Page 45 of Thirty Days in Paris

I was a fool. I had betrayed Corinne, and the children, and let myself down. All of the excuses I had given myself for what had happened with Jean Louis faded away in the frigid, frosty daylight. Sunday morning had no truck with the misdemeanours of Saturday night and did nothing to reassure or absolve me. On the contrary, it lay the blame firmly at my door.

I crept out of my room to use the bathroom and brush my teeth, splashing water onto my face, trying to wash away the memory of his lips on mine. In the mirror, my unfamiliar fringe framed my face, white and waxen, my eyes ringed with charcoal smudges of yesterday’s mascara. I could hear someone in the kitchen so I shot back into my room and shut the door.

I sat on the bed. How was I going to get out of this awful situation? I would have to run away. I would wait for them all to go out – hopefully they would be going somewhere for lunch today. I would pack everything up and make my way to the Gare du Nord as soon as they were gone, get a train to the ferry, catch the next crossing, whenever that would be. And head home to normality and safety. I was out of my depth here, in a world I didn’t know how to navigate, giving away my heart and my self-respect, behaving like a fool.

I felt comforted by my plan. Perhaps it was cowardly not to face up to my transgression, but I couldn’t see any other option. I could leave a note, explaining I was homesick. They would soon find another girl to pick up where I left off. Their memory of me would fade like a photograph left in the sun, bleached to nothing.

I wouldn’t have to face Jean Louis. And I wouldn’t have to live in fear of bumping into Olivier. The humiliation of him having to apologise or explain why he’d stood me up, or even simply ignoring me, didn’t bear thinking about. I was sad I wouldn’t see Nathalie before I went, for she had been a wonderful friend, but I couldn’t begin to articulate to her any of what had happened. I didn’t want her to know the truth of who I was. What I was. I knew she would have no sympathy, after what her own father had done, and I couldn’t bear the thought of her judging me. Or bringing our friendship to an end.

I began, as surreptitiously as I could, to fold all my clothes and put them in a pile on the bed so as soon as the house was quiet I could get my suitcase out and pack. I was halfway through when there was a knock on the door. I flipped my bedsheets over the clothes and stood up, my face red with guilt.

The door opened and Corinne put her head round.

‘Can I come in?’ she said.

‘Of course,’ I replied. What else could I say?

She was in pyjamas, grey satin with white piping. Even her nightclothes were chic, especially compared to the pale pink nightie with Minnie Mouse on the front I was wearing under my dressing gown. She looked better than she had last night, her eyes brighter. She looked younger too. When she was uptight, the tension in her face made her look much older. The pill must have made her sleep well and untangled all those ageing frown lines.

She sat on the bed and crossed her legs, as if she was a friend who had come for a sleepover, ready for gossip. I was standing there, awkward, with no idea what to say, tightening the belt on my dressing gown for something to do.

‘I have to say sorry,’ she began. ‘For last night. I was … so tired. I sometimes don’t know what I am saying.’

‘That’s OK.’

‘You are so kind. With the children.’ She pulled her sleeves over her hands, hugging herself. ‘I don’t know what we would do without you.’

My mind was racing, trying to figure out what to say, and how to react. ‘Thank you.’

‘I hope …’ She looked around the room and her eyes fell on my passport on the dressing table. She frowned, then pulled back the sheets to reveal my folded clothes. ‘You are leaving.’ Her voice was flat.

I sighed. ‘I miss home. I’m sorry.’

‘Please don’t go.’ Her eyes were beseeching. ‘We need you. I need you. The children … they would be …’ She put a fist to her chest to indicate heartbreak. ‘What can I do?’ She jumped to her feet. ‘I can give you more money.’

‘No! It’s not that.’ I was on the verge of tears now, horrified by the trap I’d laid myself. Disgusted by my behaviour.

‘Then what?’ She sighed. ‘We are horrible. I know I am horrible.’

‘No. No, no, no. I miss my parents. That’s all.’ I wasn’t going to be so treacherous as to let her think it was her fault.

She nodded, her eyes filled with sympathy. She put her hands together, as if praying. ‘Please don’t leave. Please give us a chance to show we can make you happy.’

This was awful. I wanted to run from the room, out of the apartment, out into the street, and never come back. My mouth was dry, my head was throbbing and I was breaking out into a cold sweat.

‘I think I need to rest.’ I put my hands on my stomach. ‘J’ai mal à …’ I gave a wince to indicate my discomfort. It was a cop-out, but to blame period pains seemed the easiest way to get rid of her.

‘Aaaah.’ She nodded, as if that explained everything. ‘Everything is bad when you have the pain. Tomorrow you will feel better.’

‘Oui.’ It seemed easiest to agree. I just wanted to be left alone, to think.

In the background, I heard the sound of the children racing down the corridor, and then Jean Louis’ voice. I tried not to react, knowing Corinne was looking at me. Then she gasped, making me jump. Had I blushed? Could she see guilt in my eyes?

‘Your rendezvous? It was good?’

She obviously hadn’t spoken to Jean Louis yet. He would have told her I’d been stood up.

I shook my head and shrugged. ‘Il n’était pas là.’ He wasn’t there.

---