She turns her smile up a notch, and as she shifts her feet under the table, I feel her ankle brush against mine. I smile back, and try to remember exactly what I was feeling at this moment six years ago.
I was missing Daphne something rotten – I know that for certain. But if I’m brutally honest, I was also enjoying the feeling of flirting with this new, confident Alice.
Maybe it was because Daff and I had been together nearly a decade at this point, so nothing felt exciting or new. Or maybe it had been starting to dawn on me back then that I was twenty-eight years old, and yet I’d only slept with two women: Daff and The Ghastly Tish. Harv, on the other hand, had just split up with Liv, and was masking his obvious unhappiness by waking up in a different bedroom every morning, thanks to a newly launched app called Tinder. Maybe that’s another reason why the marriage conversation had freaked me out so much. I was wondering if I should have woken up in a few more bedrooms.
Despite all that, though, spending Christmas Day with Alice was not something that had even crossed my mind until she had suggested it four days earlier at that first café.
She’d joined me at my table, and within minutes, we’d slipped effortlessly back into our first-term banter. It was strange how easy and comfortable it felt: as if we were picking up exactly where we’d left off nine years ago.
We spent an amazing hour laughing and reminiscing, and I couldn’t stop thinking how sad it was that we’d lost touch when we got on so brilliantly.
As we were getting ready to leave, I asked if she had any good Christmas-Day-in-Paris tips. I’d told Mum I couldn’t afford the Eurostar back to join her at Uncle Simon’s, but in truth, I was worried that being home for Christmas would make Daphne’s absence feel more palpable. Maybe my mawkish, self-pitying side had even relished the romantic idea of being alone in Paris on Christmas Day. I don’t know.
As soon as I mentioned it, though, Alice’s green eyes lit up. She told me she had to work on the 27th, so she would be here too. In that instant, it was decided: we would spend Christmas Day together. Her excitement at the idea was infectious. She started throwing together a plan right then and there: how she would sort out a surprise Christmas itinerary for us; how she’d show me the real Paris I’d been missing out on while I was cooped up in my flat, writing.
It was properly thrilling.
As Alice gushed about how much fun we’d have, though, my mind went straight to Daphne. Technically, we were on a break, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that spending Christmas Day with Alice would be overstepping the mark somehow. Crossing a boundary I shouldn’t be crossing.
I’m brought back to reality – if right now can legitimately be called that – by our waiter rocking up to our table and plonking my hot chocolate down in front of me.
‘Merci beaucoup,’ I tell him.
‘You’re welcome,’ he replies.
This gets a chuckle out of Alice, and I have the sudden urge to throw the drink at the waiter’s back as he saunters off.
‘When you’ve finished that,’ she says, nodding at my cup, ‘we should get going.’
‘What’s the first stop?’ I ask, taking a sip, already knowing the answer.
She smiles. ‘Le Dodo Manège.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
When I experienced this day originally, I think I was pretty surprised that Le Dodo Manège was Alice’s first stop on our Christmas itinerary.
I thought I had her pegged as this big-shot marketing executive whose idea of a good time probably involved sipping Instagram-friendly cocktails in some exclusive members’ club. And yet here she was, leading me through the beautiful Jardin des Plantes, just a stone’s throw from the banks of the Seine, towards what appeared to be a children’s fairground ride. It was a nice surprise, to be honest: it made me realise that no matter how much she seemed to have changed, she still had that fun, silly streak I’d been so attracted to at uni.
That said, though, Le Dodo Manège isn’t just any children’s fairground ride. I later learned that it’s a bit of a Parisian legend: a Victorian-era carousel on which, instead of the usual brightly painted horses and carriages, there is a cavalcade of exotic, endangered or extinct creatures. Huge lifelike models of giant pandas, sabre-toothed tigers, various kinds of dinosaurs, willowy gazelle-like things and, of course, a plump, slightly angry-looking dodo.
‘Voilà!’ she says, as we push through the iron gate and it appears before us in all its glory. ‘Le Dodo Manège.’
I nod, and then remember that I am supposed to be seeing it for the first time. I quickly feign excitement and surprise.
‘Oh, yeah! Wow! It’s incredible!’
Alice wrinkles her brow. I may have slightly overdone it. It’s only a merry-go-round, after all, not the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. But then she gives me a smile, apparently convinced that a) I’ve never seen it before, and b) I am suitably impressed. ‘It’s cool, right?’ she says. ‘Come on, let’s get on.’
The carousel is already pretty much full as we arrive – heaving with excited kids and their weary-looking parents. As we clamber up onto the main platform, I see there are only two riderless creatures left. The first is a pretty striking golden mountain lion, which Alice immediately hops up on and straddles, looking vaguely Napoleonic. The other is a giant turtle – fat and squat and about ten inches high – whose seat is basically a small trench that’s been hollowed into its enormous shell. I attempt to retain some dignity as I lower myself into it, but after kneeing myself painfully in the face, twice, I’m not totally sure I manage it.
The plinky-plonky music starts up, and the ride begins to turn slowly. The
