“Catherine?”
Her name made my stomach crunch up even tighter. I clung onto
Berne as she held me.
“What happened, she was hurt?”
“No,” I shuddered out. “Nothing like that.” Tears took over,
clutching at my throat, robbing my words from me.
“I am here . . . Talk to me . . .
s’il te pla
î
t
.” Berne stroked away
the hair from my forehead. “You were close growing up,
oui
?”
“Yes.” Catherine was fifteen years older than me. I’d followed her
around like a puppy. “She was my hero.”
“Was?”
I took a few breaths to compose myself and looked up into Berne’s
eyes. She was here, she was surrounding me, her warm soft skin on mine. I could
do this.
“I’d talked a lot about France, sent letters to her, postcards.”
“
Oui
, we sent the one of the Notre Dame from Paris.”
I smiled. Why it was a shock that Berne remembered that, I didn’t
know, but it filled my heart with some confidence.
“I told her all my secrets growing up. She was my champion. If I
needed advice or help, she was there.”
Berne said nothing but smiled to encourage me.
“Before I saw . . . the accident, I saw her.” I took deep breaths,
in . . . out . . . calm . . . calm . . . I could do this. “She turned up to
surprise me. She saw me kiss you goodbye.”
“Ah.”
I murmured my agreement. At nineteen and besotted, I saw only
Berne and so, quite often, our morning departures made for quite a show. So did
our evening hellos but, thankfully, those were normally behind closed doors and
not on the pavement.
“She didn’t say a word about it at first. I was so delighted to
see her that I didn’t see the difference in her.” I trailed my finger over
Berne’s strong shoulder. I felt safe enough to go back there mentally for the
first time. “We got to the café and she told me about how disgusting she
thought gay people were. How she’d seen a pair on the street while waiting for
me and it had turned her stomach.”
That café was so quiet and her voice hushed. I could still smell
the strong black coffee in her cup and see every detail of her expression. The
look of scorn and, for want of a better word, disgust. All the while, I kept
quiet, not knowing she’d been talking about me.
“I told her that Rebecca was gay, that she was lovely . . . that
people were just people.” I closed my eyes. I felt as sick as I had then, the
cold sweat pulsing from me. “Then she told me that she’d seen how nice I
thought gay people were. How much I’d disgraced her, the family.”
Berne held me, her sounds soft, her touches comforting. Her warmth
anchoring me.
“I mean, she was my hero, my sister. As if that wasn’t bad
enough.” Why did hurting make it so hard to breathe? Why did her venom still burn
me up so?
“I am here, tell me.”
I gripped onto Berne’s shoulders and clung to the safety of her.
“She threatened to tell my parents, who would have alienated me, but worse, she
threatened to say that you’d
forced
me to be with you.”
I didn’t need to look into Berne’s face. I could feel the anger
tense her shoulders.
“She told me that even the complaint would see the contract
cancelled. That my father’s friend would see you bankrupt.”
“You would have told the truth.” Her complete confidence in me
made the fact I’d run worse. Why hadn’t I stayed? Why hadn’t I told her?
“I was scared that even if I did, they may not listen. That even
if they did, your name would be marked, that it would follow you.”
Air seemed to burn my throat. I felt more tears sweep over my
cheeks.
“I was a mess. I walked home to you and I saw the accident. I ran
over to him and tried to help . . . there was so much blood . . . his eyes
faded . . .”
The sirens, the chaos all around. I looked down into that poor
man’s eyes. I’d never even learned his name but I’d knelt there, clinging onto
him, desperately pressing my hand to his neck.
He faded and I could do nothing. The ambulance crews came, the
police, and I fled the scene. My thoughts of Catherine, of having to leave,
mixed with the helplessness, the shock. I could stay and ruin Berne’s life or I
could run like a coward. If I bore the pain alone she could live her dream.
I never wanted that phone call or visit. Back then, there had been
no rights, no marriage, no chance that I would be seen as important. If I left,
I’d never know.
“I heard of the accident,” Berne whispered. She sounded as
affected by it as I felt. “I knew it was you who was with him.” She pulled back
to look at me. “You acted with love and courage.” She scowled. “Your sister is
a bitch.”
“You think?”
“
Je connais
,” Berne said. “What happened when you went back
to England?”
It was all so much of a deranged blur of recrimination, guilt,
shock, and grief. Catherine had kept me under a watchful eye, the axe hanging
overhead, looming high every time I thought of returning to France.
“For two years, I was a shell. I had counselling from a nice man
about the accident but it didn’t stop the pain. It didn’t stop the ache from
losing you. It didn’t stop the guilt.”
I couldn’t understand how I’d survived that time. It was so
gloomy, so grey, so lonely.
