Chapter Four
Joel was suddenly different, this unbent, almost-sober version that had burst out of the cocoon. He was tall and lean; her nose reached only as high as his broad shoulders and, perhaps surprisingly, there was an energy about him.
He looked around him with new interest, took a deep, appreciative breath, then smiled down at her. ‘Way to go, Chloe! Sorry, really gotta …’ Now he was unzipping his jeans. Presumably that … what had happened, was no longer a problem. She closed her eyes and attempted to block the unbidden image of it springing free.
‘I need to as well,’ she said, after he’d zipped himself up. ‘Can we go behind there?’ She cocked her head towards a bush.
‘Why? I promise to shut my eyes.’
‘Yes, please do. But I don’t want to wee here. It would be disrespectful to Jim.’
He let out a bark of laughter. ‘That’s sweet, Chloe, but I’m guessing Jim wouldn’t mind a bit. I mean, people think leaving chewing gum is a fitting tribute – he’d probably be delighted with your offering. Maybe he even approves of my vomit. The dude wasn’t a stranger to alcohol, right?’
She couldn’t help laughing. ‘You have a point. Okay, shut your eyes, then.’
When she’d finished he said, ‘Vomit and wee. We have done Jim proud today.’
Before she could stop herself, she said, ‘Just a condom for the full set.’
He raised his eyebrows, and she felt the heat rise up her neck. ‘What I mean is … apparently people leave them here. As a tribute.’ She groped for words to dig herself out of this hole. ‘Do you really think your mates aren’t coming back?’
He looked her in the eye. ‘You know what? I don’t want them to. I want to be spared the rest of it. Let’s just find a way out of here and go find a gendarmerie or someone who can unlock this thing.’ He looked down at their wrists. ‘We’ve probably got another hour of daylight, right?’
She scowled. ‘I don’t have my phone, so I don’t know what time it is. Could we climb up there?’ She looked up at the tomb roof where it lay.
‘Tricky.’
There was no way up that didn’t involve tree climbing, which presumably would be somewhat problematical, attached as they were.
‘My phone was about to die, anyway,’ she said, remembering.
‘Well at least it’s in the right place to do that,’ he said. ‘I’ll fetch it tomorrow, get it back to you before I leave.’
‘You will?’
‘I’m responsible for all this; I’ll clear up the mess.’
Damn. Joel wasn’t an idiot. He was a gent, and his brain was just fine. Joel was nice. Joel was lovely . Mrs-Joel-to-be was a lucky woman.
But then she reminded herself – Dan hadn’t been an idiot. Dan had been nice. Dan had been lovely. She’d thought she was a lucky woman.
Surely it was a truth that all men were the same, especially the good-looking ones and the charmers. She reminded herself of Joel’s reaction when she’d slid across his thighs: the heavy breathing, the immediate stand to attention. And he was about to get married! Men were led by their dicks. Slaves to them. They just couldn’t help themselves.
‘I’d appreciate that,’ she said. ‘So – what do we do now? There are a few entrances but they’ll all be locked. Guess we’ll have to skirt the walls, see if there’s somewhere we can squeeze out. Like, a secret door or a turnstile.’
He went quiet, rubbing the back of his neck, looking awkward. ‘Um, Chloe? I know this might sound odd, but can we go visit Oscar Wilde first?’
‘What? Look, you may be happy to be stuck here, but I’d rather be home with my cat. He may be male but he’s good company. Probably because he doesn’t speak and sleeps a lot.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘You live here? In Paris?’
‘You worked that out all by yourself. Have a gold star.’
‘Lucky you. I live in Sheffield.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘Are you a Yorkshire lass?’
‘Huddersfield. You don’t sound Yorkshire.’
‘I’m from Essex, originally. So … do you know the way to Oscar’s grave?’
‘You’re serious? You’re on your stag and you want to visit Oscar Wilde’s grave?’
‘It’s the reason I wanted to come here, to this cemetery,’ he said, his expression serious. ‘It’s important to me. My mates called me weird, but I made a deal, that we’d do a strip club tonight if we did Oscar first. But then we got drunk and lost and ended up at Jim Morrison instead.’
‘I see.’
‘Can we, then?’
Dammit. The puppy-dog eyes was a mean trick, and he knew it. This was obviously a guy used to women saying yes. She should say no, just because. But … it was such a bizarre thing for a bloke to want to do, and in spite of herself, Chloe was intrigued.
‘Well, all right. But quickly. We don’t want to be stuck here after dark.’ A thought struck her. ‘Haven’t you got a phone?’
‘The lads took it.’ He gave her a weak smile. ‘Must try harder on the friends front.’
‘Too right. They’re probably posting dick pics to every contact in your phone as we speak. Even your mum. Maybe especially your mum.’
‘I don’t–’
‘But hey, it’s a stag, so all the filters are off, right? Anything goes. Aaaanything at all. Bring on the sleaze.’ She looked him in the eye. Her own were narrowed.
He blew out a breath and muttered, ‘Wow’.
