Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
‘What’s this for?’ I asked, as Johnny handed me a box of chocolates. It was mid-morning and I was taking my coffee break at a table under the awning outside the bakery.
‘An apology and a thank you,’ he said, sitting on the empty chair beside me and lighting up a cigarette.
‘The tour-guide job?’
He nodded.
‘I spoke to Geoff and he’s a really good bloke. I’m doing a trial run tomorrow.’
I opened the box of chocolates and ate one immediately.
‘I’m sorry, too, I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in your business like that. I really did mean well, but sometimes I get carried away with myself. I suppose I’m just?—’
‘A fixer?’
I grimaced.
‘No, seriously, you did me a favour. Things have been a bit tight and I was letting my pride get in the way.’
‘How do you mean?’ I asked, offering him a chocolate.
‘I suppose I had this idea that if I took on a day job, it meant that I was selling out or that I didn’t really believe I could make it as a musician. Us creative types are quite sensitive,’ he said half-jokingly, before stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray.
‘I totally get it,’ I said. ‘The truth is, I think you’re really brave. You’re following your dreams, no matter what.’
‘Brave or stupid,’ he replied, resting his elbows on his knees and staring down at the cobbles under our feet.
‘I used to think that I wanted to be a singer,’ I said in a low tone, as though I was in the confessional box.
‘But I didn’t think I’d be good enough to make a living, so I just abandoned it altogether as a stupid dream.
I mean, that’s what happens, isn’t it? You grow up and face reality, but what you don’t realise is that abandoning your dreams is like abandoning a part of yourself.
And for what? Because it won’t make you rich?
I mean, so what? Maybe it’ll make you happy, and you can’t put a price on that. ’
‘Eh … wow!’ said Johnny, taken aback.
‘Sorry, I’m rambling?—’
‘No, not at all, it’s like listening to someone’s life manifesto! You should sing, Edith, if it makes you happy.’
‘Oh, no, I mean, I wasn’t talking about me per se,’ I said, suddenly feeling exposed and awkward.
‘Listen, anytime you want to jam with us?—’
‘Oh, I couldn’t, Johnny, I’m not a performer like you.’
‘You think I started out like this? I learned my craft busking on the streets… And do you wanna know what the secret is?’
My eyebrows shot up. I did want to know, very much.
‘People think performing is about putting on an act, but it’s not. It’s about letting people see the real you.’
His words seemed to reverberate, right into my soul.
‘édith?’ Madame Moreau called from the open doorway.
‘And on that note,’ I said, rising from my seat and straightening my apron, ‘I’d better be getting back to work.’
‘OK, but think about what I said,’ said Johnny, before walking off down the street with a new pep in his step.
‘Thanks for the chocolates,’ I called after him, ‘and good luck tomorrow!’
What was it about this place that kept causing me to blab my inner thoughts out loud, I wondered?
* * *
The evening crowd were forming a queue for their baguettes, and while I was busy serving, I noticed Manu come into the kitchenette behind the counter through the door that led to the basement.
It was the first time I’d seen it being used, but before I had a chance to see what was behind it, he closed it hastily and turned a key in the lock.
We exchanged an awkward glance when he realised he was being watched.
What’s the big mystery? I wanted to say, but I had a feeling that I’d have to solve it myself.
Along with the fact that they hardly had any English-speaking customers.
Why had they specified ‘English as a first language’ in their ad?
Something was definitely amiss, but it was hard to keep my focus when my phone buzzed with a text from Hugo.
I read it surreptitiously while keeping it in my apron pocket, otherwise I’d never hear the end of it from Madame Moreau. Mobile phones were a no-no at work.
It was so good to see you last night, it read.
When he’d dropped me off, he finally asked for my number.
‘You’re costing me a fortune on stamps!’ he’d said, and as he began punching in my digits, I leaned across and kissed him softly just below his ear. ‘Erm, I’ve completely forgotten the numbers now,’ he added, his voice sounding husky.
‘Two-zero-three,’ I said, all the while placing kisses from his jawline to his collarbone.
‘Oh, sod it,’ he said, dropping the phone and reaching over until his hand was at the back of my neck, his fingers running through my hair.
The memory of it now was making my legs feel wobbly.