Chapter Eighteen #2
Emily liked having her own space and Juliette didn’t want to crowd her; she knew this arrangement would suit everyone perfectly.
After she’d left Emily to settle in, she drove to the nursing home to collect Zizi’s things: a poignant task she’d undertaken to spare Nico the heartache.
The staff knew her well by now and she’d miss them, too – especially Zizi’s favourite nursing assistant, Monique.
She looked about fifteen, a scrap of a girl who was surprisingly strong, had a keen sense of humour, and never talked to the residents as though they were children.
‘I hate this part of the job,’ Monique said, handing Juliette a suitcase in the reception area with tears in her eyes. ‘We shall all miss our Zizi. She didn’t suffer fools gladly but she could be hilarious.’
‘She could indeed.’ One of the nurses had encouraged Nico to talk to his grandmother about her funeral wishes, so he’d asked her whether she’d prefer to be buried or cremated. ‘And do you know what she answered?’ Juliette told Monique. ‘“Surprise me!”’
‘She was one of a kind, that’s for sure,’ Monique said, shaking her head.
‘But wait a minute, I have something else.’ She reached behind the desk and passed Juliette a large brown envelope and a smaller white one.
‘A letter for her grandson, and her photograph album for you; she got everything ready a couple of weeks ago. I think she knew her time was coming to an end. People sometimes sense it, you know.’
Juliette glanced at Zizi’s spidery scrawl on the front of the larger envelope. For Juliette, she had written, because I know she will appreciate these pictures, and keep them safe.
‘But shouldn’t her family have such a precious thing?’ she asked.
‘Zizi left it specifically to you,’ Monique replied.
‘You were the one who visited her nearly every week, and talked to her about the past, and brought her treats. She was fond of you. “At last my grandson has found a good woman,” that’s what she told me once.
I think she’d almost forgiven you for being American. ’
Juliette shook her head. ‘I had no idea.’
When she arrived back at Nico’s apartment, she gave him his letter and showed him the envelope with its inscription. ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble, though,’ she said. ‘If your father or your brother want this album, they must take it.’
‘I can assure you they won’t,’ Nico replied.
‘It’s funny,’ Juliette said, laying her head on his shoulder as they sat together on the couch, ‘I always had a sneaking suspicion that your grandmother was disappointed you’d broken up with Delphine, and that she hoped you’d get back together again.’
Nico laughed. ‘Whatever gave you that idea? Zizi was never a fan of Delphine – she said I was better off without her, and she was absolutely right.’ He kissed the top of her head and Juliette was reassured, though she wished she could stop looking for reassurance.
She didn’t like to be so needy; Nico would tire of it, and who could blame him?
Zizi’s letter expressed her funeral wishes: she wanted to be cremated, in fact, since she dreaded being buried alive, and she wasn’t concerned about prayers but asked everyone to sing the lilting traditional hymn, ‘J’irai la voir un jour’, because she loved the tune, which sounded to her like a lullaby.
‘She sang it for me once,’ Juliette said, remembering how moved she’d been by Zizi’s reedy voice, and the expression on her face.
There would be champagne at the wake, and plenty of it – Zizi had set money aside to cover this – and everyone was to celebrate the fact she’d lived such a long, lucky life and would now be joining her Henri again.
Nico, you were a handful when you were young but you’ve improved with age, she’d ended the letter. I’m proud of the man you’ve become. Try to be happy – you deserve it.
Nico looked serious as he tucked the letter back in its envelope after showing it to Juliette. She watched him, wondering what he was thinking.
Nico was not looking forward to Zizi’s funeral either, it turned out. He became increasingly tense as Wednesday approached, and not merely because he was having to handle all the arrangements by himself.
‘I don’t mind seeing Papa,’ he told Juliette, which wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, ‘but Marc . . .’ And he’d sighed. ‘Somehow he always manages to wind me up.’
Juliette had had lunch with Nico’s father a couple of times but she’d never met his brother.
All she knew was that Marc was four years older than Nico, lived in Miami and ran a chain of French restaurants.
He’d be staying in Paris for a few days, and the whole family would be going out for dinner the Saturday after Zizi’s funeral.
‘You don’t have to come,’ Nico told Juliette, though when she told him that of course she wanted to, he’d kissed her and seemed grateful.
When she wasn’t at the bookshop or helping with the funeral arrangements, Juliette spent as much time as possible with Emily.
They were having a drink at the café in the Place Dorée on the Tuesday evening when Emily suddenly said, ‘I get it now, Mom. You and Nico, I mean – I can see how you fit together.’
‘Thanks,’ Juliette replied, touched. Emily looked so lonely that she squeezed her hand and added, ‘It’s taken me a while to find my soulmate. And even if Nico hadn’t come along, I’d still have been OK.’
‘I know.’ Emily swept spilled sugar into a tidy pile on the counter top. ‘But honestly, I have no idea what to do next and it’s scary. I have no job, no partner and when the lease runs out on my apartment, no home either.’
‘I can imagine. Don’t forget what you do have, though.
’ Juliette ticked off Emily’s assets on her fingers.
‘You graduated summa cum laude and you have a great CV; you’re fit, healthy and solvent; plus you have plenty of friends, a brother who adores you and parents who will back you all the way.
I think you’ll be fine. Take a break to recharge and you can hit the ground running in September. ’
Emily laughed. ‘Well, if you put it like that.’
‘I do. You know, the French have a saying, “Reculer pour mieux sauter”.’ Emily looked blank so she translated: ‘“Step back to jump further.” That’s what you’re doing now. Just the funeral to get through tomorrow and then we can relax.’
