Page 33 of Never Too Late
‘I can’t believe you have a bath in your bedroom!’ Sash said as we finished exploring. ‘That’s so extra!’
‘I know! I’ve always loved the look of it. We stayed in a hotel room one time many years ago that had one in it. I thought it was fabulous. Your dad wasn’t quite so keen.’
‘Why not?’ Sash asked as she took the tea I’d made and headed over to the sofa.
‘I suppose it’s just a bit different from what we’re used to. He didn’t fancy the thought of standing up in the bath and baring all and sundry to anyone who happened to be in the vicinity.’
‘Ew, Mum. Too much info.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, laughing as I took a seat next to her. The panic of earlier was wearing off a little now as we relaxed in the beautiful apartment with our soothing cups of tea.
‘Do you mind if I film a tour?’
‘No, not at all. Best to do it while it’s still tidy,’ I teased. ‘I think I’m going to pop out and get a few groceries anyway so I’ll be out of your way.’
‘Are you sure? I mean, I can do this later if you want me to come with you?’
‘No, you go ahead. I won’t be long. It’ll do me good to stretch my legs anyway.’
‘OK, if you’re sure,’ she said, pulling her camera out of her bag.
‘Perfectly.’ I stood and took the cups to the kitchen, popping them in the top tray of the slimline dishwasher before picking up my coat and slipping it back on. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘OK. Have you got your phone?’
I held it up to show her before dropping it back in my bag, smiling at the reversal of roles. How many times had I asked her the very same question over the years? Although, like most people these days, that was the one thing she was unlikely to forget. I picked up the spare set of keys Olivia, the owner, had left on the side and headed out.
From the research I’d done, together with helpful information Olivia had sent over, the nearby market would be open tomorrow so I only planned on getting a few bits in for now. One of the many things I’d loved about Paris, and France in general, was the easy availability of high-quality fresh food and I was looking forward to getting up early tomorrow and heading across to the market. I suspected it would make great content for Sash too – although what did I know? I’d suggest it to her anyway. In the meantime, there should be a little supermarket down this road somewhere around… aha! Here.
I got a few basics, pausing to nose at things I’d whizz past at home. Supermarkets were always far more interesting abroad.
‘Bonjour!’ I greeted the checkout girl with my best accent.
‘Bonjour,’ she replied in a tone that suggested it was not a particularly ‘bon’jouras far as she was concerned and would rather be anywhere else but there. Oh well. I tapped my card to pay, gathered my goods in a canvas bag I’d brought with me and tried again.
‘Au revoir.’
Silence.
Worth a try.
Next stop, the boulangerie.
Oh, God. Bread! And pastries! I double-checked to make sure I wasn’t physically drooling as I entered the shop. The smell alone had probably just added five pounds to my hips but I didn’t care. I was in heaven and calories didn’t count up here.
‘Bonjour, madame!’ A cheery greeting knocked me back to earth.
‘Bonjour!’ I replied.
‘What can I get you?’ she asked in rapid French.
I chose a baguette (I know. So sue me), and two strawberry tarts that were so beautiful, it would be a crime to eat them. But eat them I definitely would! Well, one of them, assuming Sash was quick enough to grab the other.
I paid, cheered by the fact that I’d managed a conversation, albeit short, with my rusty French. I’d even braved asking the lady where the nearest fromagerie was. If there was one thing that this bread was crying out for, it was a rich and creamy brie. The other thing I knew for sure was that I was going to have to up my exercise now I was back in Paris. Thirty years ago, I could eat all the wonderful offerings and never gain a pound. That speedy metabolism was sadly a distant memory now but that was a problem for a different day. Today, I had decided, after my initial wobble, that I was going to enjoy the day, eat the food and just ‘be’ in Paris.
Stepping back out onto the pavement, I looked up the street to where I’d been directed, and began walking. But the further I went, the less confident my steps became. The feeling I’d had as we’d stepped out from the station reared up again. As I noticed the people who strode past me, I felt smaller and smaller – and dowdier and dowdier. How different from the girl I’d been the first time when I’d felt – and been – so confident and relaxed in my style. I knew who I was and what I wanted. Now… who was I? I was ‘Professor Collins’s wife’, or ‘Sasha’s mum’. But who was I really? I was no longer the first and although I would always be the second, and loved it, surely there was, or at least should be, more to me than being someone’s mother alone. Who wasI?
There was no doubt what I wasn’t, though. And that was stylish. I tipped my head down, lowered my eyes and hurried along to the shop. Had I been here alone, I knew that I would have hurried back to the apartment. But I couldn’t. She might be a grown-up but Sash was here and we needed lunch.
