She sighed. “It’s also … I’ve been Facebook stalking my ex. His fucking honeymoon.”
“Oh, Jae.”
She shook her head. “It’s like the most masochistic thing ever. Stupid. Just, like … totally stupid.”
“Yes, you should probably stop doing that.”
She nodded. “Yep.”
“Listen, if you feel the urge, come find me, all right? I’ll talk you out of it, or distract you with pastries, or slap you across the face—whatever is needed, I’m your woman.”
She threw me a half-smile. “Okay, sure.” After a few seconds she added, “Thanks.”
“Of course! You’d do the same for me. Oh, I meant to show you and Dani.” I dug out my phone and showed her the photo my mum had sent.
She burst out laughing, and I wasn’t sure how to take it. “Look at you, like a mini Jen Aniston.” Perhaps that was a compliment, Jaelee style. I mean, Jennifer Aniston was still one of the most gorgeous women on the planet.
“And no wonder you didn’t recognise Jean-Luc in the street. Look at him. What a dork.” Well, that was definitely an insult. I snatched the phone from her and threw her a teacher look.
“Sorry. Not like a total dork, but you know, like a puppy who hasn’t grown into his feet yet.” I gave her a sideways glance. “I’ve put my foot in my mouth,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right. I still love you.”
“You two look really good together, you know.”
“You don’t have to say that. We were awkward teenagers.”
“No, I mean now.”
My head swivelled so fast I nearly got motion sickness. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s so tall and hunky and you’re like this petite little cutie. You should have seen the way he was looking at you after you nearly fainted. It was adorable.” There was that word again.
And neither of these descriptions played into my “seduce the hell out of the hot guy” fantasy, or the “old friends reuniting” scenario. They meant couple stuff—that giant black void in the middle of my two comfort zones—the one manifesting itself as an ever-increasing knot in my stomach.
Why was I doing this to myself? Life was perfectly fine when Jean-Luc was a distant memory locked safely away in a box. I was happy in my life—ecstatic even. I had a great life. Great!
But Jae had said all that stuff about me and Jean-Luc as though it was a universal truth or something, like it was undeniable. So, maybe Jean-Luc and I were cute together. Bollocks, merde, and scheisse.
***
“Hey,” Jae said quietly. I was staring at the back of the seat in front of me, revisiting my nineteenth-century fantasy about the Parisian apartment I shared with Jean-Luc.
“Hmmm?” I replied, somewhat reluctant to leave my imaginary bed.
“So, I haven’t even told Dani this. Actually, I don’t think I will, but I wasn’t exactly truthful about Marc.”
“Marc?” I grasped for the name in my memory. “Oh! Marc,” I said a little too loudly. She shushed me and I looked around us. No one had heard me, or they had and didn’t care. “Sorry, so what do you mean? Oh! You did sleep with him?” I whispered. She nodded and a sly smile crept over her face. “Well? What happened?”
“It was like I said, we talked—a lot. For hours. It was amazing and, you know, his English wasn’t great, but we managed. It was good enough and if we got stuck, I tried Spanish, which he has a little of, and we made it work. He’s just coming out of a relationship too, so we talked a lot about that. And, there wasn’t even any big moment where I had to decide. It just felt right—like we’d shared something …”
“And?”
“And, it was nice. Not earth-shattering, but kind of sweet. Then we fell asleep all wrapped up in each other, which I can never do. That part surprised me.”
“And how did you leave things? In the morning?”
“He walked me to the château—well, close but not the whole way. People were up by then. And he kissed me goodbye and that’s it.”
“You’re not going to stay in touch?”
“No,” she replied simply. “It wasn’t like that. It was just, you know, that night. We both understood.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s so lovely. And you’ve kept it to yourself.”
“You can say it, Cat. I lied.”
“Well, yes, that.”
“I just … I’m usually a very private person, and I wanted to keep it just for me, you know?”
“So, why tell me, and why now?”
“Because, I think you’re putting a lot of pressure on meeting up with Jean-Luc today—and part of that’s probably my fault.”
“Ya think?” I teased.
“Yeah, well, maybe you should let it be what it’s going to be.” She shrugged. “It could be nothing. It could be everything. But most likely, it will be something in between. I just don’t want you to set yourself up to be disappointed.”
I chewed on the thought. Jae was right. I was coming at the date from completely the wrong perspective. I was putting too much pressure on myself—and on Jean-Luc. It would be what it would be. I just needed to chill the hell out.
Easier said than done.
***
The Colosseum was far more impressive in real life than I could ever have imagined. Yes, it’s a relic, yes, half of it is missing, but it was easy to visualise being in the crowd while gladiators fought it out for their lives. I was certain my impression was as much to do with our guide, Gabriella—who was fantastic—as it was to do with the Colosseum itself.
She was a tiny human. I say this knowing that by most people’s standards, I am a tiny human. Yet I towered over Gabriella, who was four-foot-eleven at most and couldn’t have weighed more than seven stone. And although she must have been in her seventies, she had a huge presence and was able to project her voice so well, I wondered if she’d ever been a stage actress.
She finished her spiel and gave us some time to explore and take photos. I obliged Jaelee’s request for a photo of her—solo—then asked Craig to take one of the four of us girls. “And let’s do a selfie,” he said, leaning in and sticking out his enormously long arm to capture the five of us together. When I got my phone back and saw the photo, I immediately posted it to Facebook with the caption, “tour group besties”, tagging them all.
I loved these people and we were nearly halfway through the tour. I knew I would miss them when I got back to London, back to real life. Yes, it would be nice to have my own space and not cart my toiletries around in a bag and have access to the perfect outfit from my own wardrobe, but there was something kind of lovely about discovering new places and sharing experiences with people who’d become so special to me.
It was one of the things Sarah had loved most about touring—watching the friendships take shape between the travellers. She’d even made some friends herself, people she was still in touch with. I was starting to understand what she meant by how intense those relationships could be, and how they form in such a short time. When you’re with people twenty-four-seven, they become like family. I looked at the photo on my phone. My bus besties.