She peered up at the sky between the trees; it was now a beautiful dusky pink. ‘Well – all we can hope is that if we’re here for a while, the City of Lights is bright enough to light our way.’ Her eyes scanned the shadowy pathways and tombs. ‘And that there are no weirdos or fant?mes hanging about. Oscar’s grave’s that way.’
She pointed, then picked up her backpack. ‘Wait,’ she said, spotting Joel’s black beret still on the ground by the chewing gum tree. ‘That is not an appropriate tribute. Can you pick it up please?’ He did as she asked and she put the backpack down again, sighing loudly as she struggled to unzip it with one hand. ‘And that – we take your stupid rubbish with us.’
He gathered up the cling film remnants and passed them over.
Then she looked pointedly at his neck. ‘And please take that ridiculous scarf off. If we make it out of here, I won’t be seen with you wearing that.’
‘If you insist, mein führer . Although it’s quite Oscar-ish, don’t you think?’
‘Not with the stripy T-shirt. Take it off.’
He shook his head, then picked unsuccessfully at the knot. For a while she didn’t offer to help – he could suffer a little.
He soon gave up, and shrugged. ‘Can’t. Not with one hand.’
She rolled her eyes and moved in front of him. ‘Hold it still,’ she said, attempting to pull the knot undone. But it was tied tight.
‘Use your teeth,’ he said. There was a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he raised his chin, waiting.
She scowled. And yet … she was surprised to find her mouth heading towards his neck, her teeth biting down on the knot. As she tugged on an edge, feeling the material loosening, she was aware of the smell of him. Instead of the sweat and worse she might have expected, it was a heady, masculine scent, with notes of shaving gel and classy aftershave. It was a very agreeable scent, such as she hadn’t breathed in a long time.
It was a disconcertingly sexy scent.
She tugged again, and he chuckled. This close, she felt the laugh as a rumble, starting in his torso and working its way up his neck.
‘Anyone watching would think we were having weird vampire-themed sex in a cemetery,’ he said.
‘It happens, apparently.’ She tried to keep her tone neutral as the material came free … and she fought a sudden impulse to bite and suck.
‘If you’re thirsty, feel free to bite and suck,’ said Joel.
‘In your dreams,’ she snapped, stepping back. She yanked hard on the chain as she moved towards the backpack, as if bringing a dog to heel.
‘Down, boy,’ he said, grinning.
The necktie joined the beret and the plastic in the backpack. Chloe had to admit Joel’s remaining outfit suited him. The tight, stripy T-shirt accentuated his broad chest and toned abs, and the jeans fitted snugly around his slim hips and long legs.
She looked away quickly, and noticed her bouquet, still lying on the ground, made with love by Aunt Daisy. Vomit was splattered on its yellow paper wrapping, and on the orange ribbon. ‘I guess Jim can have these,’ she said. ‘At least the vomit matches the floral colour palette.’
‘God, I’m so sorry,’ he said, his grin disappearing. ‘Were they from your boyfriend?’
‘Nope. Have no boyfriend, want no boyfriend. I’m so off men you wouldn’t believe. The flowers were from my godmother, who’s also my boss. I work in a flower shop.’
‘Here in Paris?’
‘Yes. Just across from the cemetery entrance. And today was the shittiest of shitty days, even before I bumped into you and your revolting friends, and she made me this to cheer me up. How ironic.’
Chloe carefully pulled off the ribbon and unwrapped the paper, wincing as the smell of sick reached her nostrils, then took a few colourful stems, held them under her nose as an antidote, and tossed them over the barrier onto Jim’s grave. ‘There you go, Jim. You loser.’
‘Chloe!’
‘Drug addict, alcoholic, hell raiser, couldn’t keep it in his pants. C’mon baby light my fire . Seriously?’
Joel snorted. ‘Harsh.’
Before she could stop herself, she turned to him and said, ‘Your eyes are just like his.’
The eyes in question widened. ‘They are?’ They locked on hers. ‘Oh, wait – you mean bloodshot and unfocused?’
‘Soulful,’ she said, looking over at Jim’s photo. ‘Why do people still come here to worship at his grave? I mean, he’s been dead for more than fifty years.’ She waved a hand at all the flowers and candles. ‘Probably most of these visitors weren’t even born when he died.’
‘Same reason they visit Oscar Wilde,’ said Joel. ‘They wrote stuff that opened people’s eyes … opened doors, I guess, in their minds. They pushed boundaries, stuck two fingers up to convention.’
‘And died in sad circumstances before their time,’ she said, looking at the dates on Jim’s gravestone. ‘Only twenty-seven. How old was Oscar?’
‘In his forties. But … yes, very sad. He was wrecked by what he went through. Imagine, being thrown in jail because you loved a man … men. Having that love described as grossly indecent.’
‘Whereas Jim’s behaviour really was,’ said Chloe. ‘Didn’t he wave his willy at an audience?’
Joel grinned. ‘Just pushing the boundaries of artistic freedom.’
‘Imagine if they could’ve met,’ said Chloe. ‘I guess they were quite similar – both rebels, behaving in ways that caused shock and outrage.’
