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Chapter Twenty Three

‘Hello.’

I open my eyes. It’s a second before I remember where I am.

I am in my bed in my parents’ house in Autignac. Very naked. With Dave next to me. Also very naked.

‘Hello,’ I whisper.

We’re lying side by side, facing each other, in my little bedroom. The house is totally quiet: no one else is up yet. My chin feels hot and chafed – damn thee, stubble rash – and my breath is, I suspect, kittenesque. But I can’t bear to move. I’ll just breathe through my nose.

‘I was magnificent last night, wasn’t I?’ he whispers.

I start to laugh. Hell of a way to break the morning-after ice.

‘Come here,’ he murmurs, and pulls me towards him for a kiss.

‘Gently,’ I say. ‘My lips are swollen from all the snogging.’

‘I’ll kiss them better,’ he whispers, moving me underneath him and placing his hands on either side of my face.

And now, I must briefly draw a veil over your eyes, or perhaps cut to a scene of a rocket launching, a flower coming into bloom in fast-forward, or train pistons shunting back and forth. We all know how great sex is (unless you haven’t had sex yet, in which case: don’t rush, the first time sucks, and remember to play it safe). So just imagine it with a smooth-skinned, flat-stomached, very enthusiastic man who you fancy so much that you want to grab and paw and bite every inch of him. That’s what this is.

My God, sex is amazing. To think that I used to actively try to avoid it when I was living with – no, no. Don’t think his name. Just think about Dave. Concentrate on the now. (How zen I am.)

‘Ahh, la belle France,’ says Dave, an hour later, as we lie on the seriously rumpled sheets.

‘My poor childhood books, seeing this sort of activity. They’ve led such sheltered lives,’ I say. ‘What time is it?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Dave.

I grab his watch from the bedside table. ‘It’s 10 am. I’ll go to the bakery,’ I say. ‘I wonder if everyone is awake. I hope Sophie and Luke made up. I’ve never seen them fight . . .’

‘Of course they made up, don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Do you think everyone drinks coffee? Maybe I should get some orange juice, too . . .’

‘Who cares what they drink? Come here, angel. I’m not done with you yet.’

‘No,’ I say, wriggling out of his grasp.

‘Abigail. I said come here,’ he says.

‘I’m not steak. You can’t just order me,’ I say. It’s a quote from Working Girl. I wonder if he got it. I shuffle off to the tiny en suite off my room and try to ignore the inevitable ‘he’s-looking-at-my-naked-arse’ thought.

Remain in control of this situation, Abigail, I think, turning on the shower.

‘Do you have any soap to drop?’ says Dave, stepping into the shower with me, and the next second he’s kissing me against the shower wall and well, again I must draw a veil over your eyes.

When I finally get downstairs, leaving Dave upstairs ‘to make some calls’, only Sophie and Luke are awake. They’re draped over each other on the sofa, watching French cartoons on TV.

‘Morning,’ I singsong. Looks like they’ve made up.

They both look over and smile. ‘Morning, sweetie,’ says Sophie.

‘Sorry about all the drama, Abigail,’ says Luke. He leans over to kiss Sophie’s head. ‘I was a brute. Your sister has forgiven me.’

‘I’m sorry too,’ says Bella, coming into the kitchen. ‘It’s all my fault.’ She walks straight over to Sophie and Luke. ‘I really am sorry, Sophie. I was so rude and I didn’t mean any of it. I was premenstrual and drunk and Ollie and I were fighting . . .’ Bella seems genuinely contrite. ‘Please forgive me?’

‘Of course!’ says Sophie, brightening. She is clinically unable to hold a grudge. ‘Are you and Ollie OK?’

‘Ha, sort of,’ grins Bella ruefully. ‘He ordered a taxi at 7 am and took the early flight home.’

‘Ah,’ says Sophie. Bella shrugs. I can’t read her face – is she upset or relieved? She’s so self-controlled.

‘Well, I’m going to get bread and croissants for breakfast,’ I say. ‘It’s lovely and sunny. We can eat in the courtyard. Back in 20 minutes.’

