Julien stared at the text on his phone, then his eyes went back to the piece of paper he had pressed flat on his desk. Showered, wearing fresh black jeans, he was sat in front of his laptop, the light of his desk lamp highlighting Ava’s words.
7. Climb the Eiffel Tower and kiss a random man at the top of it
He shook his head. It kicked him every time he reread it and what was worst of all, he knew it shouldn’t matter so much. They had both agreed it had been a moment that meant nothing. But it had meant something to him. It had meant a lot of things. That he had the ability to feel again. That he was thinking of something else other than Lauren and what they had both been through. That he was beyond Monique.
He looked down at his body and his fingers found the scar on the left side of his abdomen. A red angry welt of ugly skin. That was what had repulsed Monique. She might have said it was his inability to open up to her but he knew better. Who would want to look at that for a lifetime? He didn’t. Grabbing a black shirt from the top of the sofa he slipped it over his body and began to fasten the buttons with haste. He was making too much of this. He had got too close, inviting Ava to see how he worked, taking her all over the city, asking for her help with the exhibition. He needed to take a step back... a few hundred paces back... not go on a romantic cruise up the Seine. He swallowed, checking his reflection in the mirror. But Didier had practically begged. It was for Debs. He should look at it as work. He could take some photos of the sights for the exhibition – he needed something if he was going to pull it off. He could make sure they both knew where they stood.
From the desk his mobile phone erupted into life and his step-mother’s face blinked on and off in the half-light. Picking it up, he answered.
‘Hello.’
‘Julien,’ Vivienne greeted, her voice tense.
She sounded nothing short of pained. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s... your father, he came home from work and he drank and then he drank some more and he... smashed the photographs.’ Vivienne let out a sob that made Julien want to reach down the line and gather her up in his arms.
‘I tried, Vivienne, at the suit fitting,’ Julien began. ‘I tried to make things right like you asked but... he is still too far away.’
‘What am I going to do?’ It was an almost desperate plea. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
He didn’t know either, but he did know that his step-mother didn’t deserve to shoulder this worry alone right before her wedding. How could he tell her that his father didn’t even want him to be his best man any more?
‘I’m coming over.’
‘I don’t think you should right now – not while he’s like this.’
‘Perhaps he should see someone,’ Julien stated.
‘Someone?’
‘A counsellor?’ He swallowed. Vivienne had suggested this to him and Gerard shortly after Lauren’s death and both of them had flatly refused.
‘Oh, Julien, you know how he is with that subject,’ she said. ‘The very same way you are.’
‘I told him I wanted to do another exhibition. To honour Lauren and the other families who lost people in the fire.’
‘Oh, Julien,’ Vivienne exclaimed. ‘That is a wonderful idea.’
‘Dad didn’t think so.’ He sighed. ‘He said whatever I did nothing would bring Lauren back. As if I didn’t know that already. As if I didn’t already realise that nothing will be the same.’ He paused. ‘Vivienne, I just want to do something positive. Something I think Lauren would approve of. I know that locking myself in my apartment and hiding wasn’t solving anything. And I know Lauren would have hated that.’
‘Will you come over? Not now but later this week?’ Vivienne asked. ‘For dinner?’
‘I do not think he will want me there.’
‘I want you there, Julien.’ She sighed. ‘I need you there.’
His heart ached as his step-mother’s tone pinched at him. He had to help her, and his relationship with his father was at a point where it couldn’t really get any worse.
‘I’ll come,’ he agreed.
‘Friday?’
‘Fine,’ he agreed. ‘Vivienne,’ he started, ‘you are OK for tonight?’
There was a pause before... ‘He shut himself in the bedroom and cried himself to sleep.’
Julien closed his eyes and held his breath before continuing. ‘If you need me, Vivienne, for anything, please just call me.’
‘I will.’
He heard her inhale deeply. ‘I am so glad you are taking photos again, Julien. So very glad.’
‘Me too,’ he responded. His eyes went to his computer where the images he had snapped of Ava at the Panthéon, outside her hotel and at the Sacré-Coeur, slipped left and right. Why was he torturing himself with the images when what they had shared today was all about numbers on a list to her?
‘Do you have a theme for the exhibition yet?’
‘Beauty,’ he answered. ‘Beauty in every day.’
He took the mouse on the desk in his right hand and clicked the button to shut down. Ava’s picture disappeared and finally, as he said his goodbyes to Vivienne, the screen went black.