“Then one day Rebecca came to me. Her devastation shook me into
life. Her dad kicking her out echoed everything I felt, you know?”
“
Oui
, she was living your fear?”
So, Rebecca had opened up to Berne, I was glad. Go girl. “Yes, he
had her tutor fired and cut her off. It was brutal and she was drowning. I
didn’t want her to and so we got jobs in London, got out of there. We escaped
together.”
“What did Catherine say?”
Again the name, again the nausea. “She was livid but I told her
that there was nothing going on. It was a phase, all that stuff. When Doug came
along, it seemed like a way to get her off my back.”
Oh great, that sounded cold, weak, and pathetic. “I mean, he was a
nice guy. He isn’t an ogre or anything and like my mum says, I’m lucky he puts
up with me.”
Berne’s deep scowl made me tense. “He is lucky to have you look at
him. You are beautiful. I will have no more of this. You are
incroyable
.”
Now I knew I was blushing.
“Catherine loves Doug,” I said, trying to keep to the topic. “She
is no doubt the mastermind behind his sudden wish to get me pregnant and marry
me.”
“
Encore en fois
,” Berne said. “Your sister is a bitch.”
“I’ve spent my whole life hiding from the threat back then. It
sucked the life from me.” I shrugged. I was such a coward. “I’m not sure if
there’s any of me left.”
“Pepe, you suffered from trying to help that officer.” She took a
breath as if it were painful for her. “You suffered at the hands of someone you
trusted. You were only a young woman, you believed her words.” She scowled
again. “If my brother would dream of such things, I would ache for it too.”
“You would?”
Berne smiled. “
Oui
. So what will you do?”
Being in her arms lit the places that had been long forgotten. I
was no young woman now but a rather beaten and emotionally scarred adult.
Twelve years of pain and emptiness. Years which I’d simply survived. I hadn’t
lived, I hadn’t been awake even. This morning, I felt . . .
alive.
“I need to break it off with Doug,” I said, feeling the tension
return. “I need to be an adult and tell him the truth.”
Berne’s gentle smile almost looked like she was proud of me.
“Then I want to win you back—” I placed my finger over Berne’s
lips. “If you’re going to be with me instead of
her
, I want you to know
you can count on me not to leave again.” I kissed her sweet, soft lips. “I need
to earn that trust back . . . please.”
Berne nodded. “And your sister?”
“Can we just set Babs on her?”
Berne chuckled.
“In all seriousness, I don’t know. She’s kind of like that big
ogre waiting with its club and I know I have to go through her to get to where
I need to be.”
“You could run through her legs,
non
?”
I pulled Berne downwards, my hands making my intentions abundantly
clear. “Right now, I want to focus on what promises lie on the other side.”
Berne smiled against my mouth. I loved that feeling. “Then, let’s
make this unforgettable,
oui
?” Her words brushed her lips against mine.
Safe, warm, and happy.
Lost in her touch, I briefly heard my mumbled agreement, which
sounded very much like, “Oh, yeah.”
Chapter Sixteen
BREAKFAST WAS SERVED in a little canteen-of-a-place in the middle
of the campsite. The tables were all picnic benches with wooden garden chairs
around them. The staff looked like they were a family, pottering around the
tables, chatting to the stragglers who lingered over their
petit dejeuner
.
Rebecca and Babs were already there when we strolled in.
“
Bonjour
,” I said, trying not to grin at Berne.
Rebecca had a dopey expression on her face as she met my eyes. I
guessed she had been inducted into the “I love France” club.
“Morning.” She cocked her head. “I see you are the image of
fidelity.”
Tapping the ring on my finger, I smiled. “Actually, I am.”
We sat down and I was glad that the place was next to empty this
late in the morning.
Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “One night. Wow, that was some
going.”
Berne’s hand rested on my knee and I listened to the cheery, if
not tired, conversation. Sunlight bathed everything outside. Gentle tones of a
radio filtered in the background. Smells of freshly made, warm bread filled my
nostrils and with three people I absolutely adored the lights seemed to switch
on in my head.
The world was no longer threatening, no longer a scary place of
fears. For the first time in a who-knows-how-long it felt
welcoming
.
“She give you a lobotomy while you were there?” Rebecca nudged my
shoulder. “Smiling inanely into space there, Pip.”
“I’m leaving Doug.”
Babs and Rebecca looked up from their plates. Rebecca’s mouth
showing her half-chewed roll. “Am I dreaming?”
Babs leaned into her. “Not unless we share the same head.”
“Yes, very funny.” I turned to Berne, expecting her to shake her
head or perhaps roll her eyes but no, she was staring at me like I’d grown two
heads as well.
“Um . . . you of all people should have seen that coming.” I
frowned. “You were listening this morning, right?”
