Page 27 of Oyster

“Because I was in too much of a rush to drive down here, a fact I didn’t intend to share with you, so please erase the last ten seconds from your life, and instead let me explain that, what with endless interviews and post-match physio, I omitted my evening requirement to replace lost fuels. Which was supposed to be a delicious and nutritious high protein/carbohydrate mix comprising green vegetables and grilled chicken with a sweet potato side, but ended up being a bar of chocolate from a vending machine at a service station halfway down the A10 at two a.m. And now this is me, pretending I’m not stupidly excited to be here and multitasking by catching up on my calorific intake while flirting and holding an absorbing and insightfulconversation about maximising nutritional input in top-flight athletes. And also trying not to tell you how hot you are in black leather and straddling a motorbike. And hot in general.”

She ran out of breath. Reddening, she slid the sunglasses firmly back up her nose, clamping her lips shut.

A snort of laughter escaped my throat.

“It’s not funny, Nico! Monitoring my oral intake is someone’s full-time job back in Paris!”

Resisting the temptation to say something wholly inappropriate regarding her oral intake, I pushed the bowl of frites over to her. “That wasn’t the part I was laughing at. Here, get these inside you.”

Equating this funny woman with the megastar took some getting used to. Especially when she unselfconsciously moaned around a mouthful of frites drowning in mayonnaise like… well. Mermen and all that. While the food occupied her attention, I rearranged myself down below.

“Watching you play was surreal,” I remarked, changing the subject. “Thanks for the tickets. And that goal wasn’t too bad either.”

She waved away my compliment, like she already knew. Éti didn’t do false modesty. “Yeah, it was a good one, wasn’t it? Even Fabien reckoned he wouldn’t have saved it.Pachow!Right into the top corner. The goalie didn’t see it coming. Mind you, I was only half paying attention.” She drew her sunglasses down her nose once more. “Because a very handsome chap in the crowd was distracting me.”

Mon dieu, and if I hadn’t been there? She’d have blown the back of the goal net out.

“Anyhow, thanks to your presence,” she carried on, “everyone now believes Étienne Salvador is dating a very pretty brown-haired American actress called Natasha. Which will keep the press nicely occupied for the rest of the season. Who werethose devilishly attractive men either side of you, by the way?” She waggled her eyebrows at me. “I may need to take a closer look at them.”

Not happening this millennia. “The lanky one was my brother, who you briefly saw when you came searching for me at the oyster sheds, and he’s way too young for you. The other was my best friend, Florian, who is very much taken. And very gay.”

“Tant pis. I’m stuck with you then. Tell me more about you, Nico. We talk about me—blah blah blah—all the time.”

“There’s nothing to say.” I lifted my shoulder in a shrug.My mum’s dying, my sister coated my shirt in black eye makeup last night, and my dad drank himself to sleep on the sofa.My brother is mostly mute.

When was a good time to mention to your new, superstar friend that, although you seemed a chilled bloke, actually, your mum was near the end of life and your family falling apart? And that, although you couldn’t stop smiling when she was with you, because she was so fucking awesome, as soon as you walked away, you were swamped by guilt for feeling so happy?

“I’m very straightforward,” I added. “The oyster farm, my mates, an occasional night out. What you see is what you get.”

“Mmm.” That cute divot reappeared, and her eyes narrowed. “I’m not convinced. You’re hiding something. You’ve checked your phone twice in the last ten minutes. Is there somewhere else you should be? Orsomeoneelse you should be with?”

International superstars weren’t used to less than one hundred percent of anyone’s focus, but checking whether my family had been trying to get hold of me had become ingrained. As had keeping my personal business to myself. “No, nowhere. And most definitely not someone.”

I racked my brain to come up with an excuse. What stopped me from just fucking telling her the truth?

Well, for a start, it would annihilate all the happy, burgeoning romantic vibes. The anticipation of this lunch and escaping into Éti’s world for a few hours had been the only thing keeping me sane this week. I didn’t want real life to get in the way of our date. And anyhow, did Éti even have an appreciation of real life? Or was it all private jets and limousines and flunkies tying her boot laces?

“My brother promised to text me when a big order was shipped out this afternoon. That’s all. Sorry.”

“Oh, okay.” She seemed mollified. “I’m incredibly excited to be here with you, Nico, but you can understand why I’m a little wary.”

“I can. Sorry for not explaining earlier.” The white lie had me feeling all kinds of guilty. “You have nothing to fear. And believe me—you’re not the only one excited.”

To demonstrate, I shoved my phone away in my back pocket and threw her my most charming smile. “I’m all yours.”

I think she bought the excuse. At any rate, the appearance of a hot chocolate mousse soon distracted her. And her pink tongue, repeatedly darting out to lick it off the spoon, soon distracted me, too.

After Éti insisted on settling the bill, we joined the afternoon strollers enjoying the unexpected early season sunshine. Relaxing, I basked in her joie de vivre as she made it her mission to peer into every shop window, even the tacky touristy ones. Determined to squeeze every drop of zest from every experience, her inexhaustible enthusiasm had a magical quality to it, whether shucking oysters on the beach or choosing a saucy postcard to stick on the fridge. Enchanted, I walked alongside, and when she grabbed my hand to point out a gnarled vine twisting prettily along the front of a row of old fisherman’s cottages, I didn’t let go. Her pillowy lips, which I was determinedto taste before the day was out, parted in surprise as she stared at our joined hands.

“Is this okay?” I checked.

“Ça alor, yes! I’m promenading. And handholding.”

I squeezed her fingers, and she squeezed back. “You’re doing it remarkably well, too. At an appropriate pace, and so far, you haven’t kicked anything.”

“Believe me, I’m trying very hard. And I have an overwhelming urge to run down the street, yelling ‘look at me!’from the top of my lungs.”

“Best not, sweetheart.”

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