‘It might help to talk to someone?’ she offered cautiously. I wrinkled up my nose and stalled for a moment. Virginie wasn’t that likely to give me objective advice and the last thing I needed right at that moment was all my scary opinions bounced right back at me. On the other hand, talking to Louisa had helped, and she hadn’t exactly been pro-Alex. Maybe my own cheerleader-slash-pitbull was exactly what I needed.
‘OK.’ I decided to go for it. There was something about that pink floppy bow that really made me want to confide in her. ‘He made this totally flippant comment about me being on my own at his gigs all the time and it just got me thinking. He’s right, I suppose. I haven’t made that many friends in New York outside Jenny and her friends. I mean, I’m used to having a small circle of friends and I’m totally fine with that, but I’m worried that the circle just seems to get smaller and smaller all the time and before I know it, I’ll be left with no one, but Alex. And that’s what happened in London, there were millions of us at uni and then a group of us in London, and after a couple of years, it was just me and Mark, Louisa and Tim. And as of right now, I don’t even really have a Louisa in New York. I can’t let that happen again. If me and Alex break up, I’m not sure I’d have anything to stay for.’
‘And you really think you might break up?’ Virginie refilled my glass quickly and then gave me an embarrassed smile. ‘I’m sorry, I drink too fast, I know.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I lied, making a mental note not even to attempt to keep up. ‘I’m just not a very good drinker. One too many hangovers when I was in LA, I’ve sort of tried to avoid getting completely hammered since then.’
‘Hammered?’
‘Fall down, throw up, pass out and wake up with a stranger in your bed drunk,’ I elaborated, sipping my wine slowly. ‘And I really can’t even think about the breaking up question.’
‘Did you work on your article today?’ Virginie changed the subject expertly. ‘I feel so bad. I hope you will still be able to complete your assignment with only two days left in Paris.’
‘There are only two aren’t there?’ I couldn’t believe this week had gone so quickly. Not that it had been without incident. ‘It’ll be fine,’ I reassured her (and myself). ‘I actually put some notes together yesterday and felt a bit better about it. Not that there isn’t more to add, but I can stick in the bars from tonight. I reckon it’ll be OK. What’s this place called again?’
‘UFO.’ Virginie looked over at the bar where the crowds were starting to gather. ‘It does get very busy, perhaps it is not so secret?’
‘Not to you, but I bet there aren’t many Americans in here,’ I said, following her gaze. The other half of the room was like a different bar, the clientele were completely different to the moody hipsters in the back. Everyone was talking, waving their hands around, laughing, touching each other on the shoulders, kissing.
‘I think perhaps there is one American,’ Virginie pointed her almost empty wine glass towards the tall dark haired boy with his back to us. Except he didn’t have his back to us any more. He was standing up, ducking his head slightly to the left to avoid the low ceilings, a guitar case in his hand. It was Alex. And following him across the room and out of the bar was Solène.
‘Isn’t that…’ Virginie pointed as they paused outside the window, just inches away from us.
‘Yes,’ I said, trying not to freak out on a monumental scale. ‘It is.’
Solène magically produced a packet of cigarettes from her skintight jeans and placed one carefully between her lips, lifting her chin for Alex to light it. She gave him the lit cigarette and repeated the process, just in case I hadn’t seen it clearly enough the first time around. Taking a deep drag on the second cigarette, she flicked her long fringe across her face and cocked her head to one side, smiling up at my boyfriend before they set off down the street. Before I could decide what to do, Solène looked back over her shoulder, straight at me and gave me the most smug, self-satisfied smile I had ever seen. Turning away, she slipped her hand through Alex’s arm and carried on down the street and out of sight.
‘Angela?’
I stared out of the window, ignoring the quiet voice at my side.
‘Angela, please, you will break the glass.’
Snapping out of my trance, I realized that I was gripping the stem of my cheap wine glass so tightly, it really was at risk of shattering. Which would make it all the better to stick right through Solène’s heart. If she, in fact, had one.
‘You did not know that Alex was meeting that girl?’
