Page 73 of I Knew You Were Trouble

‘Does she know you’re coming?’

‘She suspects it. I contacted her parents and asked them to give us some space. They won’t be there. At least I hope not.’

‘Do you know what you’re going to say to her?’

He looks out of the window, licking his famous pillowy lips. ‘I only know that I have to win back her heart,’ he says.

It’s half past ten by the time the pilot sets us down in Audrey’s father’s field. J.B. waves at her from the window, holding the bouquet of flowers. I lean forward to see a twenty-four-year-old Audrey laughing, covering her mouth in surprise at the sight of the helicopter, holding their baby son, Xavi, on her hip and pointing to the helicopter as the infant reaches out.

After the pilot clears us for departure from the cockpit, I follow J.B. from the back of the helicopter, ducking low under the rotary blades and keeping my camera close as I make a run for it over the frosted ground, before the helicopter takes off again. I manage to capture on film the sweet reunion of J.B. swinging a toddling Xavi into his arms, before greeting the woman that he loves with a simple hug and some flowers.

I’ve done my research on their break-up ten months ago, covering social media and gossip websites worldwide, most pertinently in France. A devastated Audrey left Paris, and moved back to her parents’ home with her three-month-old son, whilst J.B. rejoined the band, getting caught back up in Rebel Heart fever. They released a joint statement suggesting that the break-up was amicable and that they would continue to co-parent Xavi, going forward into the next phase of their lives. It had a certain PR sheen to it.

I smile as J.B. introduces me, telling me that Audrey has already given her permission for me to film them together, but that she hadn’t expected it to be today. Audrey is striking, with a pointy nose and light brown hair that curls at the ends, her face refreshingly make-up free.

I amble behind them on the path back with my camera, towards the cottage further up the hill, the wintery air going through me. J.B. walks on one side of his son, Audrey on the other, Xavi squealing in delight as they swing him up and down, their conversation in French. Theirs looks like a friendship.

I glance at my watch. J.B. has about three hours to turn that around.

The house is warm, with a rustic feel, a large table in the centre of a kitchen with teal blue walls and dried corn hung in a wreath above an AGA. There is a younger female cleaning up, who Audrey informs me is their nanny, Clotilde, who doesn’t speak any English. Audrey hands me a mug of coffee. I had agreed in advance with J.B. that I would film from inside, through the window, whilst he speaks with Audrey outside, beside a fence that cordons off the front garden. It turns out that the light is perfect. J.B. said that he didn’t want the whole world to know what he was going to say to Audrey, because he believed there was a small chance she could still reject him.

‘Lexi,’ J.B. says in my ear, and I can tell he’s nervous. ‘Tell me when you are ready.’

Swiftly, I set the camera up on a tripod, giving J.B. a nod. Clotilde takes Xavi, who likes to babble whilst sitting on a mat on the floor with his toys that crinkle and jangle. When he tries to wander off, Clotilde pulls him into her lap, where he squirms.

‘I hope your mamma says yes, Xavi,’ I smile down at him when J.B. has escorted Audrey outside. Xavi looks up at me and grins, drool all around his mouth. ‘Otherwise, we’ve come a long way for some emotional angst.’

Outside in the garden, J.B. looks awkward, his hands thrust in the pockets of his overcoat, his collar pulled up. I feel my heartbeat quicken, sending him some silent words of encouragement. Audrey has gripped her fingers together as he speaks to her in French, her face open and hopeful. It’s clear the depth of feeling she still has for her childhood sweetheart.

As the minutes pass, J.B. moves closer to her. I check the focus on the camera. Then comes the moment he takes Audrey’s hands in his, looking down, searching her face, still talking. Audrey’s smile reaches her eyes. Whilst J.B. is mid-sentence, she reaches up and stops his mouth with a kiss, her fingers coming to rest against his cheeks. My heart swells. Initially surprised, in response, J.B. encircles Audrey’s body with his arms, consuming her almost, their kiss turning hungry as their bodies move together with so much passion that I almost feel my camera lens is intruding.

‘See, Xavi?’ I whisper, as Clotilde smiles at the scene out of the window. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a little brother or sister on the way very, very soon.’

Lunch consists of fresh, crusty bread, French cheeses, wine and cold meats at the kitchen table. Xavi is in a highchair gurgling again, gumming a slice of raw carrot. Audrey fusses over him lovingly. J.B. then pulls Audrey into his lap and she squeals. He kisses her so deeply that for a second time today, I hardly know where to look.

Audrey drapes her arms around J.B.’s shoulders as her gaze settles on me. ‘So, Lexi. Jean tells me that you are the woman that Aidan is so crazy for,’ she hums in her pretty French accent, and J.B. almost spits out his drink. Clotilde takes Xavi.

My lips twist. I laugh nervously. ‘What has J.B. told you?’

‘It’s very true,’ J.B. says, wiping his mouth. ‘I’ve never seen him so… how do you say… caught up.’

‘And Lexi… what do you think of Aidan? Do you like him too?’

Audrey may look sweet, but she’s direct as hell. ‘He’s nice, of course. He’s younger than me. And very in demand from other women.’

J.B. frowns. ‘Non,non,’ he says, dismissing my comment with a wave of his hand. ‘In two months, I’ve not seen him look at another girl. Not since you came along.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘I beg to differ. So does the internet.’

J.B. eats a slice of cheese, letting out a growl of disagreement. ‘You’re talking about Samara. She doesn’t want to let him go. Aidan is like her… prize. Sure… it looked like a kiss in those pictures, I know, but believe me… it’s all in the past between those two. He told her again in Dubai he’s not interested in a relationship.’

I sip my wine, sceptical. ‘The camera doesn’t lie,’ I say.

‘No, but sometimes… with the wrong angle… it can misinterpret.’

‘And the Haven girl? In Australia?’

He finishes his mouthful, giving a shrug. ‘Okay. There was that one girl. But she’s history. Aidey’s a nice guy, you know. He thinks he’s letting people down by telling them “no”. He has trust issues. He’s been betrayed before.’

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