Chapter 8
Fuelled by the confidence of two martinis I walk back to my apartment alone. The American had tried to wrangle one of the hotel porters into acting as a bodyguard. I think it was more for Florian’s safety than my own – in case he was stupid enough to still be lingering by the door.
There is something waiting for me when I round the corner.
Thankfully not a man but instead a bright blue cool bag perches in the doorway.
I hesitate before opening it, wondering for a moment if something might explode, and then calm myself with a reminder that I am not some undercover spy; instead I am a woman hiding for much more mundane reasons.
I peel off the velcro lid to find my canvas bag full of the groceries I desperately needed but had abandoned at the café when the ‘situation’ arose. I hadn’t even realised they were missing.
It feels slightly like a peace offering. He could have left the bag there, maybe even binned the lot. I would have probably understood, but there is a nagging feeling of gratitude that I can at least eat tonight.
I lug the shopping, cool bag and all, up the stairs and have to immediately strip off my jumper when I reach the safety of the apartment.
There is a warm familiarity to the space now.
I am grateful that I’m here, able to shut a door to a space that is my own, a space that can’t be invaded by ghosts.
My phone rings. I see Archie’s contact card, a professional yet approachable picture of his face that makes me automatically smile until I realise what my face is doing and try to straighten everything back out.
‘Hi,’ I pant.
‘Are you running?’ I can hear the shock in his voice, the lilt that suggests he is smiling at the thought.
‘Less of the surprise!’ I scold and take off my shoes. ‘But no. I’ve just climbed some stairs.’
‘Bloody hell, Ava.’ He laughs, a genuine belly laugh. ‘Maybe we should hit the gym when you get back.’
‘Charming!’
‘You sound better,’ he says as I lug the bag into the kitchen and unload the contents on the counter. I let out a scoff. ‘No?’
‘I ran into Ettie’s brother.’ I fill in the blanks.
A pause. ‘The weird one?’
‘The only one.’
‘Fuck!’ Archie clearly remembers our rushed conversation on the subject. ‘Was he alright?’
‘Don’t know.’ I secure the phone with my shoulder as I start to look through the bag. ‘I kind of legged it, but I dropped my shopping and it was waiting on my doorstep when I got back.’
‘How does he know where you live?’
A cold shiver runs down my spine. I wish he hadn’t asked that because paranoia begins to set in. ‘Good question.’ I notice a little postage tag attached to the handle of the bag. ‘He’s left a note.’
‘Read it,’ Archie orders.
I do as he instructs, reading it to him before I have time to digest it myself.
Ava,
You left this. Sorry if I scared you earlier, I was shocked to see you. I can tell that you were shocked to see me too. There is so much I need to explain and that you should hear. Meet me at Fromages et Vins tomorrow at seven and we can talk.
Yours,
Florian
‘Seems legit,’ Archie muses. ‘Estranged brother who knows where you live wants to meet up tomorrow at a cheese shop.’
‘Fuck off.’ I start putting away the groceries until my hand passes over something papery on the bottle of wine.
It’s a neon yellow Post-it note:
The wine’s shit. Try this instead.
I pull out the bottle, realising that it is not the one that I had bought in the shop, but something else entirely with a cork and a dusty label.
I can feel the heat crawling its way up my neck.
It strikes me that Florian had not only retrieved my shopping but had also gone through it.
An intense frustration starts to prickle through me.
I imagine him trying to decode me, judging me.
Then I think of the tampons also hastily bought and the prickling heat turns into an all-encompassing redness that sticks to my cheeks.
‘The bastard!’ I screech.
‘What?’ Archie sounds incredibly alarmed.
‘He swapped it.’
‘Swapped what?’
‘The wine, the wine I bought. He said it’s shit.’
‘Is it more expensive?’ Archie replies after a short pause, his voice soft and measured.
‘It doesn’t matter if it’s more expensive. I wanted the wine I bought.’
‘Well, maybe try it before throwing it out?’ he tries to placate me.
‘Yeah, well I don’t have much of a choice.’ I pour out the wine into a glass and start chopping some vegetables for dinner. Despite the large lunch I needed something more than just the martinis.
‘Are you cooking?’ Archie sounds perplexed.
I feel my body stiffen; I appreciate that Archie has only really seen the worst parts of me but I really do question how he thinks I functioned for thirty years without being able to feed myself. ‘I can cook.’
‘What are you making?’
‘An omelette.’
‘Alright Heston.’
‘I’ll hang up!’ I throw the vegetables into the pan and start to whisk up the eggs. ‘Do you think you could stop questioning my cooking skills and help me decide what to do about stalker brother-in-law, please?’
‘I’d meet him,’ he says quickly and entirely unexpectedly. I assumed he would err on the side of caution, tell me that I should lock my doors and be on the first flight home.
‘You’d go?’ I repeat, making sure I had heard him correctly.
‘Yes.’ He sounds level-headed, his voice clear. ‘I’d hear him out.’
‘Well, you’re a man. You can meet other strange men in random bars and not end up buried in a ditch.’
‘He’s hardly a stranger, Ava.’
‘He’s strange to me.’ I mumble and pour the eggs into the pan, watching with satisfaction as the mixture almost immediately begins to curl at the edges. It smells good.
‘Look, whatever happened, things are different now. The drama was between the brothers, not you. This could be an opportunity for a fresh start.’
‘I don’t want a fresh start, I just want to go on pretending he doesn’t exist.’ I am aware I sound like a petulant teenager but if he is getting fed up with my whining he doesn’t let it show.
In fact I think he is enjoying listening to me rant and moan.
There’s an intimacy to this moody part of me he doesn’t often see. He’s right.
‘But he does exist, Ava, and by all accounts, he’s existing a few metres from your house in a place where you will have to go again during your month-long stay.
You meet up, have a drink, get things out in the open and then you can go about your life, write your book – hell, this could at least be an interesting chapter. ’
‘You’re missing the point.’ I flip the omelette. ‘I. Don’t. Want. To.’ Archie chuckles, it’s low and deep and I can feel another, different heat in my cheeks that isn’t from anger, embarrassment or cooking.
‘Don’t you want to know how he got your address?’ Archie tries another angle. One that always had a better chance of succeeding.
‘Yes.’
‘Well then, you’d better meet him there tomorrow at seven.’