The Traveller’s Daughter

She’d sat with her head leaning back on the plush headrest of his new black Audi as he drove them to his apartment. It was another post break-up splurge. He’d looked like a little boy as he told her that not only was it turbocharged – whatever that meant – but the roof was retractable too. She’d refrained from remarking on how useful that would be living in Manchester because not only could you get soaked through to the skin, you also got to breathe in traffic fumes. She shook her head, trying not to listen to him telling her again how much he’d missed her since she’d left, and how sorry he was for what he’d done. It was as though he thought the more he repeated these sentiments, the more chance there was of her saying all is forgiven I’ll come back.

The Bitch, she registered him saying, although he hadn’t used that terminology, had moved to Glasgow after they’d split. She had taken a new job there so Kitty wouldn’t have to worry about ever bumping into her were she to come back. He’d do anything to get her back he stressed as the lights of Greater Manchester twinkled in the distance. Part of Kitty wanted to believe him even as she wondered idly if his version of anything stretched to selling the ridiculous sports car she currently found herself sitting in.

His hand had snaked over to rest on her leg. She could feel the heat of it through the denim fabric of her jeans as he steered them deftly around the achingly familiar streets of Manchester’s trendy Northern Quarter. It was where they’d lived together, enjoying the regeneration it had undergone along with all the other twenty and thirty somethings’ that had gravitated to the area. She’d stared out the window at all the restaurants they’d dined in. They passed by cafés they’d met friends for coffee in, pubs they’d drunk in and clubs they’d gone on to dance the night away in. The streets they were passing were streets they’d once strolled hand in hand down. It was all so comfortingly familiar when everything around her at the moment was so bewildering.

Damien had opted to stay in the Northern Quarter; he told her, driving into the underground car park of an apartment complex. He could have stayed on at their flat had he got someone else in to share, but he didn’t want to do that. The memories were too painful, he said. For you and me both, she’d thought, recalling her mother having uttered the same sentiment when she sold Rose Cottage.

Her phone had rung once as they rode the lift up to his apartment on the fifth floor, and a quick glance at the screen told her that Yasmin was wanting a word. She’d flushed guiltily knowing full well what her friend would have to say to her if she knew what she was about to do. Switching off her phone, she stuffed it as far down in the depths of her handbag as she could manage.

His apartment, although small, was shiny and new, and Kitty had thought, with a glance around, rather impersonal. She’d stopped thinking altogether though when he’d put Adele on. It was their favourite CD, the one they’d always had sex to. She’d sunk into his open arms and raised her mouth to meet his as they began a slow, remembered dance.

The beeping alarm brought her back to the present, signalling it was at last time to rise and shine. Damien stirred for a moment before reaching over with a practised hand to bang the snooze button and snuggling back under the bedding, but Kitty sat up gratefully. Her hand went to her hair, and she sighed, it was mussed beyond redemption. She knew too that her mascara was probably down to her chin by now, and her mouth felt dry and stale. Had Damien been someone new that she had staggered home with last night then she’d have been desperate to get into the bathroom to tidy her act up before he got a good look at her. As it was, she knew the sight of her with her hair standing on end, and the remnants of the previous day’s makeup was one he had been treated to on many occasions. He would not be fazed.

Sensing her eyes on him, he opened his and blinked a couple of times before his mouth curved into a slow, lazy smile. He reached up and stroked her cheek.

“Morning, gorgeous.”

“Gorgeous is a stretch! I’m a fright.”

He grinned. “Well the Robbie William’s ‘Let Me Entertain You’ eye makeup isn’t your best look I agree, but other than that you look pretty darn tasty to me.” He reared up to pull her back down beside him, but she broke free.

“No way, don’t even think about it. I’ve got to get to the airport, and I need to have a shower and tidy myself up. I can’t get off the plane looking like–”

“The wanton woman you are.”

She leaned over and smacked him lightly before swinging her legs over the side of the bed vaguely self-conscious about being naked. She stood up and made her way quickly to the en-suite hearing a wolf whistle from the bed before he called out. “Towels are in the cupboard. Shall I join you?”

“No! Make yourself useful and get some breakfast organized. I am starving,” she called back. Her casual banter belied the tumult of emotions vying to make themselves heard as she locked the door behind her, and leaned her head against it for a moment. She didn’t trust him not to come in, remembering full well that he was a morning man.

