Chapter 15 #2
I’d had some email correspondence with the owner of the property who it turned out was married to a Brit.
Clearly knowing our need for a cuppa, she had kindly offered to make sure there was a small amount of fresh milk in the fridge for our arrival.
I took off my coat, laid it over the chair and walked to the kitchen part of the open-plan living area.
Filling the kettle, I switched it on and after a bit of rummaging found two china mugs and set them next to the kettle.
‘Here you go.’ Sash appeared next to me with our emergency stash of teabags we’d packed in a small tin. There was a large box in my suitcase. Obviously.
‘Thanks. Let’s go and have a nose around.’
The main living area looked exactly like the pictures we’d seen online, thankfully, and the high-ceilinged room was painted a soft shade of off-white.
Luxuriously thick, pale-blue curtains hung at the full-length windows and complemented the cornflower-blue, squashy sofa that faced them.
Two other cream-coloured armchairs provided more seating and a dark wood coffee table sat on a large, pastel, floral rug in the centre of these.
‘Isn’t it lovely that the seating is centred around the coffee table and not the television?’ I commented as I tried the sofa. ‘Ooh, this is lovely.’
‘I don’t think there is a telly,’ Sash said, looking around.
‘Good.’
She looked unsure.
‘Obviously, you can still access things on your devices, but, personally, I’m looking forward to reading more.’
‘Oh. Yeah. Of course.’
I walked to the window opposite the sofa and pulled back the sheer curtains that lay behind the others.
‘Oh!’
‘What’s the matter?’ Sash caught up with me. ‘Oh!’ she echoed.
I twisted the key, unlocked the doors and stepped out onto the tiny balcony.
Paris! I missed you.
Below sat a small, cobbled courtyard. A few benches were scattered about, a couple placed under the currently bare branches of some trees.
On one sat an older man wrapped up, stylishly of course, against the chill of the weather, reading a hardback book that, at a glance, looked older than my daughter.
Here and there was the odd evergreen shrub adding some colour to the scene.
Various large planters were dotted about which, although currently empty, I could picture spilling over with spring and summer blooms.
‘Is that ours?’ Sash asked.
‘It’s shared between these three buildings,’ I replied, my hand moving to encompass the three similar houses that surrounded it, as well as this one.
‘Are they all apartments?’
‘I don’t know. Possibly. I suppose some of them could still be houses.’
‘They’d be massive!’
‘They would. And pricey.’ Even back in the day, it had cost a fortune to rent my one-room pension.
I knew I was lucky to have secured such a great apartment this time around.
Just as well as I was long past staying in ratty places like I’d been willing to back then.
These days, creature comforts were high on the must-have list.
‘I think I’d feel a bit weird sitting down there when other people I didn’t know could be there too.’ Sash pulled a face.
‘That’s how you meet people. But, even if you saw someone, it doesn’t mean they’ll want a conversation anyway. That gentleman looks engrossed in his book, for example.’
‘Yeah. I suppose.’
We’d been lucky enough to have a large and fairly secluded back garden in our family home in Surrey. It wasn’t surprising that to have to share outside space now might come as a bit of a shock to my daughter.
‘At least there’s somewhere to go if you want to and it’ll be lovely as the weather warms up.’
She looked again. ‘True. I’m sure it will just take a bit of getting used to.’
‘Exactly.’
‘It’s gorgeous though, isn’t it?’
‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘It really is.’
Sash insisted on taking the smaller bedroom, although I’d told her I was happy to have it. Both had been tastefully furnished and were scrupulously clean. Mine also had an en suite which left the main bathroom for Sash to use as her own.
‘I can’t believe you have a bath in your bedroom!’ Sash said as we finished exploring. ‘That’s so extra!’
‘I know! I’ve always loved the look of it. We stayed in a hotel room one time many years ago that had one in it. I thought it was fabulous. Your dad wasn’t quite so keen.’
‘Why not?’ Sash asked as she took the tea I’d made and headed over to the sofa.
‘I suppose it’s just a bit different from what we’re used to. He didn’t fancy the thought of standing up in the bath and baring all and sundry to anyone who happened to be in the vicinity.’
‘Ew, Mum. Too much info.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, laughing as I took a seat next to her. The panic of earlier was wearing off a little now as we relaxed in the beautiful apartment with our soothing cups of tea.
‘Do you mind if I film a tour?’
‘No, not at all. Best to do it while it’s still tidy,’ I teased. ‘I think I’m going to pop out and get a few groceries anyway so I’ll be out of your way.’
‘Are you sure? I mean, I can do this later if you want me to come with you?’
‘No, you go ahead. I won’t be long. It’ll do me good to stretch my legs anyway.’
‘OK, if you’re sure,’ she said, pulling her camera out of her bag.
‘Perfectly.’ I stood and took the cups to the kitchen, popping them in the top tray of the slimline dishwasher before picking up my coat and slipping it back on. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘OK. Have you got your phone?’
I held it up to show her before dropping it back in my bag, smiling at the reversal of roles.
