The Dish (44 page)

‘But don’t you want to be with him?’

‘Yes, I do – but not enough.’

She looks at me with complete disbelief.

‘Soph,
it’s fine, honestly. It’s absolutely fine.’

There I go again – saying it’s fine, when in fact I mean it’s not.

To: Dad

From: Laura

Subject: News

Dad – am doing my first full-length feature for
The Voice
– specialised subject: croissants! If I come to Paris for a month, I can help take care of the girls, if you want some time off? Or does Jess have you locked in a cage?

To: Jess

From: Laura

Subject: Get your ‘I TOLD YOU SO’ T-shirt out of the wardrobe

If you haven’t already heard from Dad, you’ll
be delighted to know the PA job has given me up, and the chef who works unsociable hours is toast.

To: Laura

From: Jess

Subject: Zzzzz

Sorry about the man. Re: the job – does this mean you’re going to go back into coffee? Latest industry figures v. buoyant, year on year.

To: Jess

From: Laura

Subject: Don’t yawn at me

No – it means I’m coming to scrounge off you, a week on Saturday, eat
a load of baked goods and work out what the hell to do with my life.

PS Reckon it might make a good Judd Apatow movie, two sisters – one, an uptight Alpha, one, a failed divorcée, one very long month in hell . . . no? Bagsy Kristen Wiig to play me.

To: Laura

From: Jess

Subject: I do not have time to change my subject headers on every email!!

Fine – you can do school runs, shopping, laundry
and we can work on a brand plan together.

There is a difference between being mature and being uptight. Once you have children, you might reach maturity yourself.

PS Bagsy Gillian Anderson to play me.

To: Jess

From: Laura

Subject: Clearly you do have time to change your headers . . .

Cinderella will report for duty as per the attached agenda. I’ll bring Parmesan biscuits.

And don’t try
to set me up with any French bankers – I want to be alone.

To: Laura

From: Jess

Subject: NO I DON’T

All right, Greta Garbo/Cinderella/a royal pain in the arse. We’ll meet you at Gare du Nord.

Plus ça change . . .

To: Jess

From: Laura

Subject: ?

What is
plus ça change
supposed to mean? And don’t give me a smart-arse translation, I know what the phrase literally means – what do
you
mean?

To: Laura

From: Jess

Subject: French lesson

I mean: you’re getting very good at fleeing town every time you break up with a guy.

To: Jess

From: Laura

Subject: French dictionary

Jess, there are many rude French phrases I could insert at this point – luckily for you, there are far too many to choose from.

To: Adam

From: Laura

Subject: News

Hey – it was good to see you last week, and your
mum – and Josh – he’s absolutely gorgeous.

Listen – I’m leaving my job and going to Paris for a month, Saturday week, so I wanted to say goodbye. I’m not good at goodbyes. I’ll keep it brief. The time I spent with you made me properly happy. I felt something big. I’m very glad I met you – and I’m sorry again about all the bullshit. But anyway – I hope things work out exactly how you want them
to with Josh and Katie and your job. I think it’s best if we kind of call it a day – you have a lot on – and so have I.

To: Laura

From: Adam

Subject: re: News

Wow. You’re actually doing this on an email? Ouch. Are you seriously planning on leaving town without talking about this face to face? Is this about everything that’s happened in the last month?

To: Adam

From: Laura

Subject: re: News

I’m sorry – but I am super-busy tying up loose ends at work before I head for Paris. Also, I’m not sure it would be helpful to see each other – cold turkey, dare I say it.

And no – it’s not about what has happened. It’s about what happens now – I’m not sure I can do it.

But I really hope we can be friends at some point down the line?

To: Laura

From: Adam

Subject: re: News

Laura – I’d like
to say I can be your friend – but I can’t. We’re not friends – we’re more than that, and you’re lying to yourself if you think we could make a friendship work.

To: Adam

From: Laura

Subject: re: News

I’m sorry you feel that way. Well, then I guess this is goodbye.

To: Sophie

From: Laura

Subject: urgh

Sophie – he asked to see me and I said no – it’s just too hard.

To: Laura

From: Sophie:

Subject: You’re being an idiot

The reason it’s too hard is because you don’t mean it/it’s the wrong decision!

