London
I climb onto a stool at the breakfast bar and watch as my scrummy French boyfriend potters about the kitchen, his tall frame moving with practised ease. After being together for more than two years, he knows my kitchen better than I do, though to be honest, that isnāt hard. Tonight, heās making coq au vin, one of his specialties, and it smells delicious in here. Heās an amazing cook. He says heās ācomme ci comme Ƨaāājust all rightābut thatās him being modest.
I love having Jean-Luc here in London, especially during the weekācoming home to him after a long day of teaching, spending our evenings together talking or listening to music or watching television. It makes me feel like part of a normal couple. Well, a normal couple who share a flat with someone else. Thank god my flatmate, Jane, is so understandingāshe adores Jean-Luc, and she certainly loves his cooking.
Heās not here all the time, mind youājust a couple of times a month for four or five days, sometimes longer. This time, itās a short visit. He arrived todayāThursdayāand can only stay until Monday morning, as heās doing an interview in Bern on Tuesday. My boyfriendāInternational Journalist Extraordinaire. Iām so proud.
I definitely prefer his visits to London than mine to Paris, which are usually just for a weekend. That means an evening train there on a Friday and a late-afternoon train home on a Sunday. Hardly idealāexpensive tooābut Iām just not ready to move. To Paris. With my hot boyfriend.
Yes, really.
Heās asked about a million times. All right, itās sixāa number Iām sure of because Iām counting.
I do love him. As in head-over-heels-heās-my-soulmate love. In actual fact, Iāve loved him most of my lifeāfirst as my best friend in high school, then as a young woman exchanging letters across the world. But at nineteen Iād put an end to it. Stupidly. Because of a jealous boyfriend. A decade and a half later, chance brought us together againāin Parisāand I finally realised that Iād always been in love with him, that he was my person. I am not going to let him go again.
But London is home. And as much as I (mostly) enjoy my time in Paris, it isnāt. Iām not sure it ever will be.
And even if Jean-Luc started talking about moving hereāwhich he hasnātāwell, Iām not sure Iām ready for that eitherāliving together full time, I mean. What if we run out of things to say to each other? What if cohabitating obliterates the romance? Or worse! What if he gets bored with me? He used to be married to a supermodel anthropologist and Iām just a schoolteacher who hails from Sydney.
Now I sound like my sister.
āWine?ā he asks.
āHello, Cat Parsons, pleased to meet you,ā I deadpan. He tuts good naturedly, then pours me a glass of the red he brought with him from France. Thatās another thing to love about himāhe always shows up with wine. JK!
āSalut,ā he says, clinking his glass against mine. We sip our wine, watching each other over the rims of our glasses.
See? Isnāt this lovely, just as it is? Why mess with perfection?
Lizzo starts belting out from my phone as it vibrates on the countertop and when I pick it up, itās my sisterās boyfriend, Josh.
āHello, you,ā I say, accepting the video call.
āHey. So, I think Iāve figured it out.ā Josh is planning a surprise for Sarahās fortieth birthday. My thinking is that turning forty is surprise enoughāoh, my god, where did my thirties go?āand that she hates surprises.
āAnd?ā
āTuscany,ā he says. One word, but he drags it out like heās pitching a film location. āTussscannnyyy.ā
āThat sounds good,ā I say. āSarah likes Italy.ā
āThatās it? Iāve been working on this for weeks and thatās all youāve got?ā
āSorry. How about this? Oh, my god! Thatās brilliant and she will absolutely love it!ā She wonāt. I mean, she will like a trip to Tuscany, but a surprise trip? Uh, no. My sister likes to organise everything down to the last paperclip, especially travel.
Josh rolls his eyes at me. āHey, man,ā he says to Jean-Luc whoās just appeared at my shoulder.
āSalut, mon frĆØre.ā I love that these two get alongāthey really are like brothers. Sarah even said that Josh feels closer to Jean-Luc than he does to his actual brother. āSo, Tuscany? I think this is a good plan, a good present,ā says Jean-Luc.
āThank you!ā Josh makes a face at me, like heās been vindicated or something.
āItās not that itās a bad ideaāItaly, I meanābut how are you going to make the trip a surprise? Drug her, then carry her onto the plane and she wakes up in Italy? Surprise!ā
āOf course not. I just want to figure everything out before I tell her. Part of the present is that she doesnāt have to organise any of it.ā
āThatās the other thing. Have you met my sister? The one who organises her friendsā pantries for fun, who loves sticky notes, and lives and dies by her calendar? You sure you want to take that away from her? She may never forgive you.ā
He laughs again. āIām sure. Sheās turning forty. I want this to be big and I donāt want her worrying about any of the details.ā
I shrug. āItās your funeral.ā
āAnyway, I also wanna double-check the datesāIām still looking at late October. I know you only have a week off around then, Cat, but do you think you can get some extra time off?ā
āAlready on it. Iāve talked to the Head of School and itās looking likely that sheāll let me go on half-term a few days early.ā
āOh, cool.ā
āAnd even if Catherine cannot be there, I will.ā I throw Jean-Luc a stern look which he rebuts with a grin.
āAwesome,ā says Josh. āShit, sheās out of the shower. Talk to you guys later.ā He ends the call abruptly.
āA trip to Tuscany will be nice, n'est-ce pas?ā asks Jean-Luc.
āYes,ā I concede, āit will. Iāve only been there for a minute-and-a-half on that bus trip.ā
āI am not sure that counts,ā he says, spinning my stool so Iām facing him.
āIt definitely doesnāt. I think we had all of six hours in Florence and I barely remember the surrounding countryside.ā
āThat is the best part, the countrysideāthe fields of sunflowers, the towns, the castles. It is a beautiful part of the world,ā he says. āRomantic.ā Honestly, the public loos at Waterloo Station would be romantic with Jean-Luc. Heās like romance personified. He proves my point by leaning down to nuzzle my neck with his soft lips, peppering it with tiny kisses that send shivers down my spine.
āHello, loves,ā Jane calls from the hallway. Jean-Luc steps back, blows me a kiss, and returns to his spot at the cooker as Jane bundles in, laden with cloth carry bags. She dumps them on the floor.
āSalut,ā says Jean-Luc, now wiping down the countertopāheās a clean-as-you-go cook, another reason to love himāand thatās me and Jane.
I leap off my stool to help Jane unpack. āBought out most of Sainsburyās I see.ā I start pawing through the bags and extracting items of interest. Ooh, brie!
āHonestly! What is wrong with me? Every sodding time! Itās all very well when Iām in the sodding shop, lugging the basket around, but when will I learn? Itās a stuffed-to-the-gills bus ride and a long walk back to the flat, Jane,ā she chastises herself.
I look up from the shopping and her cheeks are pink with frustrationāor maybe itās exertion. āRight, leave all this to me. Go and change and when you come back, thereās wine!ā I say brightly. She steps out of her ridiculously high heelsāreally, they must be at least five inches tallāand sighs. Sending an air kiss my way, she retreats to her room. āThank you, lovely,ā echoes back down the hallway.
I do love living with Jane. When our former flatmate, Alex, moved outābecause I may or may not have accidentally and drunkenly shagged him only to discover that heād been madly in love with me for ages and thought we were going to be boyfriend and girlfriend but I didnāt feel the same wayāJane and I had planned on getting a new flatmate. But weeks turned into months and even though weād both gone from paying a third of the rent to half, we actually preferred it being just the two of us. And of course, when Jean-Luc became a semi-regular fixture, I was glad we didnāt have another flatmate. That and being able to tur...