How many times had I asked her the very same question over the years?
Although, like most people these days, that was the one thing she was unlikely to forget.
I picked up the spare set of keys Olivia, the owner, had left on the side and headed out.
From the research I’d done, together with helpful information Olivia had sent over, the nearby market would be open tomorrow so I only planned on getting a few bits in for now.
One of the many things I’d loved about Paris, and France in general, was the easy availability of high-quality fresh food and I was looking forward to getting up early tomorrow and heading across to the market.
I suspected it would make great content for Sash too – although what did I know?
I’d suggest it to her anyway. In the meantime, there should be a little supermarket down this road somewhere around… aha! Here.
I got a few basics, pausing to nose at things I’d whizz past at home. Supermarkets were always far more interesting abroad.
‘Bonjour!’ I greeted the checkout girl with my best accent.
‘Bonjour,’ she replied in a tone that suggested it was not a particularly ‘bon’ jour as far as she was concerned and would rather be anywhere else but there. Oh well. I tapped my card to pay, gathered my goods in a canvas bag I’d brought with me and tried again.
‘Au revoir.’
Silence.
Worth a try.
Next stop, the boulangerie.
Oh, God. Bread! And pastries! I double-checked to make sure I wasn’t physically drooling as I entered the shop. The smell alone had probably just added five pounds to my hips but I didn’t care. I was in heaven and calories didn’t count up here.
‘Bonjour, madame!’ A cheery greeting knocked me back to earth.
‘Bonjour!’ I replied.
‘What can I get you?’ she asked in rapid French.
I chose a baguette (I know. So sue me), and two strawberry tarts that were so beautiful, it would be a crime to eat them. But eat them I definitely would! Well, one of them, assuming Sash was quick enough to grab the other.
I paid, cheered by the fact that I’d managed a conversation, albeit short, with my rusty French.
I’d even braved asking the lady where the nearest fromagerie was.
If there was one thing that this bread was crying out for, it was a rich and creamy brie.
The other thing I knew for sure was that I was going to have to up my exercise now I was back in Paris.
Thirty years ago, I could eat all the wonderful offerings and never gain a pound.
That speedy metabolism was sadly a distant memory now but that was a problem for a different day.
Today, I had decided, after my initial wobble, that I was going to enjoy the day, eat the food and just ‘be’ in Paris.
Stepping back out onto the pavement, I looked up the street to where I’d been directed, and began walking.
But the further I went, the less confident my steps became.
The feeling I’d had as we’d stepped out from the station reared up again.
As I noticed the people who strode past me, I felt smaller and smaller – and dowdier and dowdier.
How different from the girl I’d been the first time when I’d felt – and been – so confident and relaxed in my style.
I knew who I was and what I wanted. Now…
who was I? I was ‘Professor Collins’s wife’, or ‘Sasha’s mum’.
But who was I really? I was no longer the first and although I would always be the second, and loved it, surely there was, or at least should be, more to me than being someone’s mother alone. Who was I?
There was no doubt what I wasn’t, though. And that was stylish. I tipped my head down, lowered my eyes and hurried along to the shop. Had I been here alone, I knew that I would have hurried back to the apartment. But I couldn’t. She might be a grown-up but Sash was here and we needed lunch.
Ten minutes later, I had some ridiculously creamy brie which the chap behind the counter had insisted I try before I bought.
That had brought my smile back, even if only temporarily.
I’d forgotten what an experience food shopping was here.
I couldn’t wait for the market tomorrow now.
As I walked back in the watery sunshine, I glanced down at my cosy, but, let’s face it, very ugly coat.
It hadn’t seemed out of place at home but now?
I pushed the thought out of my mind and, head down, hurried back to the flat.
Sash waved as I entered.
‘And here’s Mum, back from getting us some lunch for our first day in Paris.’
I frowned and shook my head. Sash paused and lowered the camera she’d been talking to.
‘What is it?’
‘I don’t want to be in it, Sash.’ The thought of my daughter’s one hundred thousand-plus subscribers seeing her dowdy old mother made me cringe.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t, love.’ I placed my purchases on the island and shrugged off the coat like a caterpillar’s chrysalis. Except I didn’t feel like a butterfly either. Maybe I was more of a moth. A dull, greige moth.
‘But you’ve been in other ones.’
‘Very briefly! And that was only on special occasions.’ When I was scrubbed up, made up and dressed up.
‘What’s the difference?’
‘Quite a lot,’ I said. ‘Do you want tea or coffee with your bread and cheese? The chap at the fromagerie got me to try some of this before I bought it so I know it’s good.’
‘I’ll have a coffee.’ She put the camera down on a side table. ‘I’ll make it.’ From our emergency stash, she pulled out a sachet of ground coffee and the filters that Olivia had told us would fit the machine here.
I set about cutting the bread and setting out the cheese as she busied herself with the drinks.
‘Is there something wrong, Mum?’
‘No, love. Not at all. Where shall we eat this?’