I’m so giddy with happiness, I have to fight the urge to skip up to the bakery. Just 24 hours ago, I hadn’t kissed Dave yet. Now I have. Our first kiss was right there, against that wall. And it was amazing. It was sparktastic. I can’t wait to do it again. I feel all hot and tingly at the thought.

But what if that was just one night for him? I feel a strange flutter of panic: I want him, and I desperately want him to want me . . .

Hang on. Did I just use the d-word? Desperate.

Fuck.

Stay in control, Abigail. Remember Robert’s tips. I can be cool and detached. And anyway, it can’t be just one night for him. Not the way he was looking at me, and the, frankly, utterly incredible sex . . .

‘Bonjour!’ I exclaim, walking into the boulangerie with a huge smile. Ten croissants, ten pain au chocolats, three baguettes and some brioches should do it. I also pick up some orange juice and some flowers for my mum.

When I get back to the house, Bella is lounging on the other couch, and Dave is lying on top of Luke and a shrieking Sophie.

‘Hold me,’ begs Dave. ‘You two have each other. All I want is a little cuddle. Maybe you could stroke my hair.’

‘I’m not going to cuddle you,’ says Sophie, giggling. ‘Get off. You’re squashing me.’

Standing up, Dave looks over and winks at me and I wink back. Suddenly I see Bella staring at Dave, and her gaze slowly moves to me. I look away, but not before I see the look of shock on her face.

She’s not over him, I realise. The idea makes my stomach flip.

‘I’m going to call Ollie,’ Bella says, bounding up and heading towards the stairs.

No, she’s fine, I tell myself as I walk into the kitchen. She’s calling her boyfriend. I’m imagining things.

Dave sits down on the other couch.

‘So, Luke, are you playing nice again? You know how much I hate fighting.’

‘Then stop fucking stirring everyone,’ replies Luke.

Sophie comes into the kitchen and sidles up to me, whispering: ‘Am I imagining things, or did you and Dave . . .?’

I meet her eye and grin. Sophie chortles with glee, and then, as Dave and Luke both look over, pretends to have a coughing fit. I deliberately hadn’t mentioned my uber-crush to Sophie, as I knew she’d tell Luke. (Not that I’d blame her, that’s how relationships work.)

‘Something funny to share with the rest of the class?’ calls Dave.

‘Scuse me, something in my throat,’ she says, taking the orange juice and glasses out to the courtyard.

‘Morning, all,’ says Robert, coming into the living room, followed closely by Vix. I look at them delightedly. They scored! I thought JimmyJames fancied Vix. Typical Robert. Oh well.

‘Coffee for you, sire?’ I say to Robert cheerfully, as Luke and Vix help Sophie carry the rest of the breakfast things outside.

‘Yes, please,’ he says. He’s not as grinny as I’d expect, having just scored with one of the bridesmaids. I would have thought that’d be the kind of thing that’d make him happy.

‘Victoria,’ I say, waggling my eyebrows at Vix, as we walk outside.

‘Calories don’t count in France, right?’ says Vix, picking up a pain au chocolat.

‘Not when you’ve burned them all off during the night,’ says Bella, coming back out into the courtyard. I glance up immediately, but she’s not looking at me. Guess Ollie didn’t answer her call.

‘I bloody love everything French,’ continues Vix airily, ignoring her. ‘French pastries, French wine, French cheese—’

‘French fries, French kissing—’ inserts Sophie.

‘Écoute, Robert,’ Vix calls into the kitchen. ‘We need more milk! How do I say milk in French?’

‘Lait,’ Sophie and I say in unison.

‘Plus de lait!’ she shouts. Robert returns with the milk, and Vix winks ostentatiously at him, mouth full of pain au chocolat. ‘Thanks for the lait.’

I smirk to myself. They’d make a good couple, wouldn’t they?

‘Please move to London,’ says Sophie mournfully to Vix. ‘I’m tired of only seeing you on one drunken weekend every three months. And I’m too old to make a new best friend.’

‘I might,’ replies Vix. ‘I’m running out of men in Edinburgh, fast.’

‘Sleep well, princess?’ I whisper, as I pour Robert some coffee. He looks tired, I suddenly notice.

