang on, Sez.”
“There are no more seats on the Eurostar, not ’til tomorrow. And they won’t swap the ticket. We have to buy a new one.” A double whammy.
The poison from my gut rises and turns into words. “That can’t be right,” I spit.
“I even told them there’d been a death in the family—but no luck.”
The irony of him lying to get my ticket changed smacks my senses. I wonder if infidelity is a good enough reason to change my ticket, then remember we’re in France where infidelity is practically a given.
“Well, if a practised liar like you can’t convince them …” I let the thought trail off, feeling the hollow victory as his face crumples. “What are we going to do, then?” I remember my sister on the other end of the call. “Hang on, Sez.” I don’t wait for her response—even knowing this call will cost us both a mint.
“I could drive you back, to Calais at least.” His eyes don’t meet mine.
“I’m not getting in a car with you, Scott—not to drive through the night. Just give me a minute, will you? I’m talking to Sarah.” He skulks away and flops onto a chair. “Hi, you there?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry.” I sigh heavily. “So, there are no seats left on the Eurostar tonight. I can’t get back to London until tomorrow. I guess I have to stay here.”
“What? With Scott?”
“I don’t have much choice. I’m going to have to buy a new train ticket—fuck, that’s so much money—and we have a room. It’s already paid for.”
“Make him sleep on the floor.”
“Absolutely.”
“Call me as soon as you get back to London.”
“I will.”
“I’m so sorry, Cat.”