‘Both beautiful souls, misunderstood. Especially Oscar. Shall we go see him then?’ He eyed the remains of her bouquet. ‘You could save him a sunflower.’
Chloe took one from the bouquet and threw the rest of the flowers onto Jim’s grave.
‘Let me carry that,’ said Joel, looking at her backpack.
‘No,’ she said, lifting it over her shoulder.
‘Only trying to–’
‘Well don’t.’ She pointed in the direction of Oscar’s grave and set off walking, pulling him after her. ‘Are you steady on your feet now?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘So – you live in Paris. What’s the story there?’
She didn’t reply at first.
‘If you don’t mind me asking?’
She glanced across at him. She could give him the bare bones. ‘I did horticulture at uni, always wanted to work with plants and happily for me, my godmother has a flower shop here. She offered me a job, found me a flat – it even came with a cat. Guess I’m a lucky girl.’
‘You really are. Paris is a lot nicer than Oop North.’
She felt herself calming again as the beauty of the cemetery worked its magic.
‘How come you’re in Sheffield?’ she asked.
‘Moved there for my job.’
‘Which is?’
‘Data analyst.’
‘I have no idea what that means.’
‘It’s as boring as it sounds. But it pays well. I work for a big corporate.’
‘Oh.’ She stopped at a fork in the path, trying to get her bearings. Then said ‘Oh!’ again, louder, as a little black cat appeared ahead of them. Was that the cat from earlier?
‘Hello again! Bonjour! ’ called Chloe.
‘You know the cats?’
‘They’re my friends,’ she said. Then after a pause, ‘My only friends in Paris, actually. I’m probably as tragic as you when it comes to friends.’
‘You’re the cemetery crazy cat lady.’
‘I am.’
The cat gazed at them with its headlight green eyes, then trotted off along the right-hand fork before disappearing back into the jumble of tombs.
‘This way,’ said Chloe, following the cat’s lead.
‘I’ve got a cat, too.’
‘Oh! What sort? What’s its name?’
‘Ginger tom. Oscar. I bought a house last year.’
‘In Sheffield?’
‘Yep.’
‘You must be well paid.’
They went quiet. Joel looked deep in thought. Then all at once he blurted, ‘ To live is the rarest thing in the world . Most people exist, that is all .’
She looked over at him. ‘That’s a bit bleak.’
‘Oscar Wilde.’
‘It’s probably true.’ Chloe let out a sigh. ‘I guess most people in the world don’t have much of a choice, really. Just getting on with their lives, day by day.’
She was pretty sure they were closing in on Oscar now – she recognised the weeping angel on their left. Chloe had the distinct impression it was reacting to their conversation.
‘Chloe,’ said Joel, ‘do you ever stop and wonder what the fuck you’re doing with your life?’
‘Right now, I try not to think too much on that. I take it a day at a time. I’m just so thankful to my aunt for whisking me here, away from Huddersfield.’
‘Like a fairy godmother.’
She nodded. ‘Yes. But you know, even though I’m living in the world’s most beautiful city, doing my dream job, I guess … I’m still only existing right now.’
He smiled. ‘And somewhere along the way your sense of humour took a holiday.’
Chloe had been aware she was thawing – it was difficult not to, as Joel the idiot drunk evolved into Joel the interesting human being – but she wasn’t yet ready to explain and, fortuitously, a fox saved her from having to. ‘Oh, look!’ She pointed as the flash of orange briefly lit the shadows.
‘A fox!’ he whispered. ‘I would never have expected that.’
‘The wildlife’s really making a comeback here. Loads of different types of trees now, too.’
‘So you’re into all things green?’ he said, as they set off walking again.
‘Yep. Flowers, trees, all of the plants. And you’re into … data. What sort of data?’
‘Stuff for insurance companies, mainly. Risk analysis.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’m good at assessing risk.’
Chloe glanced at him, and found herself saying, ‘Maybe I should have got a risk assessment before I agreed to say “I do”.’
He nodded, looking unsurprised. ‘Thought it might be something like that.’
‘I don’t really want to talk about it. And maybe you should’ve assessed your risk when considering who to invite to your stag.’
‘Good point.’
‘Why are those bozos even your friends?’
‘They’re my mates from school, apart from one, from back home in Essex. I don’t really have any other close friends now I’ve moved to Sheffield. Just … Zara.’
‘Your fiancée.’
‘Yep.’
They went quiet again.
‘Will you go back to Huddersfield?’ he asked.
‘Not if I can help it.’
‘I’ve never been there. Is it a shithole?’
‘No, it’s a perfectly nice town. It’s just … I hate it now.’ The thought of going back made her blood run cold, which was sad. To be fair, it was only her last few weeks there that had been horrific. Her childhood had been … okay.
‘Is Huddersfield where you left your sense of humour?’
She stopped, and yanked on the chain.
He flinched. ‘Hey – that hurt.’
Good .
‘Look, Joel. Will you just shut up about my sense of humour? It’s getting boring. And for the record, none of what happened back there with your moronic mates was remotely funny.’
‘Welcome back, angry girl,’ he muttered.