“What do you mean, ‘if’?”
“Well, I need to get good feedback, or they’ll make me defer until next season.”
“Oh, right, of course. Look, I’m sure it will be fine. Should I be filling in a form or something?”
“Oh, yes, right, you’re leaving today.” She ferreted about in her day pack, pulled out a stack of printed sheets and handed me one.
“Great. I’ll fill it in and give it to Lou to give to you. Is there anything else I need to do, officially, to leave the tour, I mean?”
“No. All good.”
“Georgina, look, I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t doing a good job.”
“Oh, it wasn’t you—”
“Well, we both know that’s a lie. Maybe not just me, but I am sorry.” I reached over and gave her a hug. “And I’m really sorry about your dad.” I pulled away. “Bollocks,” I said, thinking of the time. “I really need to go.”
She smiled through her tears. “Is it the guy from Rome?”
“What? Oh. Yes, actually, it is.”
“Good. Good for you.” She added a nod to her smile.
I left her in her room and crossed back through the living room. “Bye, Tom,” I called over my shoulder. I didn’t check to see if he’d heard me. I needed to get downstairs, complete the form and fill in the girls.
“We like Georgina again,” I said, a little out of breath from running down the stairs.
“Explain,” said Jaelee from her bed, where she was filing a nail.
I did—and quickly, because my Uber was on its way. I scribbled my name onto the form and ticked “excellent” all the way down, then signed the back. I gave it to Lou for safe keeping. I’d been an utter cow to Georgina, and the poor girl had been through the worst thing imaginable. I hoped that excellent reviews from everyone on the coach would make up for it, and I left Dani in charge of making that happen.
Ten minutes later, I was saying a premature and heart-wrenching goodbye to my posse. I stood on my tiptoes to hug Craig. “Keep me posted about school.” I’d keep an eye on him via Facebook and if—when—I visited Lou in Vancouver, I could pop down to Oregon. They weren’t that far apart.
“Bye, Dani. Thanks for everything, especially for your help today.”
“No problem. I’m totally living vicariously through you, I hope you know.” She was the third person to tell me that in less than a week.
I smiled, then grabbed her hand. “Hey, pip me if you want to talk about the whole wedding thing.”
She pressed her lips together. “Sure.”
“Jae, you gorgeous woman.” I hugged my height twin.
“Great meeting you,” she said.
I pulled back and we regarded each other. “You too.”
“Come to Miami anytime. Hey, you should come for New Year’s.” She raised her eyebrows and her eyes lit up.
“We’re coming back to that—soon,” I said. “I’ll email you.”
“Holding you to it.”
I had saved Lou for last, because our goodbye was the hardest. She wrapped me up in the last Mama Lou hug I’d have in a while. “Love you,” she said.
“Love you too, bus bestie.”
She squeezed me tighter. When we stepped back from the hug, we both had tears in our eyes. “Don’t you ruin that eyeliner,” said Dani. Lou and I smiled.
“I’ll call you next week. I want to know how everything goes with Jackson.” She nodded.
“Fly safe,” she said.
“I will.”
My car pulled up and the driver got out. He pointed to my case and I nodded. When I turned back to my friends, Lou and Dani had their arms around each other, and I saw Jae wipe an uncharacteristic tear from her cheek.
Bollocks. Do not cry, your eyeliner is perfect.
Of course, the real reason I didn’t want to cry was that it would be excruciatingly hard to stop. These were my friends, my dear friends, and I was going to miss having them with me twenty-four-seven.
I put my hand to my lips, blew them all a kiss, and got in the back seat of the car. I lowered the window as we drove away and called, “Bye. I love you!” then nestled against the leather seat.
“Water, miss?” asked my driver.
“Yes, please.” I blinked away the tears, eyeliner still intact.
The second hardest part of the day was done.
***
My time in Amsterdam amounted to only four hours, but what I’d seen made me want to go back someday—the bustling streets filled with bicycles, the tall, narrow terraced houses, the canals and bridges. It was beautiful, and I promised myself to return.
As we left the inner city, I took a sip of water, then sent couple of texts.
To Jane:
Slight change of plans. Won’t be back til Sunday. See you then. Cat
To Sarah:
Sorry about the call yesterday. I’m a cow. On my way to Paris to see Jean-Luc! I’ll FaceTime when I get back to London on Sunday—sooner if he sends me away. Love you. Cx
ps I hope he doesn’t send me away. :(
The flight from Schiphol to Charles de Gaulle was uneventful—from a travel perspective, anyway. Everything went smoothly at check-in and security, there were no delays, and I had an empty seat next to me for the flight—we didn’t even have any turbulence.
Unless you count the turbulence in my stomach.
I have a nervous stomach, always have. It’s often my canary in the coalmine, so to speak, and sometimes it asserts itself at the least opportune times. On my way to see Jean-Luc, it had gone into hyperdrive. In a one-hour-fifteen-minute flight, I used the toilet three times.
In the taxi from the airport, I fidgeted with the strap of my messenger bag, my nervous energy escaping my belly and moving into my extremities.
What was I going to say?
I had played the scene over and over again in my head. Jean-Luc’s face splitting into a smile. Him slamming the door in my face. Him dropping to his knees and begging me to never leave him again (probably the least plausible). Him not being home (probably the most plausible). I realised I wouldn’t know what to say until I saw him, until I saw his face, his reaction.
I hoped he liked surprises more than I did.
The taxi turned into a narrow, deeply shadowed street, then pulled to a stop a few doors along and double-parked. “C’est l’adresse, madame. Ici.” The driver pointed to a tall dark-green door.
“Merci.” I handed him forty euros and waved away the change. He gave a curt nod and got out of the car to retrieve my case from the boot. I took a deep, steadying breath and stepped out. The driver put my case on the pavement and left me standing in front of the door.
Jean-Luc’s door. All right, Parsons. Do not cock this up—again.
There were two buzzers and no security camera. The top buzzer said, “Caron” and I pressed it. A sharp, flat sound emitted. There was a long moment of silence, while my heart hammered away in my chest. “Oui?”
I gulped, then found my voice. “Jean-Luc. It’s me. It’s Cat. Uh, Catherine.” I could barely catch my breath, and I waited for what seemed like a millennium for his reply.
“Catherine? Uh, come to the top of the stairs.”