The Last Dress from Paris(105)

I’m not leaving you, my darling, I promise you I’m not. I’m making things better, you must remember that. I’m coming back for you, angel. I’m going to build a life for us, one where you will be safe, and I can care for you properly. And I promise you that every day we are apart, I will never stop loving you. I will hold you in my heart, I will dream about you, I will see you every day when I close my eyes, growing stronger and stronger. I will talk to you, I will pray for you, I will make time for you, I will sit with you in my thoughts and imagine the sweet moment when I will hold you again.

How can she do it?

How can she leave this tiny bundle alone in a city full of danger? Will Alice remember her smell, the way it mimics the scent of her own skin; the sharpness of her fingernails against her own flesh; the way her daughter’s face, held next to hers, will instinctively search for the protective warmth of her mother’s neck? Then she thinks about her daughter’s tiny lips, how they arch tentatively upward when she enters the room, how they might dip again when the shape she sees is the wrong one.

This is a love that started deep inside of Alice when she sat, lonely, staring at her own tiny toes on the beach in Norfolk, knowing even then she would never allow her own child to feel abandoned. Is she wrong? Is it better that they suffer together, rather than coping apart? Should she stay?

No, she mustn’t let the panic overwhelm her now.

She places a kiss on her now sleeping baby’s cheek, feeling the flutter of eyelashes against her own skin, and whispers another I love you into her ear, hoping it will linger there, as long as it needs to. She studies her baby’s perfect little face one last time, still in awe that she managed to create someone so beautiful. Then she wonders at her capacity for forgiveness, hoping there is a gentleness already seeding inside her daughter.

That one day she will understand.



* * *



? ? ?

Anne is waiting for her, pacing the sitting room, her creased face a sign she has been up even longer than Alice this morning. The two women embrace, and Alice’s tears are there, balanced on the very rim of her eyes. She will not let them fall. Not now. But this needs to be swift.

“You know it, of course, but I have written down her full routine. It’s in the bag next to her cot. Please will you stick to it? It’s what’s familiar to her. I think it will help.”

“I will, of course I will, I promise.” Anne is about to break, and Alice is relieved Sébastien left early this morning, that he isn’t here to see more pain she has caused his wife.

Alice lets her lungs expand with a huge intake of breath. “She already loves you, Anne, just as I do. Please try to remember all the things that will help her feel safe when she realizes I’m gone.”

Anne can only manage a small nod.

“When you are changing her, remember how I place a small towel across her belly. She hates to feel cold and exposed, it will stop her crying. If she is struggling to sleep, put her on your shoulder and hum like you do sometimes, the vibrations always calm her. She sleeps best in the cot, on her front. Her small white bunny is in there, don’t lose it. If you run your finger along her jawline, it will make her smile.” Alice can hear the wavering in her voice, the pace of her words tumbling out of her far quicker than she intends.

She plows on.

“When she’s upset, I rest a knuckle on her lower lip and she will suck it. Remember to tie your hair back when you are feeding her, or she will pull hard on it and won’t let go. And, Anne, I don’t ever want her to feel alone, even for a second. Please don’t ever leave her crying like some mums do.” Alice has to throw the final words from her mouth. Her throat clings to them, trying to drag them back in, holding on to the final part of this speech like it will make some difference to the outcome.

“I understand. I will do everything you say. She will be safe, and she will be loved, and I will make sure you know just how much until you return.”

“Thank you. She’s sleeping in her cot now, so I will go.”

“Are you sure? If you need more time . . .”

“I’m sure. It has to be now.”

The tears will overwhelm her soon. She watches as Anne opens the door, unsure that her feet will move to carry her through it, unable to think about how she will cope without her dear Anne by her side each day.

“There is one more thing. Please don’t shorten her name. I think it suits her just as it is.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t dream of—”

“I know. I just needed to say it.” She allows her eyes to cast back toward the bedroom door, praying with all her heart that her baby girl stays sleeping just long enough for her to make it down to the street. If she hears her now, everything will be undone.

She walks through the courtyard and out onto the cobbles, feeling the heat already filtering into the day. How cruel that it’s sunny, when the day demands a low, rolling thunderstorm or a cataclysmic downpour. That’s what she deserves. Not a day that promises happiness and a trip to the park. She looks up and down the street, sees the baker, happy to be serving his first customer of the day, a street sweeper bent heavy over his broom, working with conviction. As she passes him, he raises his head and smiles, wishing her a good morning. She wants to yell at him, Don’t show me any kindness. The woman you think you see is not who I am. Don’t be fooled by the smartness of my coat, the neatness of my hair. It’s all a horrible trick. Can he see in her face what she’s done? If he could, would it be sympathy or a cold judgment he’d feel?