She nodded, her expression blank.
“So you heard the bit about leaving him?”
Berne nodded again. “
Mais,
I thought you would change your
mind.” She shrugged in that adorable French way. “He his rich, handsome. I am
an artisan.”
Now it was my turn to stare at her like she’d grown an extra nose.
What? Had she been sleeping when I’d confessed everything to her?
“This is why I need to earn your trust again.” I took her hand.
“If you’ll ever trust me.”
“I do—”
“You have spent the night with me, the whole morning. I’ve told
you everything and you still think I am going to go back to him.” I kissed her
hand. “Would you have thought that before I left?”
Berne shook her head. She was a woman of few words most of the
time, now it was like prying barnacles off a boat. Oh wonderful, barnacles off
a boat? Was I Rebecca now?
“Then when I come back, will you still give me the chance to earn
it once again?”
“Pepe, I will do that now, I—”
“No,” I said. “You’re in a relationship. You can trust her not to
leave, she’s proven that.”
Rebecca cleared her throat. “So, you’re really doing this. I mean,
really leaving him?”
“Yes, I
really
am.”
She blinked a few times and a wide grin appeared on her
sun-freckled face. “Wow, France does something to you, huh?”
I picked up another piece of bread and took a deep breath. Better
out than in as someone said. “That, and I’m gay.”
The coughing and spluttering from Rebecca was a wonderful reward.
Berne’s hand squeezing my knee was another. My cheeks felt like I could toast
my bread on them but still, baby steps.
“Pip, look me in the eye and say that again,” Rebecca said.
Another breath. “I’m gay.”
A little easier. It sounded like I was confessing to a murder or
being an alcoholic but still.
“Honey, I love you, you know that?” Rebecca pulled me up into a
bear hug before I’d registered she moved. “You sure?”
“Fairly certain,” I said. Wow, my cheeks were scorching and my
ears were joining in. Could I have sun burned my own face?
A second later Babs launched herself at me. What was with all the
hugging? Hadn’t they seen me with Berne? It wasn’t too much of a jump. Even the
Parisian receptionist had guessed and she’d only known me a few days.
“Pepe, I knew you would re-emerge. Bravo.” Babs sounded like I was
going off to war.
My ears throbbed with the heat and my neck itched. No doubt I
looked like a human lightbulb.
“Yes, well . . . thank you?”
Noticing that the staff were now staring at me, I went to sit back
down and bury my head.
Berne however felt that she needed to add her thoughts. “
Tu es
incroyable
.” She wrapped me up in her arms. Oh, did I love that feeling. “I
truly adore you, you understand this?”
My poor neck itched with the heat, my face was on fire, my ears
prickled away and all I seemed capable of doing was shrugging. What I must have
looked like, I’ll never know.
“I . . . well . . . you do?”
Uh oh, the daft grin burst into place. I was a bright red itchy
lunatic with a shrugging problem.
“
Oui
. We should celebrate!”
Berne took hold of my hand and dragged me from the canteen, Babs
and Rebecca in tow.
“Are you thinking the same as me?” Babs said, as we got to the
boat rack.
Berne grinned. “
Oui
, it will be on tonight. It will be the
perfect way.”
“What will?” I asked, not liking the conspiring.
“I second that,” Rebecca said and exchanged a worried glance with
me.
“A celebration. Ajoux has its own tonight. My mother wished us to
come,
mais
, I was not sure that you would feel happy there.”
The list of panicked thoughts went as follows: Uh oh, Doug was
going to be there. What if he saw me during the celebration? What if Berne’s
mother caught me drooling over her daughter? What if Berne’s
father/brother/uncle/aunt caught me drooling over her? What should I wear?
“Tonight . . . in Ajoux-Sur-Rhône?” If I was red before, I was
certain the blood had drained from my head, making me feel giddy.
“
Oui
. It is special to me.”
Now there was a “suck it up, leave your fiancé, and stop messing
me around” statement if ever I’d heard it. Was I backing down or going for my
dream? Was I going to grow a backbone and stop running from the past . . . and,
in all seriousness, what was I going to wear? What was appropriate? What kind
of a celebration was it?
“Pip,” Rebecca said. “You need to answer at some point.”
Answer her, move lips, tongue, and speak. “Do I need dress heels,
because I left them in Paris?”
Berne’s lips claimed mine with such fervour, I was caught off
balance and almost clattered into the boat stand. Wow, I guess she liked dress
heels.
“Is that a yes?”
Rebecca folded her arms. “When do you think about heels, ever?”
Good point, I was about as fashion conscious as a tramp. “It’s
just I don’t have them with me . . . What if we’re in a—?” I stopped myself.
