Million Love Songs(101)

‘I haven’t. It’s been a very long time since I needed those.’

‘I’ve got some in my bag.’ I fish around and, surreptitiously, hand them over.

‘How very modern of you,’ she says. ‘But thanks.’ Charlie looks anxiously at the packets in her hand. ‘I hope I’ve got enough. He’s so going to get it.’

We are still guffawing guiltily when Nice Paul comes back.

‘Good to see you happy, ladies.’

‘I’ve just been discussing our sleeping arrangements with Ruby,’ she admits when she’s got her giggles under control. I think that I might even see her blush. ‘She’s OK about taking your room.’

‘Thanks, Ruby,’ he says. ‘As long as it’s not putting you out.’

‘No problem.’ Given my previous history, they could have asked me for a threesome. ‘I’m going to head up there now, if you don’t mind.’

So Paul gives me his key and I pull him to one side. ‘Be nice to her,’ I whisper. ‘I don’t want to see her hurt.’

‘It’s the last thing on my mind,’ he promises. ‘I really like her. I have for a long time.’

‘I think you two would make a great couple. Your mutual adoration of Take That has to be a great foundation for a relationship.’

‘To be honest,’ he murmurs back. ‘Even though I do love them, the reason I travel all over the place to gigs is really to see Charlie.’

‘Seriously?’ I laugh at that.

‘Don’t tell her,’ he says. ‘Not yet, anyway.’

‘My lips are sealed.’ What a turn up for the book. I never realised that Nice Paul is more of a Charlie fanboy than a Take That devotee. I’m pleased though.

So I kiss them both goodnight then I leave the hardcore fans to their partying and head up to my room to lick my wounds.

In the cramped room with a view of a brick wall, I undress and take a quick shower. The tepid water drips out of an ancient tap. The bed’s lumpy, the linen threadbare. I don’t like to think of who’s slept in here before. I lie on the bed, reluctant to get under the covers. Besides, the night is warm, clammy and there’s no air-conditioning. Thoughts of Mason, Joe, my ex and even Gary Barlow swirl in my head, making sleep impossible. After a while, I abandon all hope of rest and get up again. I dress and head downstairs. It’s late and there are just a few stragglers left in the bar. Of Charlie and Nice Paul there’s no sign.

In the wee small hours of the night, I hit the streets of Paris. The restaurants round here are closed up now, the cobbled streets all but deserted. It’s nice, soothing. I walk without really knowing where I’m heading, just taking in the sights, the night. I put my earphones in and listen to Take That as I meander through the streets, passing the odd party of drunken revellers – many of them middle-aged women in Take That T-shirts.

I find myself on the Champs-élysées once more and turn towards the Eiffel Tower. I’d like to see more of this beautiful city. It has so much to offer and a dozen weekend trips wouldn’t even scratch the surface. I’d like to do it properly one day. Then I think that I have nothing to go back for. There’s no one waiting for me at home. Mason has our train tickets and I’ve no intention of travelling back with him by my side, so I’d have to buy another one for myself anyway.

I look at the magnificent monument ahead of me, illuminated against the night sky. It looks like a beacon of hope. What if I didn’t go home? Who would care? It would mean losing my job, but I can hardly work for Mason now, can I? I could do this. I could stay here for a few days, a few weeks, a few months even. However long it takes. I have nothing to go back for.

I get a thrill of excitement in my stomach as I contemplate the logistics of it. Is it even possible? Yet the more I think about it, the more I want to do it.





Chapter Ninety-Seven





I spend the rest of the night plotting and planning, thinking how this might work and arrive back at the hotel in time to see the coach arrive to take the Take That fan club home.

Charlie’s pacing the pavement. ‘I’ve been out of my tiny mind,’ she says when she sees me. ‘I came along to your room to get you for brekkie, but there was no one there. You’re not answering your phone either, you muppet.’

‘Oh. I turned it off so that I couldn’t hear Mason calling me.’

She tuts. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Just walking,’ I say. ‘And thinking.’

‘Oh, God. Not that again.’

I laugh. ‘I’m going to stay in Paris.’

‘What?’

‘I’m not coming home. Not yet. I’m going to stay here for a while and get to know the place.’

My friend looks horrified, as if I’ve told her that I’m not really mild-mannered Ruby Brown, but a mass murderer. ‘For how long?’

‘I don’t know. As long as it takes. Until my money runs out.’

‘You can’t,’ she wails at me. ‘It’s probably illegal or something.’

‘I really want to and I’m not planning to be here for ever. Just until I get my head straight.’

‘Come home,’ she begs. ‘We can get your head straight on cheap wine and chick-flicks. What will I do without you?’