Page 84 of Thirty Days in Paris

She curled her arm around Nate’s waist and leaned her head on his shoulder, filled with the pleasure of having him to herself, yet again relishing the pride she had in him: his solidity, his reliability, his practicality – he’d got the beds sorted in a trice with no fuss. He’d grown up so much since being away. It was strange, this new dynamic, for now they felt like equals.

‘Let’s go and see your old man,’ she said.

Stuart’s journey from the car to the flat when they brought him home the next day was slow and painful, and demonstrated to all of them how hard his life was going to be for the next few weeks. It dented the euphoria of his homecoming slightly, and Juliet found it agonising to watch his struggle. He was so obviously putting a brave face on it, but as he collapsed onto the sofa and lay his crutches next to him, he looked grey, his lips pinched and his eyes sunken.

‘It’s vegetable lasagne for supper,’ said Juliet brightly. He needed feeding up. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer. To her surprise, he smiled.

‘Wonderful,’ he said fervently.

The three of them sat round his small glass dining table. There was only just enough room for all their plates. Juliet poured herself a glass of Vinho Verde, so low in alcohol it almost didn’t count, and Nate had a craft beer.

‘I don’t think I should drink on my medication,’ said Stuart mournfully.

‘I thought you were all about the clean living?’ Juliet raised an arch eyebrow.

Stuart huffed. ‘It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, you know.’ He dug his fork into the lasagne with gusto, strings of mozzarella stretching from his fork as he lifted it to his mouth.

‘I can’t imagine it is.’

‘Have I been really boring?’

‘Pretty tedious.’ Nate was happy to chip in where Juliet felt she should be tactful. ‘I mean, it’s one of life’s joys, having a beer with your old man. I miss it.’

‘Oh God.’ Stuart looked down at his plate. ‘I shouldn’t have bought that rower.’

‘You can still use it. It’s a sexy bit of kit. Even I can see that,’ said Juliet. ‘But maybe dial down the fitness obsession?’

‘Am I obsessive?’

‘Yes!’ chorused Nate and Juliet.

‘All that counting,’ Juliet went on. ‘Calories and steps and measuring your blood pressure and your heart rate.’

‘And that keto diet is rank.’ Nate made a face.

Stuart looked down at his lasagne. ‘This is the food of the gods,’ he admitted. ‘But I can’t just stuff in the carbs suddenly, not if I’m on crutches. I’ll blow up like a balloon.’

‘It’s about balance, isn’t it? The French have got it nailed. They seem to be able to eat and drink what they want. But they don’t binge like we do.’

‘Don’t they?’ Stuart looked at her and she blushed. It was true though. Olivier was obviously more substantial than he had been as a twenty-year-old, but he was in pretty good shape. She felt a sudden longing to hear his voice. She poured another glass of wine. It dulled the ache.

Forty-eight hours and not a word. Did he feel as if she’d abandoned him again? Well, she had. Hadn’t she?

She picked up her phone and her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, not sure what to say. Should she tell him Stuart was home safely? Or would that rub salt into the wound?

In the end, she decided it would be weird not to, so she sent a brief text.

Stuart is out of hospital but still in pretty bad shape.

Of course, sending him a second text meant the agony of waiting was doubled, for not replying to two texts in a row really was pointed.

After dinner, Nate went off to have a drink with an old mate. Stuart settled himself on the sofa. Juliet loaded the dishwasher, then came and sat in the old chair that had been his grandfather’s. It was red tapestry and looked very out of place. It just needed re-covering, she thought. Should she organise that for him?

Of course not! He was a grown man with a life of his own. He didn’t need her fussing over his interior design. Old habits die hard, she reflected. She remembered Paul’s words in the bar. You couldn’t unmesh yourself overnight from someone you’d been with for years. You knew their strengths and weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Not that dodgy chair coverings were a vulnerability exactly, but—

‘I can’t thank you enough for being here.’ Stuart’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘You had no obligation to come. And I do really appreciate it.’

‘You’d do the same for me,’ said Juliet. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

---