Stars

“I think it’s hilarious how we’re queuing to get in a lift – I feel so very British.” I stated, grabbing Tom’s hands, his fingers intertwining with mine, and putting over hands on the wire guard overlooking Paris.

“Just our luck that we get stuck behind a school trip,” he said, side stepping to the right and placing a kiss on my neck.

“No public displays of affection before dark, there are thirteen year olds present.” I glanced at the two girls trying to remember the lyrics to a Kate Nash song and laughed a little.

“But we’re in Paris – the so called capital of romance…” I shook my head and he sighed, “You’re right. It does irritate me when people forget that they are in a queue because they’re too busy staring or kissing somebody.” He dropped our hands from the guard and wrapped his arms around my chest instead, “I’m still holding you though.”

“Fair enough, it is rather windy.”

“It is.” He agreed, shuffling us forward in the queue, “So what are you doing when we return to ye olde England?”

“There’s two weeks before the final week of rehearsals. I’m babysitting my niece for a week of that, then I’m returning her to Windsor and staying there for two nights with my half-brother, and then two days in Egham with the parents.”

“Two days with me?” He asked, putting his head on my shoulder and smiling widely. I laughed and nodded, turning to awkwardly kiss his forehead. “I can also help you babysit for three days after we get back, if you’d like? I’m not needed for a while.”

“That’d be fantastic – little girls love men who are willing to play the Tweenies with them. She’s Fizz by the way.” He looked puzzled, “Obviously you haven’t watched any children’s TV in the past ten years?” He shook his head, “I’ll have to educate you before she arrives. Maybe she’s moved on and just wants to make cakes now.”

He laughed, “I didn’t know you had siblings, my dear.”

I smiled and dug about in my bag for my camera, “Indeed I do – a half brother on my mother’s side, he’s called Fredrik, he’s a doctor who lives in Windsor with his wife – they’re moving to Australia next year. I’m trying to spend as much time as I can with them as I possibly can before they leave.” I sighed, “Then there’s Renate, my half sister on my father’s side. She lives in Stuttgart with her four kids and weird husband. She lived with us for three years, took the money for her Oxford education – got a degree in Classics and became a housewife, the stupid whore.”

“I sense some anger here. Did you want to go to Oxford and get a degree in Classics? I have one of those, although it is from Cambridge. Sorry – did you want to go to Oxford, dear?”

“No! I wanted to go to where my dad went – didn’t get into Corpus Christi, went to Jesus – best result ever.” I held up my hands and shrugged, “But Renate, she was a bitch after she came back from Oxford, she was better before she left to go there. She blamed me for her parent’s divorce because I was the result of a ‘love at first sight’ kinda thing at a hotel in Uruguay. However, the divorce proceedings had begun before I was conceived, that she cannot grasp.” My hands twisted in my t-shirt and my brows knitted together, “She can’t resent me because I was the result of a so called ‘dirty weekend’ as she so bluntly put it. Fredrik doesn’t – he was seven when it happened, she was four – what’s the difference in three years and different countries?”

Tom pulled my fists from my shirt and lightly kissed my knuckles, “Look, I’m the child of a divorce – not the youngest, not the eldest, at boarding school when it happened, but it hurts, okay? She’s just stubborn and she doesn’t hate you, she’s protecting her mother. I mean, I hated my father’s girlfriend until I gave her a chance. When are you seeing Renate next?”

I sighed and moved to stand next to him, “We’re going for my father’s birthday to Munich in late August.”

“You realise your syntax goes out of the window when you’re upset, stressed or angry?” I smiled sadly, bit my lip and nodded, “Anyway, don’t stand by and put up with her rude behaviour, try and talk to her civilly. If it all goes to pot, get your father involved,” we were guided into the elevator and tightly packed against an old Italian couple, “If she uses her degree against you and insults you in let’s say, Latin – come back at her with the almighty words of Shakespeare, quote that line from Macbeth regarding the disgust and confusion Banquo feels at the appearances of the witches, that’d be so harsh.” He laughed and nudged me with his side, “If that works – you’ll either hate each other more or have mutual respect.”

“Thanks, I guess. But I’m not bringing her beard into this.” I beamed up at him, “I wish you were coming now. You could fight for my… pride in Ancient Greek or something.”

“Gosh, she’d win for sure – I barely touched Ancient Greek.” He laughed and smiled as I took out photograph. It took around two minutes to reach the top, to which the whole lift piled out and caused chaos with the people wanting to go down. We walked around the confused security guards and looked out of the thick Perspex windows.

“Wow. I feel like the Beatles after meeting Bob Dylan: really high.”

Tom ignored my comment, staring in awe at the view with his mouth gaping and his right hand in his blonde curls. I took a picture and giggled as his brows furrowed, “I always forget how beautiful Paris is.”

“I’m glad I’m here with you, darling.” I drew out the ‘r’ and hugged him tightly. “’We’ll always have Paris.’”

“I wouldn’t want to be here with anybody else,” I grinned widely and he kissed my cheek, walking us outside, our hair blowing violently as I took another picture of us looking over Paris.

--

“I honestly think I’m in love with him, mama.” I said into the phone, looking at the bathroom door, hearing the hairdryer blowing loudly and Tom’s rather loud singing. Nevertheless, I turned up the radio (which was playing Unfinished Sympathy). “I don’t believe there’s such thing as soul mates, but if there were…”

“How long have you known him, Sylvia?”

I used my fingers to count, sliding my feet into my boots as I did so, “Three months.”

“Has he asked you to be anything more than bed mates, yet?”

I felt a blush rise to my cheeks, “Oh, mama – not in words but in gesture, yes. We are staying in Paris for a week together, he’s helping me look after Astrid and he’s coming to see my play and I’m going to spend time with him after I visit you.”

“I wish to meet this boy, Sylvia. Invite him over for dinner – we shall go to where you used to work. You know, where your father plays golf for, how do you say, a pretty penny?”

“Yes, I know.” I curled the telephone wire around my index finger and licked my bottom lip, “I’m sure Juan will give us a discount, mama.”

“I must go, Sylvia, as the oven is beeping. See you soon, okay my love?”

“Send my love to papa.”

“I shall do. Enjoy your dinner, child.” I smiled and put the phone down as the tone began. I zipped up the back of my dress (the most expensive one I owned and had bought a day earlier, I’d reasoned with myself and claimed I’d wear it to a party one day) and laced up the ribbons on my boots, shooting a smile at Tom as he exited the bathroom in a charcoal black suit and dark blue tie.

He held out his arm for me, grinning as I linked with him. “Ready to go, mademoiselle?”

“Indeed I am, monsieur.” I grinned back at him, “Always ready.”

He held open the door and once it had closed, held my hand. “Fabulous.”