‘He was a bit dead behind the eyes. Looked away when I said your name. There was a particular malice when he said you were probably packing for your return. I don’t know any details yet. He said that you would probably fill me in anyway, but I should let you know,’ she adds, pointing her finger in my direction, ‘I tend to play the role of Switzerland in these situations.’
‘His mother’s a scheming witch, nothing new there. Told Florian about my blog. She stole my notebook, read him some passages that weren’t exactly flattering. He told me to leave.’
‘Oh…’
‘Yes “oh”. So that’s what I did. I left. You know, an hour before he was asking me to stay, asking me to bloody live with him and now… well now there’s this.’
‘So, he didn’t take the book news well?’
‘No.’ I take another bite of the croissant. ‘It’s fair to say that went down like a lead balloon, which is pretty ironic really.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m going to pull it. I’ve got a meeting in London next Thursday with Sam to tell her.’
The American’s coffee cup crashes against her plate when she sets it down a little too quickly. ‘What! Why?’
‘How can I publish something that has already caused so much drama? His family don’t want Ettie immortalised in that way, for me to profit from losing him. I mean, aren’t they right?’
‘But all your work?’
I shake my head. ‘I simply don’t care any more. I just wish I never came here, never got to knowhimagain, I was making progress and now I’m back at square one all over again.’
‘Ava.’ She reaches for me but I snatch my hand away. I can’t deal with niceness, with platitudes or care at the moment. It just makes me want to cry. ‘I think that is the opposite of the truth.’
‘I guess I just thought that the next time I got on my flight back home I would feel like I had achieved something, had some greater purpose, that losing Ettie would mean something, but I don’t feel like that and losing him just means that he’s gone.’
The American dabs her mouth with a tissue, ignoring my self-pity. ‘I’ve been thinking.’ She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small piece of white paper, embossed in gold lettering with multicoloured balloons tracing the borders. She pushes it across the table towards me.
‘Your birthday party?’ I ask sceptically.
‘Yes.’
‘But it’s this weekend, my flight’s on Sunday.’
‘I’m very aware of the clash. That’s why I also went to the liberty of purchasing this.’ She pushes over a boarding pass with next Tuesday’s date on it.
‘What did you do that for?’
‘Well I thought it might give you one less excuse to use. I want you there,’ she says simply.
‘I don’t think I can stay here another day… I…’
‘This will do you good, Ava. Treat it like a holiday before you go back, an opportunity to really relax. It’s not here. It’s a house a few miles away, I’ve rented it for the weekend every year since I got here. It’s wonderful, all paid for and there’s a room with your name on it.’
The holiday away from here sounds tempting, a way to delay the inevitable I guess, but it wouldn’t erase what has happened; if anything, being surrounded by a bunch of happy people, inevitably couples, could be sheer torture.
‘Ava…’ She can see me weighing it up, the slight splintering of my resolve. ‘I am eighty-two years old, eighty-three on Sunday. Come to the damned birthday party. I don’t have that many more to go.’
‘Are you really guilt tripping me?’
‘Well. Can’t blame me,’ she pouts.
I take her in, how there really isn’t anything lower than rock bottom, so where would the harm really be?
‘Alright,’ I sigh.
‘You’ll come?’ Her face illuminates.