I gave Virginie a look that hopefully made it clear that she had asked a very stupid question.
‘I don’t think that he saw you,’ she said. ‘And I am sure it was nothing.’
I still couldn’t actually make words. In the words, or rather, acronyms of Jenny Lopez, WTF?
‘They are both in bands, yes? And playing at tomorrow’s festival? So it is like a work meeting.’
I couldn’t even raise an eyebrow at that. Did she think I was stupid?
‘As you have said, there is nothing between them now. It is all history.’
And history sometimes repeats itself, I thought to myself even if I couldn’t bear to say it out loud. Mostly because it was too cheesy. I knocked back the rest of my wine and poured a fresh glassful from the now half empty bottle. And knocked that back too.
‘Angela, I—’
‘Virginie?’
‘Yes?’
‘No offence, but can you shut up for a minute?’
‘Of course.’
We sat drinking in silence for a few minutes while I stewed on the evidence. There must be a perfectly rational explanation as to why my boyfriend had gone out drinking with his ex-girlfriend without telling me. Like, they just bumped into each other and he was being polite. Or that she’d threatened to throw herself in the river if he refused to meet with her. Or he was thinking about giving her a quick one before the show because he didn’t want to do it with me any more. Wow, that was helpful thinking.
Another ten minutes of silence went by while visions of Solène and Alex cancaned through my mind, Virginie sat opposite me, concentrating on staying quiet. I could tell it was killing her, but I really didn’t want to hear any of her theories at that precise moment. I wanted to finish the bottle of wine as quickly as possible so that I had a handy and easy-to-wield weapon.
‘Angela?’
I turned my head slightly to look at Virginie. ‘If you’re going to tell me how harmless that all looked, really, it’s not going to help right now.’
‘Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to stay with me tonight,’ she said hesitantly. ‘If perhaps things do not go well.’
‘Oh.’ I was a little bit shocked. Shouldn’t she be bouncing around and yelling about what a slut Solène was and how awesome I was and how Alex must be a fool if he even looked at another woman?
‘Because, and I do not know your Alex at all, but I do not trust that Solène. I know I have said this before,’ she added, topping up my wine until the bottle was empty.
‘Right.’ I accepted the drink and swilled it down. I really was past tasting it now, which I had a feeling would be both a blessing and a curse. It really wasn’t good wine. And I really shouldn’t ever drink red. ‘Well, I should talk to him. It could just be that they bumped into each other and he was being polite.’
‘I thought he did not care about being polite to her?’ Virginie reminded me unnecessarily. ‘And that is why he would not go to the party with you.’
‘Oh yeah.’
I pretended I’d forgotten, but clearly I hadn’t. I couldn’t think of a single good reason for Alex to be in a bar with Solène at a time he knew I had plans with someone else, without having told me anything about it. Not one. Unless he’d just found out his mother needed a kidney transplant and Solène was the only matching donor in the entire world. No, not good enough. He never saw his mother.
‘Maybe you do not want to go to the concer
t? You would like to go and get a bag from the hotel?’ she suggested, finishing up her wine. ‘You have been through so much with cheating boys already, you will not go through that alone again.’
‘Oh God, no!’ I shook my head quickly, trying to ignore the fact that the room seemed to spin with me, just ever so slightly. ‘No, really, this is stupid. I’m being stupid. I should just go over there and ask him. This is ridiculous, getting all worked up when I have no idea what is going on.’
Of course, I did have an idea and that was the problem. It was a really graphic idea and I didn’t like it one little bit.
‘D’accord,’ Virginie pouted. ‘If this is what you want. But you must come and stay with me if you do not want to go back to the hotel.’
‘Virginie, really, it’s fine,’ I tried to convince us both. I wasn’t sure that if the worst came to the worst, sobbing on the floor of a girl I hardly knew was going to help matters, even if she was my very own, very chic, Parisian version of Mary Poppins. Practically perfect in every way. ‘You’re supposed to be helping me with an article, not taking me in for crisis counselling.’
