Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
‘édith!’ Madame Moreau called. ‘Il y a un coursier qui te cherche.’
‘What?’ I asked, looking up and seeing a courier at the door, his white van parked outside. I came out from behind the counter and vaguely heard Madame Moreau ask if I was planning on doing any work today. I pretended not to understand, a tactic I employed quite often.
‘Signez ici,’ the courier said, holding out a small electronic machine.
I scribbled my signature on the screen, not knowing what I was signing for, as he didn’t seem to be holding a package.
‘Dehors,’ he nodded and I followed him outside.
There, perched jauntily on its stand at the side of the bakery was a beautiful cream-coloured bicycle, complete with a wicker basket.
‘What?!’ I exclaimed, looking around for some sort of explanation. I put my hands on the handlebars and saw an envelope inside the basket. I opened it quickly.
I hope you’ll excuse the lack of ribbons and bows – the courier company said they didn’t do that kind of thing.
Happy travels,
H x
I read the words over and over. Characteristically, Hugo was downplaying it, as though this wasn’t one of the most considered gifts I’d ever received.
A surprise present was one thing, but it was quite another to realise that he’d listened, really listened on our date and remembered my comment about getting a bicycle.
I tried to stay level-headed. It was too much and I obviously couldn’t accept it.
But I couldn’t help it, my heart was bounding ahead of me like a puppy escaping its leash.
My entire being felt lit up from within.
It was so rare these days to find someone who really paid attention and acted on their good intentions.
Hugo had gone from being my French crush to something much, much more.
He was a man who was genuinely thoughtful, as well as being incredibly good-looking!
‘Où est édith?’ I heard Manu call to Madame Moreau. I didn’t have the exact translation for her answer, but I thought she said something like, ‘That girl is outside smiling like a loon at a bike.’ And she was right, I was.
* * *
I cycled down to the river on my new bike during my lunch break.
I had fully intended to leave the bike exactly where it was and have it returned.
I couldn’t keep it. But the more I looked at it, the more I realised that I really wanted it.
I would pay him back, every cent. I sent him a message saying exactly that.
Hugo said he would FaceTime me so we could discuss it over lunch, but he had yet to find out how stubborn I could be when it came to paying my own way.
I brought half a baguette, some Emmental cheese, a red apple and an apricot pastry for dessert which looked like a glowing orange sunrise in golden pastry.
Everything tasted so good here! And I even brought a half bottle of white wine with a plastic cup.
The weather was bright, breezy and promising summer warmth.
I wondered what my first summer in France would be like.
I still couldn’t believe that I’d done it.
Nothing really matches up to the ideas in your head – some things are better, some things are definitely worse – but what you can never anticipate is how you will feel inside. And I felt proud of myself.
Minutes ticked by, and I eventually received a text from Hugo saying that he was stuck in a meeting.
I sent him a photo of my picnic on the bench with my beautiful new bike leaning against it.
It looked like a postcard scene. I began to wonder what exactly his job was.
But then again, perhaps he hadn’t spoken very much about it because it wasn’t his passion.
In my mind, he was a photographer, and with that, I clicked onto his website where he had uploaded some of his photos, and began munching my food.
The old buildings he’d captured were so beautiful.
There was a gorgeous teal-blue chocolate shop with arched windows and golden letters on the front.
My mind ran away with itself as I began to imagine visiting Paris with Hugo – him showing me the sights and then staying in some terribly chic hotel together.
Or his apartment. I wondered what that was like?
He seemed quite well off, so it was probably beautiful, with a doorman and everything.
Not like my atelier, with its dodgy plumbing and spooky noises.
I poured out a glass of wine and watched as a small motor boat sailed past on the water.
It was easy to dismiss my fears in the middle of a sunny afternoon, but there was a very real possibility that the bakery was…
No. I couldn’t even say the word. The very idea was too absurd for words.
And yet, something weird was going on. I picked up my phone again and opened the search engine.
My fingers typed the words ‘ghosts and hauntings’.
Scanning down the page, I searched for something that looked reliable.
After some browsing on the subject, I discovered that a lot of websites referred to two main types of hauntings; intelligent and residual.
Something in my gut made me click on the word ‘residual’ and when I spotted something on Wikipedia called The Stone Tape theory, I opened it.
The explanation I found was eerily accurate.
The Stone Tape theory is a paranormal hypothesis which speculates that during intense moments in someone’s life, places can absorb some form of energy from them as living beings.
After their death, this stored energy can then be released, resulting in a display of the recorded activity.
According to this hypothesis, ghosts are not spirits but simply non-interactive recordings similar to a movie.
I hadn’t even registered that I’d eaten the entire pastry while reading.
There was a part of me that wanted to know what was going on, but mostly I was hoping it would all go away or that there’d be some rational explanation.
I felt ridiculous for even looking it up.
I was about to shut down the page when I saw the words ‘… like an echo of past events’.
I thought of the person I’d seen, the man with the phantom glow lighting up his skin and his old-fashioned clothes marking him out as being from another time.
Could it have been possible? There was only one thing for it now – I had to confront Madame Moreau.
Just then my phone rang and I almost flung it into the river with fright.
Then I saw Hugo’s name on the screen and tried to compose myself.
‘Hello,’ I said, fixing my hair. It took me a moment to realise it wasn’t a video call.
‘Salut, chérie,’ he said, melting my heart immediately. ‘I can’t stay long, but I wanted to apologise for not making our lunch date. I will make it up to you.’
‘Oh, that sounds promising,’ I said, taking a bite of my apple.
‘Perhaps I could bring you back a little something from the city,’ he said in that seductive accent that fell somewhere between Paris and London.
‘Um, you literally just bought me a bike,’ I said, leaning across to the handlebars and ringing the bell for effect.
‘Does Mademoiselle approve?’
‘Of course I do, it’s beautiful, but I can’t possibly accept a gift like that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s too generous!’
‘And that’s bad because?’
‘I just – I like to pay my own way.’
‘Oh, of course, I didn’t mean…’ he trailed off.
I was glad I couldn’t see his face at that point. Maybe I’d insulted his generosity, but it was just how I felt.
‘When I’ve dated in the past, it was expected,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ I wasn’t sure how to respond.
‘That sounded weird, like I’ve time-travelled from the court of King Louis or something.’
‘It’s OK,’ I said, laughing. ‘I appreciated the gesture. Very much.’
‘What I mean is, if you were serious about someone, you let them know.’
Serious. He’d just used the word serious. About me. I tried and failed yet again to keep my heart from forming promises with his words.
‘I wish I’d known that before, I would’ve said I wanted a sports car!’ I said, trying to keep it light-hearted.
‘It’s all being noted down, don’t worry. Any particular colour?’
‘Surprise me.’
My cheeks hurt from smiling. In fact, I was pretty sure my smile was visible from space.