A few moments later, she was standing under the jets of water enjoying the feel of the hot needles hitting her skin, sluicing away the morning-after fog. She picked up the bottle of shampoo from the ledge and peered at the label. It was a salon brand she didn’t recognize and opening the lid, she sniffed its contents. Coconut, she thought, envisaging palm trees swaying in the breeze as she squeezed a dollop into the palm of her hand and began massaging it into her scalp. Damien had always been a bit of a metro man when it came to his grooming, and she used to find it amusing that he spent more on his hair products than she did.

Oh God, she thought, letting the water run over her head with her eyes squeezed shut so as not to get shampoo in them, what on earth was she doing here? Did she think she could go back and that they could just pick up as though The Bitch had never happened? Common sense told her that no; it would never work. The part of her that still loved Damien wanted to kick common sense right up the backside, though; forget all about this mad trip to France and unpack her bags.

By the time she emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later with her hair towel dried and a fresh layer of warpaint on her face, she was feeling more composed. She’d dressed once more in her jeans, having packed lightly under the assumption she’d be back in London by now. As she zipped up her case, she made a mental note to wash her smalls by hand when she got to Uzés or she’d be in a bother.

Ready to face the day, she straightened up and prepared to venture forth. Well almost ready, she thought, sniffing the air and catching a whiff of coffee mingling with frying bacon. Good, Damien had taken her literally. Walking through to the small living area, she found him stationed at the hob of the open-plan kitchen with the frying pan in hand. Her stomach did a little dance as he grinned at her, and she pinched her forearm to make sure this whole surreal scene was unfolding.

“Good shower?”

She glanced down at the red welt on her forearm. “Um yes, great shower thanks. Those power shower thingies are amazing. I feel human again, or I will do when you make me a cup of that coffee.” She eyed the fancy looking machine taking up half the bench space. Back when they’d lived together, it had only ever been instant on offer because they’d preferred to go out for coffee. He had certainly gone to town since she’d left. “Do you need a licence to operate that thing?”

Damien left the sizzling pan and fetched a mug down from the shelf overhead. “It brews a mean espresso, and you won’t be making snide remarks when you taste it.”

He was right, she thought, taking a sip from the mug he’d slid down the countertop towards her a moment later. Licking the froth from her upper lip, she watched him from underneath her eyelashes as he dished up the bacon and eggs. A strong sensedéjà vu assailed her; they had played this scene out so many times before. Damien had loved his Sunday fry-ups. It was like they had hit the rewind button and everything was the way it had been. Then, as she glanced around and realized she was in an unfamiliar flat surrounded by things she didn’t recognize, the hurt began to seep in around the edges again.

Damien pushed her plate towards her and came round to sit on the bar stool next to where she was perched at the breakfast bar. “I meant every word I said to you last night, Kitty. You know that, don’t you?”

Kitty picked up her knife and fork not wanting to meet his gaze. “I know you did.”

“Will you promise me you’ll think about coming back? Please.”

“I will.” Her voice cracked. “I promise.” As he laid his hand on hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, she wanted to cry. Thank goodness she was leaving today, she needed to put some distance between them so she could think clearly.

He let go of her hand. “Right, well tuck in, and then I suppose we’d better get you to the airport.” He picked up a toast triangle and dunked it in his egg. “I have to say, though, Kitty, I don’t feel entirely comfortable with this whole France scenario.”

“It will be fine,” she muttered, hearing her mother’s voice telling her not to talk with her mouth full but being too famished to care as she shovelled in a forkful of bacon. “Don’t worry.”

In record time she’d cleaned her plate and with caffeine coursing through her veins and a full belly she felt much improved. Damien announced he’d better go shower and so seeking distraction from dwelling on the night before, she began stacking the dishwasher as he disappeared back into his bedroom. Popping her mug in the rack, she remembered Yasmin’s call last night and felt guilty at not only having ignored it but at switching her phone off too. Setting the dishwasher to run, she went and fished her mobile out of her bag and a moment later her inbox filled with missed calls and texts from her friend. She’d better ring her, she thought, flopping down on the couch with a heavy sigh. Staring out the window at the adjacent high-rise, she took a deep breath knowing she was in for a rightly deserved drilling. Yasmin answered after two rings.

