Chapter 16
16
Later that day, I have to physically drag Eloise from The Paris Bookshop for the Broken Hearted, pushing her along as if she’s a lame donkey. ‘Au revoir, Valérie!’ she calls out, her usual cool demeanour replaced by an effusiveness I haven’t seen in a long time.
‘Au revoir, Eloise.’
She loops her arm through her overfull tote. ‘That’s it, I’m forgoing the library and I’ll study upstairs in the book loft.’
‘Even with your “cringe” mum working there?’ I can’t help but tease. A few weeks ago she wouldn’t have been seen dead in the same vicinity as me.
‘Why do Boomers always try and speak Gen Z?’
I gasp. ‘I am not a Boomer, I’m a very proud Millennial, I’ll have you know.’ I’m happy that Eloise wants to make use of the bookshop, but it’s too far from school for her to walk alone so unless she’s with friends I’m not going to be comfortable with it. I don’t mention it now; as is the way with contrary teens, she may forget all about it by next week.
‘I love Valérie. Do you think she’s a white witch? ’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘White witch indeed! No, I think she’s a very smart businessperson who instinctively understands bookworms and has catered to their every desire.’
Eloise rolls her eyes as if I just don’t get it. ‘You make it sound so basic, as if she’s only there to make money.’
I frown. ‘That’s exactly what she’s there for. It’s a simple case of economics.’
‘You’re so left-brained, Mum. Valérie clearly doesn’t care about the money side of things. I saw her give away potions and passages to a few people today, and she watched that woman put a book in her ratty knapsack and turned the other way.’
‘What woman?’
‘The one with the red T-shirt, hair sort of a bird’s nest.’
Come to think of it, I did see that woman too. ‘Valérie might be lax at times, but I can’t see her being comfortable letting shoplifters snatch a book.’ Since there’s no employee manual, once again I’m left to decipher this on my own, and surely rule number one of retail is don’t let people steal?
I don’t hear the duh but it’s written all over Eloise’s face. ‘The woman had a hungry look about her. I’m guessing Valérie turned a blind eye so the woman would at least have the comfort of a book to make her happy.’
I mull it over. How is this thirteen-year-old so aware? I chide myself for not seeing that same plaintive need in the young woman with the unkempt hair. ‘I’ll keep an eye out for her in future. Valérie believes the broken hearted find their way to the bookshop to be healed, and at first I assumed she meant from love gone wrong, but it’s broader than that.’ It’s all a farce but Eloise loves this sort of stuff.
‘Really? So that woman with the red T-shirt found her way there by magic for a cure?’
‘If you believe Valérie, then yes. ’
‘Wow, she never told me that .’
‘Maybe because you’re not heartbroken.’
‘Mum, come on. All teenagers are heartbroken. Especially me. I’ve got an iPhone that belongs in the Jurassic period. That makes me sad at least ten times a day.’
‘Oh poor you, an iPhone that works perfectly fine. First world problems, Eloise.’
‘I don’t even have to use filters because the camera is so grainy. It’s like something from the eighties. Like a Polaroid, for crying out loud.’
We share a laugh. Eloise would love the latest tech gadgets but knows it’s not going to happen. Now, buying the latest books, well, that’s another thing entirely and I’ll always support that.
‘I bet Valérie’s potions and passages will help that woman. I’m certain of it. Speaking of which, has she cured your broken heart yet, or are you still writing down all the pros and cons of your new Parisian life before you allow her to work her magic on you?’ She shoots me a cheeky grin.
Times like this, all the worry I feel about my daughter evaporates. While she might be a hormonal grenade to be handled with extreme care at times, underneath that behaviour lies an empathetic soul. ‘There’s nothing wrong with writing out the pros and cons for every situation if you’re unsure.’
‘But did she help you yet or not?’
I shake my head. ‘Valérie’s got it in her head that Henri is the one for me.’
‘Ooh, that old Jude Law guy?’
I bristle in Henri’s defence. ‘He’s not old!’
‘He’s like, what… thirty or forty ?’
‘Yes, you’re right, he’s well on his way to being decrepit.’ I shake my head. Teenagers are hilarious.