‘But I want to help,’ she insisted, reaching across the table and squeezing my hand. And immediately realizing that was a little bit too much, even for three glasses of wine on a half-empty stomach Angela. She dropped it and shrugged, trying to look more casual. ‘Or perhaps you could visit your friend in England. I am sure she would be more help to you anyway.’
‘You have been an incredible help,’ I reassured her, relieved to be worried about someone else’s feelings for a second. ‘Honestly Virginie, you’ve been brilliant. And you know, if you ever want to come and visit New York, you will always have a place to stay with me.’
‘Thank you,’ she muttered, pulling on the length of her long brown hair and checking for split ends. She didn’t have any, of course.
‘Really, I totally appreciate what you’re trying to say.’ Oh God, she couldn’t even look at me. Bugger it, I hadn’t meant to offend her. ‘You’re brilliant, Virginie. You really are. Oh, and I asked Alex to put you on the guest list for the festival on Sunday, I’d love it if you’d come. I’m guessing he’s done it, but he is a bit crap.’
‘It is not a problem, I have press pass. More wine?’ She looked up, her invisible happy switch flipping into the ‘on’ position.
I smiled tightly and stood up to go to the bar. She was back. As would be my lunch if we carried on drinking at this rate.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As my head started to get foggy, I switched back on to a mojito to try to speed the bar part of the evening along. For some reason, drunken logic persuaded me that it was the wine that was the problem, not the generic alcohol. Not that I was feeling terribly logical. Since I’d decided, with the wisdom of a few drinks inside me, that I wanted to talk to Alex about what I’d seen, I was sort of in a hurry to get it over with, but Virginie was really taking her time with the wine. She seemed to be back in cheerleader mode, but there was something that wasn’t quite right. The edge had gone off her irritating perkiness and she seemed preoccupied. I tried to tell her about the work I’d done on the article, but she just responded to my semi-drunken enthusiasm with nods, smiles and the occasional monosyllabic muttering, and when I tried to draw her on to the subject of when she might move over to New York, she actually squeaked, shrugged and looked out of the window.
Giving up, I went back to my mojito, although I’d drunk it so quickly, all that was left was extremely sweet minty iced water. My feet were still a little sore from the previous night’s high-heeled marathon through the city, but I’d be OK to stand for a while at the gig, and Virginie had said the venue was close by. And it was. It turned out we were just a couple of minutes away, and not only that, but Nouveau Casino was right next door to the café where I’d met Alex on our first night. Hipster Paris was really teeny tiny, a fact that made my feet very happy. Virginie however, hadn’t cracked a smile since we hit the street. Maybe she was pissed because I still had her shoes, I thought. Glancing over at my tiny companion, I saw that she was busily tapping away on to an iPhone I hadn’t seen before.
‘You got an iPhone?’ I asked, trying to start a conversation. ‘That’s cool.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she looked up, flustered. ‘I was looking for a store so I could find a power cable for your computer. It was stupid of me, of course there is now an Apple store in Paris. I got the phone then.’
‘Weren’t you on the other one earlier?’ I asked, enviously eyeing up her myriad apps. Honestly, Apple addiction was a genuine sickness.
‘Uh yes.’ She dropped the phone in her bag carelessly. I couldn’t bear to look, it was going to be scratched to buggery in a heartbeat. ‘I am still using both numbers for now. Not everyone has saved the new one.’
‘Yeah, I was using different phones for ages.’ I nodded, willing her to finish her drink. ‘I had my phone, then the work BlackBerry. But of course as soon as I decide to just use the BlackBerry, it goes and breaks so that’s bitten me right on the arse, hasn’t it? I should get an iPhone.’
‘I suppose so.’ Virginie took the tiniest sip of wine. ‘Did you call the office? To get it fixed?’
‘Cici deals with all my phone stuff,’ I explained. ‘And clearly she’s not going to help me out. I emailed the IT department after I charged my laptop, but they never get back to me, it always takes days. And I emailed my editor at The Look, Mary, to tell her Cici had fucked me over, but she hasn’t replied. Or she hadn’t the last time I checked.’