I didn’t need to think about what people thought now. It wouldn’t
have a bearing on Berne’s business or reputation if my skirt wasn’t the right
length. “Can I just wear jeans and a t-shirt?”
“You will be with friends,” Berne said. “With me . . . and you
would look perfect to me in anything.”
“Or nothing,” Babs added, earning a snigger from Rebecca.
“If you two are going to be this intolerable together . . . You
are together, right?” I asked.
Both nodded.
“Good . . . where was I?”
“Intolerable,” Rebecca said with a smirk.
“Right, yes. If you are going to be that way . . . yay!” I
launched myself at Rebecca who did clatter into the boat rack.
“Hey, I got enough jumping from this one.”
Too much information, not a great visual.
Think of Berne. Oh, there went my cheeks again. Maybe better to
think of something else. Even if it was a really good—
“Pip,” Rebecca said. “I know you’re finding your feet with your
sexuality but it’s not polite to snuggle me in front of the ladies.”
I snapped my hands from where they’d dropped to. I felt like I was
burning up brighter than before.
“Sorry,” I muttered, backing up. “Miles away.”
Rebecca’s lurid laugh deserved a slap on the arm, which was what I
gave her, as Berne chatted away in rapid French on the phone.
“What’s she saying?” Rebecca asked me.
“Pickles if I know, it’s at light speed.”
“She’s making the arrangements,” Babs translated. “You have me to
help you now, my little English lemon slice.”
I wasn’t sure if it was me or was Babs getting more food
orientated with the names.
“I like the sound of that, my little French merlot.”
Did merlot go with lemon? I wasn’t a wine connoisseur at any
stretch but I was sure that wouldn’t go at all.
“Can you just tell me if I need to dress up?” I asked. “I mean, is
it a posh event or are we talking casual?”
Rebecca poked me in the ribs. “Pip, I don’t think Berne minds what
you wear.”
“I want to look good for her, okay.” That realisation was new but
boy, I wanted Berne’s jaw to drop when she saw me. I wanted her eyes to be
riveted to me the entire evening.
“You already seduced the chilli peppers out of her, Pip. She’s
smitten, yours, signed up and ready to tango.”
“Where did tango come into it?”
Rebecca shrugged. “It went with the chilli peppers.”
While Berne chatted away, motioning for Babs to join her in her
conversation, I turned to Rebecca. “I want to win her back.”
Understanding why she would be a little confused, I didn’t baulk
too much at her “huh?”
“She’s with . . .” I still couldn’t even utter the name. “
Her
.
. . and I need to prove to her and myself that I can do this.”
“You slept with her, that’s pretty conclusive.”
I wished I had more time to tell Rebecca everything, to sit down
and talk it through with her. I made do with the shortened version. “I didn’t
just leave because of the crash—”
“Which I knew.”
She did? Maybe I should steer away from crime as a future career
as I was apparently so transparent. “Catherine caught me kissing her. She
threatened me. I left to protect Berne and made us both miserable for over a
decade.”
Rebecca pulled me into a hug. “Babs thought it was something like
that. She knew you wouldn’t have gone without a fight.”
When did Babs figure this all out and why hadn’t she said anything?
“She knew about Catherine?”
Rebecca pulled back to look at me. “No, she thought it was your
mother. I have to say I went with her too. Catherine, really?”
“The one and only.”
“What did she say?”
Not really wanting to go through the whole thing again, I leaned
my head on Rebecca’s shoulder. “She made a convincing threat. Can I say that
for now? Enough to terrify me into going back with her.”
“What a bitch.” Rebecca growled to add impetus to her thoughts.
“And to think, I was always nice to her.” She shook her head. “She never said a
thing to me, two-faced bitch.”
“I concur. Either way, the second I tell Doug I’m leaving him for
another woman, I’ll have to face her.”
Rebecca gave me a quick squeeze. “You’ll have me, the French
equivalent of a miniature tornado, and Biceps Bebe right behind you this time.”
I chuckled at the description. The wave of love and comfort that
washed over me threatened to make me crumple into tears all over again.
Decorum, Saunders, attempt it at least.
“Speaking of Babs, how did it go?”
A rakish grin dimpled Rebecca’s cheeks. “I think I see your point
with French women.”
There was something else I needed to know. “Who made the first
move?”
Rebecca raised her eyebrow. “Why?”
Balls, she was onto me. “Simple question.”
“Liar . . . why?”
This was the problem when she knew me so well. I sighed. “I said
she would break first.” I hoped her competitive edge would surface. “England to
win.”
“You
bet
on us?” Rebecca put a hand over her heart. “I’m
shocked . . . and so very, very proud.”
“So?”
She wagged her finger in the air. “Who broke first for the story
on the French shirt.”
Balls again.