Chapter 22
22
Connie
Aix was the perfect place for two fifty-something women hellbent on self-care, self-love and self-gifting. It had wide, paved boulevards lined with restaurants and canopied terraces, perfect for people-watching and sipping on a chocolat chaud or a cognac. Behind them were little winding streets crammed with boutiques, jewellers and shoe shops, their windows dressed to perfection. They were patrolled by impossibly chic women and suave men. Small dogs on leads beetled about, and the air smelled of sweet, sugary beignets . I loved it.
‘OK,’ said Fiona. ‘Today we are going to buy you an outfit that Pauline would be proud of.’ I’d told her the rumours, about Napoleon’s sister. ‘Something passionate, strong, unforgettable. An outfit that will change you for the better. A uniform for the person you want to be.’
‘Maybe I should use Pauline as my mascot?’
‘Why not? She might have been flawed but she lived the life she wanted.’
We tried on suede jackets and silk palazzo pants. Trippy trappy high heels and lace-up chunky boots. Wrap dresses and leather skirts. We tried hot-pink and vampy scarlet; deep black and sophisticated navy. We squirted sensual, musky perfume on our wrists and tried on necklaces and bracelets. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a proper girls’ day out. I’d been shopping often enough with Edie, of course, which was fun, but we rarely went into my kind of shop, sticking to Zara and & Other Stories or H&M where I spent hours in the changing rooms addressing her teenage insecurities.
Somehow Fiona managed to dispel my middle-aged ones. I’d lost my sense of style of late. Where once I had always been certain about what suited me, I felt completely overwhelmed whenever I went into a shop, not feeling as if any of the clothes were right for my time of life or frame of mind. In a tiny exclusive boutique, I tried on an emerald-green velvet jumpsuit. Before today I wouldn’t have gone near it, but suddenly I wanted to feel its softness next to my skin. With its wide legs and tight sleeves, it clung in all the right places and flowed when I walked. I looked in the changing-room mirror and Fiona clapped.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, yes, yes. That’s the one.’
I looked at the label. ‘It’s three hundred euros.’
‘But you’re going to wear it to death, so that’ll get the cost per wear down,’ she said. ‘Christmas Day. New Year’s Eve. And your date with Rémy.’
‘What date with Rémy?’ I said, with a grimace, remembering he still hadn’t answered my text.
‘He’ll be in touch. I guarantee it.’
I wasn’t so sure. But the jumpsuit had made me feel a million dollars. I knew it was superficial, to feel uplifted by an item of clothing, but it was the first time I’d felt positive about myself for a long time.
‘What the hell,’ I said, and threw in a chunky gold necklace to go with it. In solidarity, Fiona bought a tan suede miniskirt that would look amazing with her long legs. With our smart shopping bags hanging from our arms, we made our way to a restaurant and sat down for moules frites and Chablis.
‘I want this life,’ she told me, waving her wine glass around to indicate the other diners deep in conversation, the waiters bearing trays of delicious food. ‘I spent years putting my work first. But it’s my time now and I can’t compromise any longer. It’s made me realise there’s no point in me bringing bits of France back to people in England. All I do is taunt myself whenever I’m here.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘Sell the shop and buy somewhere here. I could still sell things online, and keep all my clients. I quite fancy an apartment in Aix, actually.’
We both agreed that as towns went, it was perfect. Sophisticated, pretty, with a buzzy spirit. And gorgeous Provence right on the doorstep. I felt a stab of envy. I was a long way from having a plan. I was treading water until Piers and Lismay came back.
‘What about visas?’
‘I’m not afraid of paperwork and bureaucracy,’ Fiona laughed. ‘And I can flip back and forwards in the meantime. I’ll keep my flat in Birmingham.’
I admired her so much. Nothing scared her. Nothing used to scare me, but I realised I’d become something of a shrinking violet, shying away from change or challenges. I’d once been as powerful as Fiona in my own field. Perhaps being a magazine editor didn’t have as much kudos as being a barrister, but people had valued my opinion. I’d changed things for the better, the way the magazine was run and how the staff were treated. I’d won awards. I wasn’t a household name, but The Heart of the Home had been.
I sat up a little taller, remembering who I had been and what I had done. I’d let myself be undermined. And I’d let myself be bullied, by my ex. It was time to fight back. I felt stronger. I wondered if it was the Chablis, for there was nothing like a big glass of white wine to make you think anything was possible. But I didn’t think so. It wasn’t bravado. It was recognition of my own true worth. I’d seen someone in the mirror earlier who could move mountains.
I didn’t know which mountain, or from where, or to where, because I was in limbo at the moment. But I was safe, and I had beautiful people on my side, and the potential to do whatever I wanted. I felt elated. And grateful, that I’d met this amazing woman who had shaken me up and given me back my faith in myself.