‘You emailed your editor?’ Virginie looked alarmed. ‘What did you say?’
‘It’s fine, we’re fine. Mary is my boss on the website not Belle, Cici’s her assistant. I didn’t say anything to anyone at Belle, don’t freak out, you’re not going to get in any trouble. If anything, you’re a bloody hero anyway. I’m going to be telling them how you saved the day and everything.’
‘OK.’ She finally flashed me a big smile. ‘You know how the Belle girls can be, but I will not worry.’
It seemed like my promising to put in a good word had cheered her up and she practically skipped down the street ahead of me. I picked up the pace behind her, the still raw balls of my feet protesting through the medium of intense burning. She really did walk incredibly fast for a short girl.
After a couple of minutes, Virginie came to a sudden halt and turned back to me, to point at a queue of people outside a big dark door. It was only just after ten but people were already lining up for the show. For a moment, I forgot how pissed off I was with Alex and just felt incredibly proud. I couldn’t imagine how it must feel to see people queuing to see you do something you loved. No one was ever likely to stand in line to watch me inhale a tub of Phish Food and settle in for a three-hour America’s Next Top Model marathon. I made a mental note actually to get around to doing something relevant with my life. Or at least have a think about it.
Approaching the door, Virginie explained, in French, to the fashionably disinterested girl with a scribbled-up guest list that we were both on the list and that yes, we were aware that the doors weren’t open yet and no, we didn’t give a shit because I was in fact the lead singer of Stills’ girlfriend. I tried not to wonder how much longer I’d be able to use that label, while simultaneously giving the door girl a raised eyebrow ‘yes, that’s right’ look. It wasn’t my first time, but I still wasn’t very good at it.
Stumbling through the near darkness into the main room of the club, I just about managed not to knock myself out on a huge iron staircase in the middle of the floor. There were a few people milling around, journos and friends of friends I guessed, and the support band was still working on their sound check.
‘I’m going to try and find Alex,’ I yelled to Virginie over the deafening feedback. Ouch, that sound check was definitely needed. ‘Meet you back here at the bar?’
She nodded and leaned against the wall, assuming a stony, ‘don’t even think about talking to me’ face for the benefit of th
e pair of giggly boys already whispering and pointing at her from beneath the stairs.
After a quick aimless walk around the venue, I finally spotted someone who looked vaguely as if they worked there and flashed my access all areas sticker (how cool was I?). The unimpressed French roadie pointed up the metal staircase and shook his head at me. Well yeah, OK, it was the only place I hadn’t looked. I took a deep breath, steeling myself both for steep stairs and a conversation I really didn’t know how to have, and mounted the staircase to find a small seating area, full of leather banquettes and low tables. Another flash of the AAA pass at another miserable-looking bald man and I was in. Unfortunately, Alex was not. No one was. I leaned over the balcony, trying to attract Virginie’s attention. My mojito-fuelled bravado was disappearing quickly and now I was here, my heart beating hard, I really didn’t want to confront Alex about anything. Not here, not now. I just wanted to hang out with a friendly face. The VIP area had a great view of the stage and, more importantly, free drinks, but Virginie wasn’t looking. In fact she was studiously not looking, tapping away on her iPhone again. The boys who had been hiding under the staircase like a pair of hipster trolls, had sidled up to the bar and were clearly trying to get her attention, but it just wasn’t happening.
I was kneeling on one of the leather sofas, trying to wave at Virginie and wishing for the millionth time that hour that I had a mobile phone that worked, when I realized that the music had changed. It wasn’t bland indeterminate indie rock support band any more, it was Alex. I paused mid-flail to see him centre stage with his guitar, checking the tuning, strumming a few chords and then asking the sound engineer some questions in French. It weirded me out to hear him speaking another language so perfectly, as if he were someone else. Although thinking about it, if the fact that he spoke fluent French had been the only thing I’d discovered about Alex on this trip, I’d have been far happier. Graham and Craig appeared behind him and started to tinker with their instruments while Alex carried on strumming, singing and stopping until the sound was just right.