‘Pretty good,’ he whispers back, putting his sunglasses on. ‘Well done, by the way. Looks like you made this weekend your bitch. Attagirl.’

‘High fives to me,’ I agree, smiling to myself.

Everyone’s eating with hungover enthusiasm. Dave is down the other end of the table, talking to Luke and Sophie about the wedding. It is just not fair the way men can wake up and look gorgeous even when they’ve been drinking. I needed ten minutes of careful make-up just to look human.

Suddenly, there’s a moan from the side of the courtyard, and a figure wrapped in the waterproof barbeque cover rolls across the courtyard, unravelling as it goes. It’s JimmyJames.

He has leaves in his hair and his face is marked where he used the barbeque cover rope as a pillow. He looks like Edward in an amateur production of King Lear.

‘You locked me out,’ he says indignantly. ‘I could have frozen to death. To death. Oh, goody. Breakfast.’

JimmyJames came outside for a cigarette when everyone moved inside at midnight, and the courtyard door locked behind him. Everyone assumed he’d gone to bed.

‘I scaled the outside of the house using the barbeque cover rope to help me,’ JimmyJames tells us, tearing into a pain au raisin. ‘I knocked on all the shutters, till I fell off and lacerated my arm – see? Look,’ he rolls up his sleeve to show off a very mildly grazed elbow.

The girls all make sympathetic noises. I splutter into my coffee with laughter, catch Dave looking at me in mock-alarm and blush. Darn it, I thought I had this self-conscious thing under control.

‘I shouted for a bit, till your neighbour yelled at me.’ Sophie and I exchange a grimace. ‘And after about an hour, I decided my priority was survival.’

Luke laughs so hard at this he starts to gag and has to leave the table and lean over, hands on knees, gulping deep breaths till he feels better.

JimmyJames carries on.

‘Temperatures can get down to six or seven degrees celsius in France at this time of year. And, as we all know, it’s imperative to keep your head warm. So I fashioned a sockturban, thusly, wrapped myself in the waterproof cover, using leaves and the rope as a pillow.’ He smiles proudly at us all.

‘Very, uh, impressive,’ says Robert.

‘So, what have I missed?’ JimmyJames says. ‘I’m glad to see Lady Bella is smiling again.’

Bella grins and blows JimmyJames a kiss. ‘Oliver has, sadly, left us,’ says Dave solemnly. ‘Rest in peace, Oliver.’

Sophie, Vix and I all immediately glance at Bella, anticipating fireworks, but she just grins and lights a cigarette.

‘What an exciting weekend it’s been,’ says JimmyJames, reaching for another croissant. I catch Dave’s eye and can’t help but grin helplessly. Blushes be damned. ‘Right. Who was bad with whom? And why do you look like the cat that’s got the cream, Abigail?’

The last activity of the weekend is a boules tournament in a nearby town. Personally, I think we could do without it, but Luke is set on us all bonding as a wedding party.

Boules, in case you’ve never seen it, is a French version of bowls, and the specific game they play in our area is known as pétanque. The Béziers boules tournament is taking place on the long gravel pedestrian area in the centre of town, and there’s a carnival atmosphere. It’s a much bigger town than Autignac, and all the cafes and restaurants lining the street have installed outside seats and heaters so people can witness the game while they eat.

Dave and JimmyJames immediately decide to have a glass of wine ‘for sustenance’.

‘I need it,’ says JimmyJames earnestly. ‘I think my platelets are down.’

‘I just really like wine,’ says Dave. He leans over to me. ‘Can I get you some wine, hot stuff?’

I grin, shaking my head. Out of the corner of my eye I can feel Bella staring at me, but when I turn, she looks away.

The tournament has three different levels: the professionals, who take it so seriously that they’re barely speaking to each other; the middle league, who seem to be mostly couples and friends pretending not to take it seriously; and the bottom league, which is a shambles of fights and laughter. Just our style.

‘I think I should probably concentrate on staying alive, given my last 24 hours,’ says JimmyJames in a slightly martyred voice. ‘I’ll just have a nice sit down here and drink wine,’ he pauses. ‘I’d feel a lot better if Victoria would stay with me.’

‘Get used to disappointment,’ she replies.