‘What if I hadn’t parked behind you in the Tunnel?’ I said to her now. ‘I’d still be wandering about like a wet weekend, bemoaning my lot.’
‘You’d find your way back to yourself. People always do in the end.’
‘How did you get to be so wise?’ We were sharing a Paris-Brest with coffee. I sliced it in two with my spoon, watching the mousseline ooze out between the circles of choux.
‘I just pay attention, I guess. Watch and listen. And follow the outcome. Courtrooms are full of stories. And you often have to dig into the past, so I see patterns.’
‘It must have been fascinating.’
‘It was. But I’m done with it. Now the only patterns I’m interested in are on curtain material.’ She laughed. ‘Though that’s not entirely true. I still mentor people. Kids from deprived areas who want a legal career.’
‘You’re such an inspiration,’ I sighed, crunching on the last of the praline. ‘I’ve done nothing for the past couple of years except shove in a few bulbs.’
‘Well, get off your arse, then.’ She rapped me on the knuckles with her spoon, laughing. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself. No one wants to hear it.’
‘Cheek!’ But I was laughing too. She was right. ‘I’ve got until Christmas to turn the chateau round. And I’m mentoring Lilou, I guess, in my own way.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘It’s important at our time of life, to reach down and pull people up the ladder.’ Her face clouded a little. ‘No one pulled me up, back in the day. They were quite happy to tread on my fingers when I put my hands on the next rung. Until I met this one woman who took me under her wing. She taught me not to take any shit from anyone. But she also taught me not to judge, and to be kind, and to give back. That has served me more than anything.’
She put her spoon down. How could anybody be so warm and wise and cool ?
‘I’m getting a bit of a girl crush on you,’ I told her.
‘Oh, don’t be fooled. I’m not all that. I can be selfish. And argumentative. And a bit reclusive sometimes. It’s probably why I’ve been single for ever. Not that I care. Far from it. I love being able to drop everything and do exactly what I want.’ She picked up her phone. ‘But maybe I should have a look and see who’s hot in Aix? A little French fling?’
‘Oh my God, yes. Let’s look!’
We spent half an hour finishing our wine and looking through all the single men on her dating apps.
‘A lot of them are wearing very nice scarves,’ she said in the end. ‘But there’s no one who really takes my fancy. Ooh no – wait.’ Her eyes had lit up. ‘Now this guy …’ As she scrolled through the pictures, she frowned. ‘Hang on a minute. Isn’t this your bloke?’
I leaned over to have a look. I felt my stomach lurch as I saw a picture of Rémy. I felt crushed, thought I wasn’t sure why. He had every right to be on a dating site. Of course he did. But the thought of all those women who would be swiping right – everyone who saw him, I should think – made me nauseous.
‘ Vigneron – joueur de rugby – optimiste ,’ read Fiona, flicking through the rest of his profile pictures as I looked on. Him in the vineyard holding up a bunch of ripe grapes. Him on the rugby pitch, rock-hard thighs, hair back in a head band. Him holding up a glass of champagne and looking at the camera. ‘Bloody hell. I still don’t understand why you turned him down in the first place.’
‘Because I’m scared. Because I’ve been dicked about. Because I’ve lost my confidence. Because he’s all muscle and I’m …’ I looked down at myself.
‘Absolutely gorgeous?’ Fiona glared at me. ‘I think that’s what you mean?’
‘Anyway, he’s obviously not interested. He must be able to get any woman in the South of France with one swipe.’ My mood plummeted. The mousseline was curdling with the Chablis, and I could feel my head start to throb. ‘Shall we get the bill?’
I tried not to let my mood dominate the rest of our conversation. I knew that self-deprecation was unattractive. I’d noticed it was something Fiona never did. She was supremely confident and it was what made her so magnetic. She never came across as arrogant or big-headed – she was simply the very definition of comfortable in her own skin.
I pulled my phone out to pay as the waiter dropped our bill on the table in a silver dish. And then I saw it. A text. From Rémy. I had no idea how long it had been there. We’d been lingering over lunch for at least two hours. I sat back in my chair staring at the screen, too scared to press on it to see what it said.
‘What is it?’ said Fiona. She could see from my face something was up.
I shut my eyes, pressed his name, then opened them. It was more nerve-wracking than opening my A-level results.
I let out what can only be described as a yelp combined with a whimper.
‘What?’ Fiona was pulling some coins out of her purse to leave a tip.
I held up my phone. Just two words but oh – what joy.
Next Tuesday?
She spread out her hands with a grin. ‘ Fait accompli. Or job done, as we say in Birmingham.’
She leaned forward, holding up her palm to give me a high five. I felt giddy with the thrill of it, my mood lifting, my headache dissipating and my heart doing a little tap dance. I felt invincible. As if the path ahead was clear, ready for me to stride down it, with no obstacles in the way. And if any sprang up, I had the resources to knock them down and keep on going.