‘Are you sure no one will mind me being there?’ Emily asked. ‘I never even met Zizi.’
‘Nico says you’re more than welcome,’ Juliette told her.
She had a feeling she’d be grateful for Emily at her side because, on top of everything else, she’d just learned that Delphine would be coming to the funeral. ‘She asked me when it was and I couldn’t not invite her,’ Nico had said. ‘Sorry.’
‘Of course she must be there, if she wants,’ Juliette had replied. ‘Don’t give it a second thought.’
The day should be about Zizi; she shouldn’t let petty personal feelings get in the way of that.
The funeral did Zizi proud, everyone agreed afterwards; she would have been delighted by the number of mourners and graciously accepted the nice things everyone said about her.
All her friends of the same generation had passed away but Nico and Juliette had organised a minibus from the retirement home to the crematorium, and Zizi’s family had turned out in force.
Nico’s father had come with his current wife (he’d been married three times), and Marc had brought his partner, who was American – so everyone immediately assumed she and Juliette would have lots in common and want to spend the whole time together.
Wrong on both counts. Cheryl’s face was shiny and smooth, pumped with so much Botox that only her eyes could express any emotion, their brows arched in an air of permanent surprise.
She wore a great deal of gold jewellery, as did Marc, her bangles clanking as she moved.
Nico’s brother was tall and well built, with thick white hair swept back from a face tanned the colour of mahogany.
He pulled Nico close when they met and slapped him on the back, but there was something forced about the gesture, some note that didn’t ring true.
Juliette could tell from the way Nico held himself – stiffly, hands clenched by his sides – that he felt uncomfortable.
He greeted his father, Xavier, more warmly, and his stepmother, Geneviève, with real enthusiasm; she was a French Canadian from Quebec, whom everyone liked, Nico had told Juliette, and who had finally made Xavier happy.
They made their way into the hall, subdued to see the wicker casket covered in flowers, and hear the bittersweet, haunting music: a folk song from the Auvergne that Nico had chosen.
Only when the ceremony was about to begin did Delphine make her entrance, stalking to the front of the room and sitting among the cousins, directly behind Nico and Juliette.
She’d had her hair cut short, which suited her beautiful bone structure, and it was still thick and glossy.
Think about Zizi, Juliette told herself, digging her fingernails into her palm, although that wasn’t easy with Delphine breathing down her neck.
Yet as the service progressed, she became swept up in the moment.
Xavier gave a brief account of Zizi’s long life, and then her grandsons spoke on a more personal level, remembering the time they’d spent with her and their grandfather Henri as teenagers in Paris in the 1970s.
Juliette’s heart swelled to see Nico standing there, so handsome in a dark suit and tie, speaking too quickly because he was nervous.
He’d practised his speech in front of her so she knew what he was about to say, but she could have listened to him on repeat without wanting him to stop.
After a couple of readings, they all stood to sing ‘J’irai la voir un jour’, and the beauty of that moment was overwhelming: their voices swelling as they stood shoulder to shoulder, expressing their love for this woman, their sadness that she was gone, their gratitude for having known her.
A final short prayer, then another song from the Auvergne as the casket was borne away, curtains drawn over it, and they were spilling into the next-door room to blow their noses and drink champagne.
Emily hurried up from her seat at the back of the room to hug her mother, and then Nico. ‘That was so beautiful,’ she said. ‘I was crying and I didn’t even know your grandmother.’
‘Then one might ask what you’re doing here,’ said a voice in heavily accented English, and they turned to see Delphine.
For a second, they all stared at her in silence. ‘This is my daughter, Emily,’ Juliette said, recovering herself first. ‘Emily, this is Delphine.’ She hesitated, wondering how to continue, and decided to leave it at that.
‘Emily happens to be staying with us,’ Nico added, ‘and of course she’s more than welcome. She’s supporting her mother.’
‘How sweet,’ Delphine said acidly. ‘Nico, may I borrow you for a moment?’ And she took his elbow to steer him away.
‘Who the hell was that?’ Emily asked, once they’d gone. ‘I saw her making a grand entrance. Is she some weird relative?’
‘She’s Nico’s ex,’ Juliette replied, and Emily pulled a face.
‘She doesn’t look very “ex” to me. What do you think they’re talking about?’
‘Arrangements, probably,’ Juliette replied. ‘Delphine has breast cancer and Nico’s been taking her to chemotherapy.’
‘Really? I’d never have guessed she was going through chemo,’ Emily said, watching Delphine as she talked to Nico, waving her champagne glass about for emphasis.
‘Her hair is amazing, for one thing, and she’s chugging champagne like it’s about to run out.
And did you notice? She has a vape sticking out of her bag. ’
‘So what are you implying?’ Juliette asked.
‘That maybe you need to ask a few questions. Has Nico actually seen her having chemotherapy?’
‘No, he drops her off and picks her up afterwards,’ Juliette admitted, getting a clearer idea of where this conversation was heading.
Even after Delphine’s operation, she’d asked him to wait in the hospital reception area rather than coming up to the ward.
‘She doesn’t want to seem vulnerable,’ Nico had said, and Juliette had accepted that.
Emily shook her head. ‘Mom, you’re too trusting. You need to wake up and smell the coffee.’
‘You seriously think she’s making it up? But why would she do that?’ Yet Juliette already knew the answer: so much sympathy to be gained, all that time spent with Nico on his own, the undeniable right to demand his attention.
Yet, still . . . ‘I don’t believe Delphine would have the nerve,’ she said.
Emily raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you sure? Because from what I’ve seen so far, I’d say she has more than enough. If you want to keep Nico, Mom, you may have to fight for him – and you might think twice about spending August in Provence.’