Eloise is practically skipping with joy, probably the afterglow of a successful bookshop haul, and it’s good to see a radiance about her again. The last month or so has been tricky. ‘Why don’t you like this Henri guy then? Is there no chemistry?’
How does she even know about chemistry? ‘He’s just…’ How to explain it to a thirteen-year-old? ‘…Rather irritating.’
‘How?’
‘He just is.’
‘Yeah, but how? Does he laugh too loud, or?—’
‘Yes!’ I grab hold of the excuse – any excuse. ‘He laughed so hard the other day he frightened customers. Who behaves like that, especially in a bookshop? He’s strange .’
‘ Mum .’
‘What?’
‘You don’t really think he’s strange, do you? It’s more that you’re feeling strange in his presence. When you say stuff like that I know you’re lying. You like the guy!’
‘I do not like him!’ I say with all the bluster of a child.
‘I mean like as a friend. You always get a bit antsy when you hope that person will like you back. You act sort of… scattered when it happens.’
‘Oh, not this again. I’m a very regimented disciplined person. I wouldn’t describe myself as scattered at all.’
‘OK.’
‘OK?’
‘You can be both, all at once.’
‘Impossible.’
‘So you don’t think he’s cute?’
I fumble with an answer. ‘No… Yes… Well, I haven’t noticed.’
She lets out an impatient sigh. ‘More lies! I thought we weren’t supposed to lie to each other. Why can’t you admit you like him and you do think he’s got that mad rizz? ’
‘Mad rizz?’
‘Charisma.’
She’s got me there with the lie agreement we made. I huff. ‘Fine. By society’s standards he may be considered handsome, and I would agree. However, his personality leaves a lot to be desired.’
‘That feels like more lies smothered in a lot of unnecessary words.’
‘Fine. Fine. He’s ridiculously attractive and I do like the man one minute and then despise him the next so I’m really not sure what that’s all about. Valérie sings his praises and it all feels a bit forced. I know virtually nothing about him, even though he’s at the bookshop most days.’
I feel an uncomfortable flush when Henri’s face flashes in my mind and would much prefer to drop this subject.
‘You would look cute together, but it’s probably not the right time and timing is everything .’
I don’t bother asking how she knows this to be true. The internet has a lot to answer for. ‘So,’ I say while she’s in an expansive mood. ‘How were Léa and the other girls yesterday?’ Eloise had kept her distance during the school week but couldn’t avoid them for a group project for art.
She waves a hand in a so-so motion. ‘They couldn’t say much because we were in class doing that stupid project together with a teacher close by, but there were still little comments here and there.’
‘What kind of comments?’
‘About my hair, mostly, why I insist on the Rapunzel look. They also joked about me living with my grandparents in a small apartment in Montparnasse, as if the arrondissement proves I’m not one of them, who all live fancy apartments in the 7th with views over the Eiffel Tower or something.’
Bullying hasn’t changed through the ages. ‘That must be upsetting, to have them judge you for things that are out of your control.’ The tiger mum in me roars at such an injustice done to my daughter. Belittling her for living in a humbler abode. It’s so out of line. But I keep my thoughts private.
Eloise drops her head as if the memory is heavy. ‘Yeah, it’s sort of embarrassing because they make sure they’re just loud enough for those around us to hear, but not loud enough to catch the attention of the teacher.’
Tiny monsters at thirteen. ‘You’re handling it really well, but I can step in if needed and I promise I won’t make a scene. I can keep it confidential and ask them to keep an eye out so it’s not as if you told on the girls.’
She guffaws. ‘Not risking it. It’s OK, I’m just going to ignore it. It’s weird though, I sort of feel sorry for Léa.’
‘What, why?’ Is Eloise buying into the manipulation from these girls?
She wrinkles her brow. ‘This boy in my maths class told me her maman died last year. It all happened suddenly and after that she changed. Turned nasty.’
Losing her maman at the age of twelve is awful to contemplate. ‘Ooh, that’s terrible news. A traumatic experience I’m sure, but that doesn’t give her the right to hurt others,’ I say gently, wondering if I’m being callous. Perhaps this girl needs compassion more than anything, but it’s hard to separate my protective instinct from the equation.
‘ Oui , I agree, but it does sort of explain it.’