‘I speak disappointment fluently,’ says JimmyJames. ‘Please?’

‘Fine,’ she says. ‘If you get me a chair and table, I will sit.’

‘Fine. We’ll register the six of us, then,’ says Luke. ‘We can play triples. Robert, Dave and I against Sophie, Bella and Abigail.’

‘Aces,’ says Bella, lighting her eighth cigarette of the day.

‘I notice you still smoke like a Russian peasant,’ comments Dave.

She blows a smoke ring at him and he grins. She’s extremely cool. So much cooler than I am. I bet she never needed a singledom coach.

‘What are the rules?’ says Bella. ‘How does it work?’

‘Toss a coin, draw a circle, throw the ball, person nearest the jack wins,’ says Robert shortly. He’s kept his sunglasses on since breakfast. A sign of remorse, or else just his usual hangover grumpiness. Poor Vix. It’s a shame she didn’t kiss JimmyJames.

‘This is so heavy!’ exclaims Sophie, picking up one of the boules. ‘Right. I’m ready.’

‘I’m going to beat you lot like a Christmas puppy,’ says Dave with an evil grin.

‘I’m going to beat you like a foster child,’ says Bella, squaring off against him.

‘I’m going to beat you like a Mormon wife,’ retorts Dave.

‘Ha! You’re such an idiot,’ she replies.

‘You can’t resist me, Bells,’ says Dave, reaching out to pull her hair as she walks away.

My hackles are raised. What the devil is this? Last night it looked like they couldn’t stand each other. Now they’re flirting. ‘OK,’ says Robert, interrupting them. ‘Let’s toss the coin and find out who’s doing the circle.’

Boules is a gentle, slow game, or at least it is the way we play it. There’s just the occasional cry of ‘oops!’ and ‘sorry!’ from the girls, and ‘fuck!’ and ‘you distracted me, you penis’ from the boys.

After we’ve played a few rounds, the teams are neck to neck. Bella – having clearly decided to behave – is being very chatty and playful, and she and Sophie and I have forged a surprisingly strong camaraderie. I’m glad that they’re getting on, but I wish my sister wasn’t quite such a pushover. I want to be a little cold to Bella, to show that even if Sophie has forgiven her, I haven’t, but it’s hard in the face of her charm offensive.

Luke’s his usual jovial self, and Robert’s granite face is barely moving, while Dave is keeping up a hilarious and irritating running commentary. However – and this is not just because I shagged him all night, I swear – he’s so charismatic that even when being deliberately annoying, he’s irresistible.

‘Right. Bella, Bella. Beautiful girl, ugly underhand bowl. It lands next to Robert’s last throw, which I understand he aimed for Paris . . . And here’s Robert again, he takes his shot, now he’s leaving the grounds, I’d say he’s probably going for a pee, are you going for a pee, Robert? And he’s ignoring me. Right. So and now we have Luke, who lives up to his nickname “The Fluke” and oh, lands just inches away from the jack, sadly a good inch and a half behind my last throw which is by far the best of the round so far.’

‘Wanker,’ says Luke to Dave. The rest of us are in fits of giggles.

‘Penny in the swear jar for you. Right! Next up is Abigail, approaching with the delicate baby foal wobble she’s perfected over the last few rounds, and oh dear, she lifted a foot. Disqualified.’

‘What?’ I gasp. ‘I didn’t!’

‘You did,’ says Dave patronisingly. ‘Left foot came up and off the ground.’

‘It did fucking not!’ I exclaim, annoyed now.

‘Vote!’ says Dave.

‘Safe,’ says Sophie loyally.

‘Out,’ says Bella. Typical.

‘Safe,’ says Luke.

‘Out,’ says JimmyJames. ‘I didn’t see it, but fuck it, let’s create another drama.’

‘Safe,’ says Vix, raising her glass of wine to me.

‘Looks like we have an impasse,’ says Dave.

‘It was safe,’ says Robert, striding back into the ring.

‘You were having a slash, you didn’t see it,’ snaps Dave.

‘I was getting a bottle of water. My eyes were on the game the whole time.’

‘She was fucking out,’ insists Dave.

‘She was in,’ says Robert.

