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When she stood, she examined her face in a single reflective tile blackened with age spots. She splashed water on her cheeks and reapplied her lipstick, trying to rearrange her face to neutral. She wished Charlie was here. She would’ve found the whole situation hilarious. But the humiliating thought of Francis seeing her like this made her stomach groan again.

She returned to the table, trying not to sway into any chairs or give away her inner drunk.

Francis cradled the remnants of a cognac and was talking to a stranger at the next table. “Elda, we have a party to go to. My friends from work are gathering at their place. It’s just across the road.”

“Oh, please, I just want to head to the hotel.” She fiddled with strands of her hair. The absolute last thing on Elda’s mind was going anywhere else where she would have to talk French to people she didn’t know. But he took her hand, settled their bill, and led her into the darkness. She had no choice but to follow him since she didn’t know where she was staying, and her bags were at his apartment.

Less than thirty minutes later, they’d reached their next destination.

“I present to you Armelle et Marie.” Francis rolled a longrwith his tongue, which made his French neighbours giggle.

Elda smiled and received two kisses on each cheek from her new friends. She held in her cramping stomach and shook her head at the passing tray of champagne flutes. She couldn’t make out the full extent of the apartment. Elegant people gathered along the sweeping staircase. The rooms blended into one another and never ended. It was overwhelming, and Elda craved the four solid walls of her room back home.

In the middle, a woman played music from a laptop. It was noisy and distorted, but everyone else in its reach seemed to resonate with the rhythm. There were deep window seats where others gathered to smoke cigarettes. Tall panes of glass stretched up to the ceilings behind them, flanked by shutters pinned back to the wall.

Elda lost sight of Francis and walked through the hallway to find him. She made herself smaller, disappeared into doorways and ducked past groups of people in animated conversation. She saw Armelle and Marie standing against a wall by the bedroom. They were frozen in conversation, transfixed by each other. Marie kissed Armelle, wrapped her arm around her back and drew her closer until there was no space between them, and their bodies had merged.

Elda was stuck to the spot, staring at the couple, wondering what they tasted like. Her insides lurched, and she was transported home to Charlie. She wanted so much to feel Charlie’s lips against hers. Elda closed her eyes and turned ninety degrees. She was here to work, and there was no point in tormenting herself with fantasies of Charlie.

In another room, Francis leaned against the balcony, enveloped in cigarette smoke.

“Elda, where were you?”

He had a wild expression, and she stepped back. He was drunk, and his friends gathered around him in a small circle. He was incapable, for now, of catching her up in English. She turned away and rubbed the chill of the early hours from her arms. Finding space on a sofa, she kicked off her shoes, folded her legs, and rested on the bulky arm. As she closed her eyes, the chatter and melodies melted away.

When Elda awoke, she was under a warm blanket. Armelle sat at her feet, and Marie was draped across her lap. They looked peaceful together.

Francis stood over her with his jacket hanging by one finger over his shoulder. “Come, my dear,” he said. “It’s time to go home.”

He led her by the hand, and they climbed over the sea of sleeping bodies strewn over couches and floors like discarded coats. Rubbing her eyes, Elda followed Francis down the wide staircase and out onto the street.

Dawn streamed through half open shutters. The metal grates of bakeries screeched as they were lifted open, and tiny bin carts moved like aliens from corner to corner. Elda could barely stomach the smell of Paris in the morning. Stale cigarettes, blocked drains, and the hangover of the night before formed a cloud around her, and she covered her nose and mouth.

It hadn’t been the greatest start to her life in Paris. But today, Francis would show her around the university, and she’d start her search for an apartment. She yawned and reset her body. Yesterday was the journey. Today was day one of the rest of her life. She ignored the nagging feeling that she’d left something, or someone, important behind.

Chapter Fourteen

Warm water pooled at Charlie’s feet. She leaned further in, allowing the rainwater shower to tumble down her back. Staring ahead, she traced a pattern on the tile. Her world had grown quieter since Elda had left for Paris. The buzz of Elda’s text messages were fewer and farther between. She craved her company on a spontaneous night out. She missed cradling a hot coffee in the studio.

Charlie’s caseload filled the void in her head, but it wasn’t enough to comfort her heart, and she grew more and more miserable with each passing day.

“Are you nearly done, love? I’m heading into the jungle steam when you’re ready. I just need to find somewhere to put my glasses,” her mum said over the frosted cubicle.

“I’m coming.” She rubbed her eyes and flicked wet hair from her forehead. Towelling off, she fixed her expression, not wanting to worry her mum on their only day together in months. The shower door creaked open, and she came to face-to-face with a vision of her future self. The resemblance between her and her mother was often commented on when they were together but recently, Charlie had noticed it more herself. She smiled. Without a layer of make-up, her mum’s skin was lived-in, creased with age, weathered by the sun. But she looked kind and graceful.Could be worse.

“I love it here, don’t you? It’s one of the things I miss most about the city.”

“I do love it here. Happy birthday, Mum.” Charlie pulled a sumptuous robe around her shoulders and tied it at the waist.

“Thank you, my darling. I’m truly blessed.” She led the way to the steam room, her sliders flapping against the terracotta tiles.

Charlie opened the door to a fog of steam. Inside, the scorching cloud gathered around them, and she patted the walls to find the tiled bench. She stubbed her big toe against the hard surface and screeched as the pain shot through her foot.

“Careful. You can’t see a thing in here,” a man said.

No shit, Sherlock.

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” her mum said.