To: Sophie

From: Laura

Subject: Maybe

I can’t explain. I just feel I have to break it – before it breaks me.

The last ten days have been hectic. Gemma flew back to Thailand last Sunday, so we went out for a meal on Saturday to celebrate. The minute she boarded the plane, Roger caught a stomach bug that was going round the ward, which set him back temporarily. But he’s doing OK now, still in there and crotchety as hell.

Sophie and I spent most of Sunday baking double-layered cheesecake brownies
to take to Anne-Marie and the nurses, though there aren’t enough brownie layers in the world to begin to express everyone’s thanks.

And this week has been busier than I expected. Kiki and Azeem have forced me down The Betsey three times already; if I even say the word Jägermeister out loud I now retch. And it turns out I’m not quite as replaceable as Roger said – well, bizarrely, not in Sandra’s
eyes. Every PA I’ve selected for interview, she’s found glaring fault with: ‘skirt too short’, ‘hair too long’, ‘far too casual – she didn’t even bother wearing a jacket!’ She’s chosen Maisie – because she’s posh and sweet (and, I suspect, seems the most . . . malleable, although that should probably read bully-able).

I’ve been so busy I haven’t had much time to think about things – but now I
do, as I’m packing my bag the night before I’m due to leave. I don’t want to leave Adam like this; I want to go back to the way things were, and I know I sound like a giant baby, because all this boils down to is: I want things to be different to the way they are.

I’m lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, one hot silent tear running down my left cheek into my ear. I wipe it away, then do
the same a moment later on the right.

I force my brain to switch back to Roger: I am profoundly grateful he is OK. That’s enough for me. That is this year’s silver lining.

There’s a gentle knock at the door, and Amber comes in, holding Annalex. She plonks the dog down by my side, then sits on the end of the bed.

‘Babe – are you OK?’

I prop myself up on my elbows and nod.

‘Are you upset about
this guy?’

I nod silently and feel the soft, silky part of Annalex’s ear between my fingers. If I bought Amber a new Mulberry bag on my credit card, would she let me borrow Annalex for the month?

‘You know what my therapist would tell you?’

Buy a magic £200 crystal from her and she can magic away all my sadness? ‘What, Amber?’

‘She’d say it’s not the actual person you miss – it’s only the
idea of him. Falling in love is almost entirely about projection. Or is it transference? Either way – the thing is – it’s not about him, he’s a concept. It’s about what he represents. I forget if it’s Freud or Jung, but it’s one or the other.’

I let out a deep sigh. ‘Amber – while I’m away, please could you water my basil plant?’

‘Sure, babe. But seriously – I totes know what I’m talking about:
you don’t actually miss
him
, it isn’t about him.’

When I first moved in to Amber’s flat I used to have a recurrent dream. In this dream I’d walk into my bedroom, turn left and find a secret door to another, much larger bedroom where I could actually move around, spread my arms and dance! There was space in this room and light, streaming in from a huge bay window. God, I loved that room.

Being
with Adam felt like being in that room. I could be myself, I could breathe, I could be free. That space, that time was there in my life, waiting to be discovered – but I didn’t know about it so I didn’t use it, I didn’t live in it fully.

So perhaps I should be glad Adam showed me that my life could be bigger – end of story.

When I used to wake from that dream, there’d always be a moment where
it still felt real, a moment where I didn’t want for anything.

And then I’d always fall back down to my smaller life with a bump.

To: Sophie

From: Laura

Subject: Bonjour

I can’t believe I’ve been here almost a week. The first three days were a write-off – you know what it’s like when you’re running on empty, it’s when you finally stop that you fall over. Much to Jess’s annoyance, I was forced to take to my bed. Rose and Milly were looking after me – not vice versa. They gave me new, directional hairstyles daily,
and buttered me umpteen rounds of crumpets (thank heavens for M&S on the Champs Élysées).

I’ve been back on my feet since Wednesday – hot on the croissant trail. I’ve learned that one of the secrets of a happy croissant is allowing the dough plenty of time to rest in a cool place – I’m hoping the same will work for me. The last month was so dominated by Roger being ill, everything seems to be
hitting me now – I hadn’t processed what I’ve given up: the job, Adam . . . Still, for the best, I’m sure.

