‘Just leave them on the side,’ Florian gestures, heaving in the large ceramic casserole dish.
‘Sure?’ I waver and he nods emphatically.
‘I think this is the most uneventful dinner we’ve ever had. Don’t want to ruin it now.’ There is a look of sheer relief coupled with a dash of confusion. I think I might have the exact same expression on my face too.
We re-join Madame Grenaud who has started to unpack some hunks of cheese onto a wooden board.
‘You didn’t have to do that, Mama,’ he softly scolds but grabs some plates from the side.
‘Well, you cooked, it’s nice to contribute.’
‘Ooh!’ I squeak, remembering my own offerings in my bag. ‘Wine!’ I run to the sofa where I had thrown my bag when I came in but instead find it in the corner by the fireplace. Florian must have cleared it away. I find the wine quickly but something is off; there’s more room in the bag than there was before, it’s lighter too. I start to play a game of spot the difference until there is a knowing and all-consuming worry that transcends over me.
‘You alright, Ava?’ Florian calls out, aware that I’m taking too long.
‘I’ve lost it!’
‘Lost what?’
‘My diary, I had it, it must have fallen out of my bag by that bench. I need it.’ I rush to the door, grab my coat.
‘It’s just a diary, Ava, we’ll look for it in the morning…’ I think of all the people that might have visited that place after us, the others that will get there tomorrow for the sunrise, hundreds of people all able to get there before we can, people that might find it and read it, take it or bin it. I think of the work, the hours and nights spent spilling my guts into its pages. The last chapter, how I won’t be able to write it again because I can’t even remember what it says. My whole life. My whole future is in those pages.
‘It’s not just a diary, Florian!’ I shout. He looks like I’ve hit him square across the jaw.
‘No, it’s not…’ Madame Grenaud breaks up the conversation. She is still sitting in her chair, a small smile on her face, her hands tracing over the patterns on my diary that she has placed on the table. ‘But it is incredibly enlightening.’
I can feel the life draining from me, and a heavy, uncomfortable dread makes itself at home in my chest. This can’t be how he finds out. ‘Give it back.’ I run to her, try to snatch it back, but she whips it out of my hands.
‘Not yet,’ she tuts.
‘Mama? That’s Ava’s…’ I catch Florian’s confusion, the way he is standing back, looking at the book that he had dismissed hours earlier.
‘Oh, I know. I know a lot more than you think I do. I mean, it’s not exactly a secret, you plastering yourself all over the internet like that.’ My blood stops circulating. My stomach lurches. I feel a wave of adrenaline-induced nausea come over me.
‘What is she talking about?’ Florian is looking at me now, this sort of helplessness on his features. He doesn’t know the details, but he knows that something bad is about to happen, the same way that animals know hours before an earthquake hits.
‘Florian…’ I shake my head. ‘I was going to tell you—’
‘Here, see for yourself.’ She reaches into her lap and pulls out her phone. She fiddles for a moment until the screen illuminates her smug face. The phone is placed face up on the table and she slides it towards Florian. I see the header, the font, the colours; I know what it is and I know that I’m fucked.
‘What is this?’
‘A blog… quite a successful one at that too. I found it when I was at the hairdresser a few months ago; it featured in a magazine with a picture of a girl who I thought looked familiar.’
‘You’ve known all this time?’ I ask her, my fury turning into this heavy and inescapable sadness. This has been my fate since she realised I was here. Any ounce of happiness I had managed to seek out for myself would always be stamped on and squeezed out by her plan.
‘Oh yes.’
‘Why didn’t you say something sooner?’
‘I thought you would get your fill, sell your story, whatever you needed and then you would be gone, just like you were the first time around, and then you would leave my family in peace. But then I saw how you were with him, the way you wrapped yourself around another shiny thing, and well, I won’t let that happen to another one of my sons.’
I look at Florian whose face is illuminated by the screen that he is slowly taking in, I see him scrolling, taking in the words, the headers, the pictures.
‘You make it sound like I’ve been planning it to work out this way. It wasn’t some scheme, it just happened. And it isn’t just me!’
‘You’ve written a blog about him?’ Florian interrupts, his voice spacey and distant.