‘I was in,’ I echo. ‘And the vote reflects it. So bite me.’

Dave gazes at me delightedly. Suddenly I realise that he wants a sparring partner. He likes the attention and frisson that arguing gives him, no matter who it’s with – Robert, Bella, or me. That’s why he’s always stirring.

Well, I can do that.

‘Chalk it the fuck up, Dave,’ I say. ‘Robert. Your ball.’

Robert hits my ball out of the circle. Dave whoops in delight. ‘The flatmates! Drawn together, yet always apart.’

Robert and I both narrow our eyes at Dave.

‘Try to shut up, David my boy, or we’ll put you on the naughty step,’ I say. He grins, kicking some gravel onto my shoes as he passes me. Yep. Definitely likes a sparring partner.

Dave bowls, hitting Robert’s ball away from the jack.

‘We’d get two points if you’d aim near the jack,’ says Luke irritably.

‘I want to deny Robert the pleasure of scoring,’ says Dave, batting his eyes innocently.

‘Plus ça change,’ says Luke.

I glance at Robert, who is really overdoing it on the grumpiness front today. I wonder if he can read me. I hope not as I keep replaying some of the more R-rated activities from last night over and over in my head . . .

After an hour of playing, the entire game falls apart. We keep arguing, and though Dave announces himself victor, Bella and Sophie and I agree that we won. Vix and JimmyJames start cheerleading, and everyone joins in. It’s one of the few genuinely successful, light moments of the weekend, and Sophie looks thrilled. Bridal party bonding at last.

Dave also spars with me for the rest of the boules game, the more I push him away and play it tough, the more he loves it. It’s exhilarating.

But he hasn’t asked for my number.

Of course I’ll see him at the wedding next year, he’s a groomsman. And I could probably organise a night out with him, with Robert and Luke’s help . . . but I want him to just ask me out. I really do.

If he doesn’t, then I just had another one-night-stand. Oh, God, what the fuck was I thinking?

‘Time to go,’ says Luke, looking at his watch. ‘Everyone in the cars.’

I hate flying, I reflect, as we make our way to the airport. It was alright yesterday morning, as I was kind of on early-morning autopilot, plus Robert, who knows I hate flying, distracted me by talking the whole time. I don’t think he’ll be as chatty today. He’s so grumpy that he hasn’t even taken his sunglasses off, and when I offer to get him a Coca-Cola and a baguette to help with his hangover, he just grunts ‘I’m fine’. So moody.

We get to the airport, check in, and go through the security.

‘I should pee,’ I say to no one in particular. The group has gone very silent, as hungover groups tend to.

‘Thanks for sharing,’ says Vix. ‘Have fun.’

I always go to the bathroom before I get on a flight, even if I don’t actually have to go, as otherwise I’ll have to go in the air and I’m scared of the sound of the toilet flush in planes. (Yes, it’s a completely rational fear.)

I wash my hands, and take a dismayed look at myself in the skewed mirror above the airport sink. No wonder Dave doesn’t fancy me. My lack of sleep, stubble rash and mild hangover have combined to make my face eat my make-up. I slap on some more and head back out to the boarding lounge, sighing deeply.

‘Hello, angel,’ says a voice. It’s Dave, leaning against the wall, waiting for . . . me? The others are all sitting down on the other side of the lounge.

‘Well, hello,’ I say.

‘You and me. Tonight. My house. I’m not quite done with you yet.’

I start laughing despite myself. ‘Oh . . . Dave. What an invitation.’

Dave leans forward and looks me in the eye, and despite my laughter at his terrible line, I feel my chest contract with the familiar nervous, squirmy heat. ‘It’s not an invitation. It’s a fact. I stole your number from Sophie’s phone. I’ll text you my address.’

‘Um . . .’

Then Dave leans forward and kisses me, and I swear to you right now my ovaries actually twist. The kiss, like the first kiss last night, is just soft lip-on-lip pressure for five seconds, but I almost collapse. God. The sparks. I’m actually tingling.

‘Coming to my place later?’

‘Yes,’ I say. I’m helpless.

‘Don’t look so serious, darling,’ he says. ‘We’re going to have some fun.’