Page 57 of One Night With You

‘It was clever of you to have him call the local librarian, and the weekend we spent calling every Amelie Chalamet in the phone book was the most exciting of my life – and I’ve had five kids and fought in a war.’ He lets himself have a little chuckle, there. ‘Her housekeeper answered. William was on speaker so we could all hear, but obviously I couldn’t understand a word. You’d think I’d have spent all this time learning French, but me and Amelie, we never needed words before. Why start now?’

‘And what did the housekeeper say?’

‘The housekeeper said Amelie isn’t well. Lung cancer.’

We let that hang in the air.

‘She never even smoked, so riddle me that,’ he adds.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I offer. ‘Do you know the prognosis?’

‘She doesn’t have long left, they say.’

‘Does she know you called?’

‘I believe so.’

‘And what did she say?’

‘She said we’d better get there quick.’

I freeze. ‘And …’ I venture, and I honestly don’t know how he is going to answer. ‘What do you think to that?’

‘I think we’d better get on the Eurostar.’ He grins, and his eyes sparkle with hopeful tears. ‘I want to go and see her,’ he adds. ‘Finally.’

Nobody speaks after that. Eventually Harry says, softly, ‘And cut,’ marking the end of the interview. I look at him. His mouth is set in a firm line, but his eyes are crinkled, happy.

‘Did you know this?’ I ask him. ‘Did you know JP wants to go to Paris?’

‘I did,’ he admits.

‘So we’re going?’

I look at JP, who nods. ‘William is finding my passport and booking the tickets as we speak. Harry said to just go ahead and get sorted.’

And so get sorted we do.

On the way home, my head spinning with the news of an impending – and university sanctioned, Harry assures me – trip to Paris, I’m thinking about Nic, and a date, and how lovely love is, when my phone rings. It’s a withheld number, which I usually make a point of not answering, but it could be anything to do with Paris or JP or the trip, and so I press accept.

‘Hello?’

‘Ruby,’ his voice says, and I’d know it anywhere. ‘It’s me.’

It’s typical of him not to announce himself. My throat constricts and when I speak it comes out harsh and hard.

‘I don’t want to talk to you, Abe. Which I think you know, otherwise you wouldn’t have withheld your number.’

‘Don’t hang up,’ he pleads. ‘Please don’t hang up. Just listen, please?’

In spite of myself I stop walking and hesitate. I don’t speak – but I don’t end the call, either.

‘We made a baby together, Ruby. And then you left, and cut me off, and it’s not fair. I love you. The baby didn’t make it, but us … we should be together. We’re both messy and fucked up and crazy and I know you love me too, in your own way. It’s you and me, Rubes. You know it is. Talk to me. Come on.’

‘Are you kidding?’ I find myself saying, somewhere just past Mick’s coffee cart on campus. It’s almost dark already, even though it’s only mid-afternoon. ‘Are you actually kidding?’

‘No …’ he replies, uncertainly.

‘Abe, you were fucking awful to me. You picked me up and put me down and gave me scraps of your attention and affection. Not to mention chlamydia, by the way.’

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