Page 62 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz
I drop the cake, quickly snap my phone cover shut and stand to greet him, spilling my coffee all over the table.
‘Woah. Hold on there.’ Max steadies the table. ‘You look like I’ve just discovered you indulging a guilty secret.’
‘What?’
‘Something you need to hide?’ He points to my phone, and I quickly recover myself, throw the phone into my bag as I shake my head.
‘Max. What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Delighted to see you too,’ he leans in to kiss me lightly on the lips.
‘Hey, I’m pleased to see you, but it’s… well… a bit of a shock.’ I wrap my arms around him and breathe in his musky scent.
Max gives me a squeeze then gently disentangles himself to lower me into my seat. He takes the seat opposite and I try to compose myself.
‘Why are you in Paris? I mean, you might’ve warned me.’
‘It was going to be a surprise. I came to watch you dance. I was about to go and get tickets, but then I spotted you in this café and you looked so intent on your phone – and worried – I just had to come over. Is this about Monica-gate still?’
I nod.
‘Want to talk about it?’
‘No,’ I say without hesitation. ‘Tell me when you got here. Where you’re staying.’
Max gives a comical account of how he organised new flights to divert to Paris and some tale about the hotel he found, but I’m barely listening as I absorb the full implications of what’s happened with Vince and the effect this must’ve had on Monica.
I had nurtured an outside hope we would eventually make it up but now I can see no future for our friendship. Even if I could convince her I had no idea that bloke was Vince, it would be too weird knowing your best friend had had carnal relations with your husband.
I look at Max’s animated face as he continues the tale. He’s turned up at just the right time.
Then it strikes me. If Max finds out the real reason Monica has ditched me, would it alter his opinion of me?I mean, according to her, I am the world’s top superbitch. I wish now I’d told him about my numerous blind dates. Not that he has any right to judge. I refuse to apologise for my past, but I don’t want it to affect how we are together…
Max stops talking and leans across the table. ‘Hey, want to go for a walk?’
I nod and when I’ve paid up we set off towards the river.
Max puts his arm around me and we stroll down the boulevardHenri 1Vtowards thePont du Sully.
It is a lovely April day, and the banks of the Seine are less than thirty minutes away.
The traffic noise is somehow different to that in Manchester. There’s more sounding of horns and squeals of brakes for starters, and I know I’m in Paris by the skyline opening up in front of us as we get to the bridge. There’sNotre DameCathedral – no longer clad in scaffolding to fix the damage from that awful fire some years back – looming large and dramatic across the river.
We stop on the bridge and take in the vista, leaning on the stone parapet.
I decide to test the waters with Max. ‘Can I ask you a question? Did you have many girlfriends before me?’
‘A few, why?’
‘Just wondered. I mean, don’t you wonder about my previous relationships?’
‘You’re asking me if I’m curious?’
‘Yes.’
Max turns and smiles at me. I can’t help but smile back and he squeezes my hand affectionately.
‘Well, let me see. I believe what’s in the past is dead and gone, but I suppose I have occasionally wondered about your previous boyfriends.’