‘Perhaps it would be sensible to speak to a teacher on the quiet about what’s going on. I wonder if this is a cry for help. She probably needs some support to deal with her ongoing grief and could connect with the school therapist about why she’s lashing out. You’d be helping her, even if it didn’t feel quite like that.’
‘I’m sure she’d know it was me who spoke up though.’
‘Hmm.’ This is such a complicated time. ‘Does that really matter in the scheme of things? What if her behaviour escalates? What if all she really needs is a shoulder to cry on, a trained professional to listen to her and give her strategies to cope rather than bully the new girl? It sounds like she’s trying to hurt you because she’s hurting.’
‘ Oui , I guess. It’s just so awkward at lunchtimes. Everyone looks at me weirdly because I’m not sitting with Léa and rest of them now. I’m finding it hard to make friends because I’m sure they’re all scared of her too, and I think they’re worried if they sit with me, she might start on them.’
‘What about the kids from your music class?’ Don’t musical kids stick together? Form bands and bonds?
She rolls her eyes. ‘They hang out by the music room and mostly keep to themselves.’
‘Can you hang out with them?’
She contemplates it. ‘Maybe.’
We come to a row of bouquinistes, the booksellers on the bank of the Seine. Eloise stops to check out the Paris postcards. While she’s flicking through them, I say, ‘Just to confirm, I can’t make one teeny call to the school and tell them to handle it sensitively?’
She waves to the stallholder and hands over some coins for a couple of postcards. ‘No way. That will only make it worse, and besides, what can you say? They told me to cut my hair and wear different clothes? That they live in a more prestigious area? Léa will tell the teachers they were trying to help me fit in. She’s got them all fooled.’ We continue walking along the River Seine as boats chug along the waterway.
I exhale a long breath. I promised Eloise that I would never go behind her back in these matters as long as she is open and honest with me, but if I felt there was an urgent need to intervene, I’d tell her and that would be that. Teenagers need to learn the skills to stand up for themselves and navigate bullying, but only to a point before parent intervention is necessary. Unfortunately, my strong-willed daughter never quite sees it that way. ‘OK, but promise me you will think of telling a teacher if it continues? You never know, Léa might need help and doesn’t know how to ask for it. You could be doing her a favour.’
‘I promise. Now, can we talk about anything else?’
‘Sure.’
‘Let’s get some canelés at the patisserie for Mémère?’ Canelés are a French pastry filled with rum and vanilla custard, drenched in a sugar syrup, giving it a caramelised taste. They’re Maman’s favourite.
I grin. ‘We can. Let’s take a little picnic to Jardin Atlantique and see if she’ll join us for the afternoon?’
‘ Parfait .’
‘I wish your grandad wasn’t working.’ He doesn’t usually work weekends but they’re looking at taking over another small laundry so he’s going over their accounts to see if it’s viable.
Eloise gives my shoulder a pat. ‘Same, but he said if he gets this other business his plan is to merge with theirs and then eventually sell so they can retire.’
‘They’ll never retire. They like the hustle too much.’ It’s one of the things I love about them – they’re always alive with ideas, and purpose. They enjoy working.
‘Even though it’s super lame an adult has to walk me to school, I do like spending time with him in the mornings. He’s been telling me all about you as a teenager, and wow, I didn’t know you were so wild, Mum! You used to sneak out? ’
I laugh; me the rebel is not quite how it went. ‘Did he tell you where I used to sneak out to?’
‘No, where did you go?’
‘The library! They always wanted me home early when they were working late, but I wanted to study in the library.’
She slaps her forehead. ‘ Really? That is so lame.’
‘Really. They wouldn’t let me travel that far alone…’
‘Sounds familiar!’
I grin. ‘And I loved visiting libraries. No matter where we lived, I’d hunt them out and spend time in them all. It cemented my love of reading, of words. I didn’t know if I’d be a writer, or a librarian, a bookseller, or an editor, I just knew I’d be in the industry someday. But my very staid and boring parents told me it would ease their minds if I just studied at home while they worked. So, to ease their minds, I did, until they worked late and then I’d go the library.’
‘That’s not exactly wild.’
‘It was at thirteen.’
‘I’m going to have to speak to Grandad about his storytelling. What an epic letdown.’