Chapter 4
Four
ADDIE
“And I’ve mentioned that you will have a flatmate?
” Mum asked tentatively, in our first language, French, like she was worried this would be the thing that stopped me from moving back.
Yes, I had lived alone for the last few years, but Mum owned a flat within walking distance of Hampstead Heath and I only had to pay bills.
And now, I would be sharing those with someone else. A flatmate was fine.
“You’ve mentioned it. It’s still not a dealbreaker,” I said, also in French, as I threw some clothes into one of the three suitcases I had lying on my bedroom floor before dropping onto the floor cross-legged.
When I thought about the prospect of moving back across the Atlantic, it terrified me.
I had formed a life for myself in Montreal since I left my parents’ house the summer I turned eighteen, and so I assumed that I would have accumulated a lot of stuff.
Especially in the last five years, having been fortunate enough to call one place home.
But once I started making a plan of action, I realised that there wasn’t that much that I had any significant attachment to outside of my bedroom.
“It’s the new chef at Vivi’s. I’ve given him your number, so you can get to know each other before you live together. He moved from Manchester but is a London native. He’s a nice young man, Eli Jenkins.”
My eye twitched at that name. I hadn’t crossed paths with anyone called Eli for years. A fairly impressive feat considering it had been fourteen years since I’d shared a classroom with someone called Elijah.
My Elijah had always taken great offence to any attempts to shorten his name, so naturally, I called him Eli all the time. Not one of my finest moments, but I was fifteen, and he was annoying. My Elijah also had the surname Vincent.
Calling Elijah Vincent my nemesis sounded petty, and at nearly thirty, I knew viewing him as such was maybe the pettiest thing I had ever done. His only slight against me was being just as smart as I was.
I was the youngest of five incredibly intelligent girls, and I was also the smartest of us all, despite them having two years on me. I was, quite frankly, a dick about that fact. Being gifted and academically talented (a note I got every parents’ evening) was my thing. No one could beat me.
And then, at fourteen, Elijah Vincent walked into my life and ruined everything. Trying to beat him in terms of grades was my motivation for those two GCSE years, where we went toe to toe with one another.
It was a source of great annoyance that come results day, in all three core subjects, we got the exact same grade.
It felt like too much to see if there was a way to find out the exact breakdown of marks, to see if I beat him anywhere, but I did contemplate it.
Instead, I just had to let the knowledge that I got an A* to his A in history keep me warm at night.
A-Levels took us down different forks on a once shared path, so he stopped being the only thing I thought about morning, noon, and night. But, for those two years, Elijah was the bane of my existence.
With distance, I came to accept that he was also the person who made me better.
He somehow managed to make me less bitter.
I had a bee in my bonnet about being one of five, always feeling like I had to prove myself amongst them and never quite succeeding.
When Elijah came about, I cared less about being one of five and focused all my attention on beating him. It was a more enticing motivator.
Anyway, my Elijah would never have become a chef. His lifelong plan was to go into finance.
“Oh, yeah, that would be great. It’s good that Dad and Xander found a new head chef.
” They’d been looking for nearly three months.
At one point, Dad had even asked if I would consider taking the job.
I immediately said no. I was a good cook, but I had no desire to run a kitchen. Even if it was to help my dad out.
“Yeah. He’s good. Great, actually. He has a lot of experience running a kitchen, good creative ideas, and understands the importance of working seasonally. Your father and Xander are enamoured with him and can’t wait for him to crack on.” She sounded relieved.
It must have taken more out of Dad than either of them had been letting on in our weekly phone calls, and that was always a worry.
“As long as it means they are out of the kitchen again, it can only be a good thing,” I said.
“They’ve been good at letting the other chefs step up and take the lead, so it hasn’t been too bad. But yes, it can only be a good thing that they have someone to spearhead everything again.”
She sighed deeply. A sound that spoke volumes.
“How’s packing going?” she asked cautiously.
I still had three weeks before I absolutely had to be packed, so I had time.
Which was why she was cautious to ask me about it.
When I moved out to Montreal, I did all my packing forty-eight hours before my flight.
That was because I could. I was leaving my family home, and my parents wanted to keep some evidence that I had once resided there.
My childhood bedroom was like a time capsule of who I was as a teenager.
I looked around my bedroom and the half-full suitcases. The roll of bubble wrap that was too big for the four photo frames I needed to wrap. I thought about the rest of the flat and how there were growing piles, vaguely labelled ‘donate’ or ‘chuck’.
“It’s not—I mean, it is. I have plans for the larger bits of furniture.
I’ve found a home for all my plants, so I will be saying goodbye to them next week.
I appear to have more clothes than I originally thought, which is proving interesting given that I have only assigned three suitcases to this move, and that might have been too optimistic.
Most of my stuff, I think, can just be donated or thrown away, which is kind of sad.
I didn’t realise how little I’d allowed myself to settle in this space that I’ve called home for so long. ”
“It might be good to just feel all the feelings as they arise and unpack them that way. Or you might just end up having a good cry on the plane back.” I could hear the smile in her voice.
“I’ve been having near daily check-ins with Rachel about this. The consensus is still that I might have a good cry on the plane even if I do feel all the feelings beforehand.” I laughed.
A laugh that sounded thick with emotion already.
Deep down, I knew this was the right move, but I was still leaving the city that had been my refuge and my lifeline when I needed it most to go back to the city that I had needed to flee in the first place.
Emotionally, I was all over the place and would be for weeks.
“And that’s okay. You wouldn’t be the first person to fall apart on a plane. I think your father did it when he left me in that city for the first time.”
Montreal was where my parents first fell in love. It was partly the reason that I chose to live here. If I couldn’t be at home, at least I could be connected to them somehow.
“Dad definitely cried when he left you behind.”
Mum laughed loudly, and my heart warmed at the thought that I would get to hear that laugh in person again soon. It was one of my favourite sounds in the world.
“I’ll let you get on. Love you, Adrienne.”
“Love you too.”
I took a deep breath once I hung up and stood, ready to carry on packing up my life.