Page 53 of Shout Out To My Ex

‘How about this? We get dressed—’ Cassie groans. ‘No, not like that,’ I say with a grin. ‘I’m thinking no makeup, jeans and a jumper, and our sneakers, then we hit all the big landmarks and take photos for our Insta. Just us, the Bliss sisters. How does that sound?’

Cassie returns my grin. ‘That sounds brilliant.’

Ten minutes later, we strike out from the hotel, headed for the Eiffel Tower, the first landmark on our list.

‘This was an inspired idea,’ says Cass, snuggling into her quilted jacket. As it’s not quite springtime, there’s a chill in the air, but that didn’t deter us from boarding a Bateau Mouche for a night-time tour along the Seine.

It’s our last outing of the night, having ping-ponged around Paris, taking photo after photo and posting them to the Bliss Designs Insta profile with the hashtag#BlissSistersTakeParis. ‘It’ll totes go viral,’ Cass joked after we posted a photo of us with the Arc de Triomphe in the background.

It’s been fun hanging out and exploring the city, just the two of us. It’s rarely just us lately, except when we’re at home, and then we’re queueing something to watch while heating up two ready-meals for one, or leftover takeaway – hardly exciting.

‘How gorgeous is this city?’ I ask as the boat slips under Pont Alexandre III. The gilded bridge, with its proud rows of streetlamps and statues of dancing nymphs, is lit so beautifully, it’s like the entire thing is made of gold.

‘It really is extraordinary,’ Cassie agrees. ‘And I love London, but…’

‘Me too, but…’

The rest of our thoughts go unsaid, but we both know what we mean. Cass and I have long shared the belief that London is one of the world’s most beautiful cities. And despite being a born-and-bred Londoner, there are parts of the city that still take my breath away, even after all these years – especially Tower Bridge at night and Covent Garden any time of day. But Paris! It feels almostalive. And no wonder it’s called the City of Lights.

As the boat emerges from under the bridge, I look back, seeing pairs of lovers strolling arm in arm or looking out over the Seine, and my heart twangs uncomfortably. So much for sightseeing. This is a cruel – and timely – reminder that Paris isn’t just the City of Lights, it’s the City ofLove.

‘You all right, Bean?’

I nod, not trusting my voice, then turn away from the lovers on the bridge and concentrate on silently naming Parisian landmarks as they come into view: the Luxor Obelisk, Musée de l’Orangerie, Musée d’Orsay, Arc de Triomphe du Carousel, the Louvre…

Bollocks. We’re back where we started and below that vast building, Leo is probably drinking champagne with his new fiancée.

Leo Jones. We’ve had two conversations in ten years – one of them fraught and tense and the other cut short – but it’s now clear that’s enough for him to invade my mind and my senses,and for dormant emotions of affection and attraction to come surging back like the swell of high tide.

I don’twantto want him. So how am I, once again, in the position of having to purge Leo Jones from my system so I can get on with my life? Even though I’ve ostensibly been looking for him for ten years, I thought my heart had given up the search a long time ago.

Apparently not.

Poppy

Two things of note happened overnight.

First, my husband sent me a photo that made me long for him even more than usual – a calico cat called Saffron, who’s available for adoption. I’ve seen one photo and I already love her. I sent a reply to Tristan first thing and we’re going to visit her at the shelter later this afternoon. And by ‘visit’ I mean ‘bring home our sweet little babykins’.

You’d never know I grew up as a dog person – and a sheep and chicken and goat person. But this farm kid has always wanted a cat and now I’m married to someone who ‘is willing to give it a go’. Oh, he is going to fall inlovewith Saffron, I just know it.

Second, Paloma came through! She’s hooking me up directly withNouveau Britainand tomorrow, I’m meeting with an assistant editor. If I play my cards right (and don’t let on how desperate I am), Bliss Designs will get more than a six-inch mention in the September issue.

Elle and Cassie are both quiet on the cab ride to Gare du Nord –andthroughout check-in and during the one-hour wait until departure. Cassie seems absorbed with her phone, but I’ve been around her enough to know she’s not on socials much, so I assume she’s working. And Elle, well… she seems wistful. There’s been quite a bit of sighing, some frowning, and she appears to have been reading the same page in her romcom for the past forty minutes.

I’m hoping that, even if a reunion with Leo is completely off the table, I can at least support Elle professionally – as a pseudo consolation prize. I don’t like failing as an agent and the few times it’s happened, I’ve tried to find a way to make up for it – whether the client has known about it or not.

Our train is called and we board, settling into a four-seat berth with a table between the two pairs of seats. As my travelling companions are less than chatty, I open my phone to my message thread with Nasrin and type:

What did you think?

The reply comes almost immediately:

Don’t give up your day job.

Rude! Early this morning, I sent her my notes for theNouveauarticle, and they’re obviously lacking. To be fair, the last time I wrote anything like this, it was for the Australian publication,Psychology Today, and the article was about cognitive behavioural theory and neuroplasticity.

Any suggestions?

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