Point Us to Paris

She was turned around again and pushed forward a few steps.

‘This is the one,’ Elle said.

‘I’ll say. Wow, Ciara. You look like a model,’ Gem gushed.

Ciara didn’t dare look. She couldn’t trust herself to hold it together if she got a flash of reflection. Her imagination was already running riot.

‘You know, I’m trying to do something nice for you and here you are, being an ungrateful bitch.’

Ciara did lose it then, but not in the way she’d feared. As soon as Elle had spoken, anger flared through her, burning away all the hurt and she did open her eyes, but the image of her in the prettiest dress in the world didn’t soothe her.

She whirled on Elle. ‘How is this nice? You know I can’t afford Givenchy but you dragged me in here anyway, torturing me with more things I can’t have! As if leaving Miami wasn’t bad enough, now you want to show me how fucking amazing I look in this dress, knowing I’m going to have to walk out of here without it? You’re the bitch, Elle.’

Elle’s eyes widened and got a little watery. ‘I’d never do that to you, Ciara. The dress is yours and you can walk out of here with it. It’s already paid for.’

Her anger only cranked higher as she returned to the dressing room, pulled the satin off without missing a beat then got dressed in record time. When she got back, Elle and Gem’s worried expressions made her bite her tongue against the angry torrent she wanted to scream at them.

Instead she headed for the exit.

‘Where are you going?’ Gem asked. ‘Cia, don’t do this.’

‘If either of you knew me at all, you’d know how much I hate being a charity case and would never have done this. Some friends you are.’

Gem called out again but Ciara kept walking until she hit the streets, then broke into a light jog as tears welled in her eyes. Her gut wrenched until she had to slow down, the sick feeling lying heavy in her stomach. It was guilt, she knew she’d overreacted but not enough to go back and accept their charity.

Instead she walked aimlessly through the city, not noticing much at all about the beauty of the place she was in. Her mind went back to her eighth birthday, when the headmaster called a meeting with her father and she’d tagged along. He’d thrown out words like genius, and good university and ever since that day her da had worked double shifts, weekends too, just to make sure she could have the best education money could buy. Money they didn’t really have, but that her college friends had in spades.

She knew it was different, but the principal was still the same. She’d barely earned enough in her life to begin paying anyone back. Maybe if she had a plan for the future, she wouldn’t have half of the stupid pride she did. But this was real life and she was who she was.

***

Hours might have passed, Ciara wasn’t really tracking. She’d walked through most of the city and was now at a park with the clichéd couples on benches, tourists with their cameras enjoying the afternoon sun and kids running around with Viva La France footballs.

She wasn’t tracking the world cup either, but most of the tourists seemed to be and had dressed for the occasion with footie shirts galore. Finding an empty spot shaded by a massive oak tree she sat down and decided it was time to snap out of this funk.

After all, Elle and Gem had only been trying to cheer her up and the guilt had shifted to shame, so much so that each time her phone vibrated she couldn’t bring herself to fish it out of her pocket.

But that was wrong, they’d be worried about her and Elle had been right, she was an ungrateful bitch. One who didn’t deserve her friends. Pulling her phone out, she noticed all the missed calls, texts and voicemails and was about to dial Gem when a text from a number she didn’t recognise flashed on her screen.

1pm. Le Petit Café.

The address followed. Had Elle and Gem bought a new phone to tempt her out of hiding, or worse, gotten a private investigator involved? She squeezed out a giggle, trying to convince herself the latter was ridiculous but she couldn’t say for sure that they hadn’t. Elle was just as prone to overreaction as her, albeit in a different way.

Jumping up, she stuffed her phone back in her pocket and then peeled out of the park, keeping a look out for the nearest taxi. She had an hour, but wanted to get there as early as possible in case her mental friends really had paid someone to find her.