Chapter 53
53
Kate’s doughy bottom sinks and splays onto a small cubed seat in the departures lounge at Gare Du Nord. A quiet couple wearing his-and-hers Karrimor coats look at her disgruntledly while she doesn’t notice. She places a plastic bag from the gift shop on the floor between her tired feet and checks the boxes are sitting horizontally within. Eight Fauchon macarons for each daughter, a weighty Paris Saint-Germain keyring for Jack.
I hope they like them.
She smiles to herself, but her smile soon fades. The black pleather cubes remind Kate of where her children sit in the shop where they try on school shoes, and she remembers the drudgery of the week ahead: back to school, back to the routine, back to the PTA and the WI.
I never want to see her again.
She thinks how different this one day in her life has been.
What a day.
This morning, Kate breathed a nervous but invigorated sigh as she left the house and got into a taxi even before George woke up. He’d taken two whole weeks off work over Christmas, as some kind of marriage-saving, dedicated-dad gesture, although Kate found his skulking about the house, watching Bond films or looking at football results or whatever it was he was looking at on his phone, actually more of a hindrance than a help to their marriage. Christmas felt like forced fun, and she’d so been looking forward to it. But when the day came, and the table was laid with all the trimmings, Kate realised that the most exciting thing about Christmas was the message she had received out of the blue from Hector Herrera. The kids weren’t grateful for their presents. George wasn’t even interested in the idea of an impromptu trip to Paris.
Kate takes the copy of Hello! magazine from her handbag and looks at the beauty guru’s Swiss chalet retreat, but all she can think of is Hector Herrera. His warmth. His forlorn face. How protective his arm felt around her. What a day they had had. After crepes, Cokes and beers in the Champ de Mars, Hector and Kate walked along the Seine and crossed over a bridge so they could marvel at the wrap of water lilies in the Musée de l’Orangerie. Then they ambled to Galeries Lafayette to buy long johns (a new English phrase for Hector, which tickled him) and eat steak frites in the cramped cafe before Hector saw Kate off in the chaos of the train terminal. ‘Go find her,’ Kate said as she clasped the artist’s soft hands.
Hector nodded and planted a kiss on Kate’s left cheek before wrapping his arms around her.
Kate can feel Hector’s kiss lingering as she looks up at the departures board and doesn’t touch her face. Such a perfect day. She feels a burst of pride. For being the adventurous girl she once was again. For coming all the way to Paris on her own. For meeting Hector. For finding her own strength and power. For telling Hector what to do, and how, in turn, Hector made her realise what she had to do .
As Kate looked deep into Hector’s impassioned eyes in the creperie, and saw how much he loved a woman he’d never met, she realised the power of love, and that empowered her. She closes the magazine on a TV actress’s winter wonderland wedding and gathers her shopping bags ready to board. She takes a deep breath and exhales with a peculiar smile. The couple in the Karrimor coats look irked because they have to let her pass again. She senses their frustration, but for once she doesn’t apologise. It doesn’t bother her. She is so focused on what she needs to do she doesn’t care. She knows that she will get off at St Pancras and get the Circle Line to Liverpool Street. She’ll make the last train home to Claresham. She will put her keys in the bowl on the telephone table and she will climb the stairs in the silent house and get ready for bed. As she closes her eyes, she knows it will be the last time she looks at George’s white, moley back and spindly spine, and she will fall asleep. Tired but resolute. In the morning, she will ask George to move out, and, as she rises to board the train, she knows she will be OK.