Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
T he next stop was Notre Dame Cathedral, but getting the children there via the Batobus Boat was something of an adventure.
Chrissie spent most of the journey with Francis and another child, who both felt sick on the journey. Meanwhile, Nisha was chatting away with the more confident children alongside Philippa, and Dan was searching for Hardev, who had declared he was off to speak to the driver. Chrissie felt her eyes starting to close with the gentle bobbing of the passenger vessel. Her two charges were gazing into the paper bags they’d been issued.
She sighed. Paris was a wonderful city, but perhaps less romantic when there was a schedule that had to be followed to the letter, and when she and Nisha were surrounded by children and well-meaning adults. She knew the two of them probably needed to talk, but this wasn’t the place for that.
Chrissie felt restless. Bored, even, of being responsible for the children. Being with Nisha had released something in her, reminded her of the person she’d once been. She wondered whether Nisha had been right when she said the rules she had made for herself were too strict, whether she had set her life up to be too controlled. The freedom she had felt with Nisha the night before felt life-changing.
She laughed at herself. It was one night. How much could it change her life?
Once they reached Notre Dame, they unloaded the children and gathered them on the steps in front of the cathedral to eat their packed lunches. These had been issued by the hostel they were staying in – twenty-nine white paper bags, containing cheese rolls, crisps and apples.
“Mum,” said Dottie, loudly, “what if someone here was vegan? What would they eat?”
“Darling,” Philippa replied, “no one here is vegan, so we don’t need to worry.”
“But what if they were?”
“What if the moon were made of cheese?” asked Dan, stepping in to redirect Dottie’s inquisition, which had been aimed squarely at her mother for the past two hours.
“Well that’s ridiculous,” said Dottie. “Only nursery children think the moon is made of cheese.”
Nisha looked over at Chrissie and gave her a smile. Chrissie replied with a half-smile of her own, frustrated the pair couldn’t escape to a pavement café and spend time together over a carafe of wine. Nisha twisted her eyebrows. “Are you ok?” she mouthed.
“Yeah,” said Chrissie, standing to walk over to her friend. “Just a bit tired, and I could do with some non-child time.”
“Why don’t you take a couple of minutes to yourself?” said Nisha, quietly. “These guys are all busy working out who has the best flavoured crisps and the reddest apple, they’ll be occupied for a while yet. We’ve got it.”
“Are you sure?” asked Chrissie, her heart lifting. A little time to process everything that had happened might do her good. Nisha nodded firmly, and Chrissie smiled gratefully.
She strolled away from the cathedral towards a row of cafes and shops, and without realising precisely where she was heading, found herself standing outside a bookshop – Shakespeare and Co. She remembered reading about this place, a famous stockist of English language books that had been in the city since the 1920s. James Joyce had been a frequent visitor in his early days. Yes, this was exactly the kind of place she could escape to.
It had been a long time since Chrissie had allowed herself to do something entirely selfish, but now she had begun to question her own rules, perhaps this was the time. She went into the shop, which was stuffed full of all kinds of books on ancient higgledy-piggledy shelves.
The shop’s walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling, and in some places the ceiling was double height, with small landings overlooking those browsing the stock on the ground floor. It felt like a magical space, filled with people who enjoyed the freedom reading offered.
Chrissie went upstairs to one of the mezzanines, where she quickly found a book that was intended to be read in the shop, rather than sold. She pulled up a chair and settled herself down to read about Joyce’s Paris adventures and his journey to publishing Ulysses there, in a bid to overcome the censors. She lost herself in the smell of the musty pages, the words packed onto the paper and the dreamy environment of the shop.
It wasn’t until she’d finished one of the lengthy chapters in the book that she realised the time. She’d left her phone on silent, and had eight missed calls from Nisha and Dan. A few minutes had turned into an hour, and they wanted to know where she was.
Chrissie swore at herself, closed the book and hurried out of the shop. She trotted over the cobbles, dashing towards the cathedral.
“I’m so sorry,” she said to Nisha as she hurried towards the cluster of children admiring the rebuilt spire of Notre Dame as they listened to a tour guide.
Nisha’s mouth was in a straight line. “We’ve lost Hardev,” she said under her breath. “Dan’s gone to look for him, so it’s just been me and Philippa and this lot.” She motioned her hand towards the children.
“God, I’m sorry. Do you need me to go and help Dan?” Chrissie felt the hot sensation of guilt flood her, something she hadn’t experienced for a while.
“No,” said Nisha, failing to hide the annoyance in her voice. “I need you here. While I could have predicted Hardev would go walkabout at some point, I didn’t expect you to. Where the hell did you go?”
“Sorry,” said Chrissie, knowing that the actual answer wouldn’t help matters. “Look, I’ll make it up to you.”
“You’d better,” replied Nisha, her face grim. Her dimple was nowhere to be seen. “And text Dan to let him know you’re back here.”
Chrissie did as she was asked, before walking over to a small group of boys who seemed to be trying to drift off towards the river. “Come on, you lot, stay with the group, please,” she said, wishing more than anything that she could just go straight to bed and have a little cry and a sleep.