Anyway, I have to go, Milly says she needs help with her computing homework – though frankly, she knows way more than I do already. It’s amazing how quickly they learn, how much info they can absorb. I love watching her while she’s figuring out the answer to something tricky – she gets the
cutest little frown.

I’ve promised her if she does all her work without protest, she and Rose can have an extra ten minutes playing Minecraft (they’re completely addicted to this game – you build houses, farms, cities, etc. It’s kind of educational, I suppose).

To: Laura

From: Azeem

Subject: Come back, all is forgiven!

Laura – it’s 4.15 p.m. and you’re not at your desk and it’s caaaaake run
time.

Oh yeah – that’s right – you’ve fucked off and left me here with Jonesy out to lunch, Sandra in a strop, and no one to moan about her with!!!

Now get on the next Eurostar home and buy us cakes. (We miss you.)

To: Laura

From: Kiki

Subject: Schoolboy error

Couldn’t you have sourced a male PA as your replacement? I’ve run out of men on Tinder within a 20km radius – and I am not yet desperate
enough to date outside the M25.

To: Laura

From: Maisie

Subject: Help needed!!!

Hiya, Laura – Maisie here!

Two things – firstly – there’s a clear tube thingy in the kitchen cupboard Azeem says you used to make coffee with. I don’t know how it works – could you help please?

Oh – can’t remember the second thing but I’m sure I wrote it down somewhere . . .

To: Maisie

From: Laura

Subject:
re: Help needed!!!

It’s called an AeroPress – there are demos on YouTube. Don’t let Sandra throw it away!

To: Laura

From: Maisie

Subject: Ah!

Oh yes, that was the second thing! What’s the best way of handling Sandra? Is she always a bit . . . I don’t know what the word is?

To: Maisie

From: Laura

Subject: re: Ah!

I do know what the word is but it’s NSFW. Never figured out how to handle
her myself. I guess keep your head down and ignore the death stares. Best of luck!

To: Laura

From: Roger

Subject: Bonjour, Parker

Am back home and bored rigid, though also feeling rather exhausted – like I’ve had a bad dose of the flu. Still, a bloody sight better than being stuck in that ward.

To: Roger

From: Laura

Subject: re: Bonjour, Parker

Roger – you had a touch more than flu. Does
it count as being bossy if I’m in another country and doing it via email? No. So – take it easy, please.

PS Have found the best coffee shop in Paris, Le Caféothèque by the Seine, and it’s next to a good wine bar too, Lot Of Wine (I think that’s a French pun, though hard to know – these guys are not Europe’s biggest jokers).

To: Sophie

From: Laura

Subject: Week deux – update

Have settled into
a routine, of sorts. In the mornings I take the twins to school. I thought my French accent was passable but the twins can’t stop giggling every time I open my mouth.

After drop-off, I do four hours of research. (The French are
so
French – they have a
boulanger
law: there has to be a bakery open every day in every village, even if the baker doesn’t want to work!)

After the morning gorge, I grab
a coffee and walk to La Grande Épicerie in St Germain to buy dinner. I could spend all day/all of Jess’s money in there – amazing new potatoes from Île de Ré today. I drop the groceries back at the apartment, do some tidying, then take a sandwich over to the park.

At 4.00 p.m. I pick the girls up from school and we do homework – they are teaching me Mandarin. Today’s phrase:
Wô gândào nánguò
. (I feel sad.)

To Laura

From: Sophie

Subject: Why sad?

Haven’t you spoken to him yet?

To: Sophie

From: Laura

Subject: No

He said he doesn’t want to be my friend. And actually when I type that, it makes me feel a bit sick – the thought we won’t ever speak again – so it’s easier if I pretend he doesn’t exist. On which note – I think we should stop talking about him, full stop.

Besides,
this city is not the worst place to be miserable – it is exceptionally pretty (apart from the dog poo and graffiti everywhere). Actually – it
is
possibly the worst place to be miserable when you’re being paid to comfort eat – I should have gone to Germany or somewhere the food was crap. Yesterday I was speaking to an old lady who runs a bakery in the 4th, and she told me a perfect croissant is
one third butter. It’s only a matter of time before I am too.