“Thank God, Kitty! I was worried about you. I imagined all sorts of things and none of them were good.” The relief in her voice flooded down the line.

“I’m fine, Yas. I am so sorry! I know I should have called you back and let you know where I was staying last night.”

“Yeah you should have and what’s with switching your phone off? What were you up to? I have hardly slept a wink. It didn’t help that Piggy and Slimy were at it all night again. Honestly, I thought the headboard was going to come through the flipping wall at one point.”

Kitty shuddered watching the morning light play on the glass panels of the building opposite. “Oh poor you, nobody deserves that.”

“I know! It was horrific and it’s quite possible that I might have been scarred for life. If I were religious last night’s antics would have been enough to convince me to join a convent, but I am not and couldn’t possibly be with Mr Amatriciana on the loose. I can’t stop thinking about him by the way; it’s a shame he’s taken. Never mind all that, though, did you find yourself a nice B&B in the end?”

“Um no. I stayed at an old friend’s place actually. I bumped into uh, her in Wigan, and she invited me back to her new flat for a bit of a catch-up. That’s why I turned my phone off because we were so, um, busy chatting.” Kitty studied a fingernail. She eyed its chipped polish with distaste. Her story sounded perfectly plausible, and it was almost true, she’d just swapped genders and left out all the juicy details.

Yasmin wasn’t buying it, though. “Kitty, I don’t need to be one of those FBI behavioural analyst’s like off the telly to tell that you are lying. It’s in the funny pitch of your voice.”

Kitty had never been a very good liar. She reckoned it was the pressure of having been an only child because it was very hard not to tell the truth when it was always two big people against one little person.

“Whatever, now spill, what have you been up to?”

Kitty squirmed in the leather seat. “You’re not going to like it.”

Two minutes later she held the phone away from her ear as her friend launched into a tirade that mostly involved her repeatedly yelling, “How could you be so stupid? After the way he hurt you!”

It was pretty much what she’d expected Yasmin to say. She’d watched her mother get burnt time and time again. The experience meant she was of the firm belief that once a cheater always a cheater, so there wasn’t very much Kitty could say to dissuade her from her point of view. There was no point adding fuel to her friend’s fire either by telling her Damien wanted her back and that he had promised he would never stray again. Part of her wanted to believe him because part of her wanted desperately to return to this world that had once been hers. There was another voice whispering in the background of emotions, though, telling her that she couldn’t go back. She was carving a new life of sorts for herself in London. She had her dreams to follow and they were within her grasp now thanks to the sale of Edgewater Lane. But would those dreams be hollow if she didn’t have him by her side?

He had never been enthused about the idea of her opening her café. He’d felt she would be better sticking to the safe option of working nine to five for a guaranteed wage. It was ironic given the gamble of his stockbroking work. But then he used to say he was gambling other people’s money not his own, so it was different. He had never understood that to her baking wasn’t just a hobby and something she enjoyed doing at the weekend. It was her passion, and she wanted to turn that passion into a job. She wanted to spend her days doing what she loved, not tapping away at a computer. Perhaps he might feel differently now she had some money behind her. That same little voice whispered that it really shouldn’t matter to her how he felt.

Oh, she thought, as she bit what was left of her thumbnail down to the quick, she was glad she would be sitting on a plane in just under two hours. She needed to get away from Damien and even Yasmin so she could think about what it was she wanted.

Damien appeared in the living room doorway looking decidedly delish in a fitted V-neck sweater and jeans with his hair still wet from the shower. At the sight of him, Kitty was almost tempted to hang up the phone and tell him that she wanted to start again, but something stopped her. Instead, she cut her friend off mid-sentence. “Listen, Yas, I have to get to the airport, my flight leaves at half-nine. I promise I will phone you when I get the chance from Uzés.”

She hung up on her friend who was still in mid-rant.

Chapter 7 (#ulink_8d0aeec7-c290-57d3-a0ce-1aa0053cb8eb)

As you ramble through life, whatever be your goal; Keep your eye on the doughnut, and not upon the hole – Irish Proverb

Kitty scanned the arrivals hall of Marseille Airport and spotted a little girl jumping up and down holding onto a piece of cardboard with the words Mademoiselle Sorenson printed boldly in black across it. As she weaved her way through the crowd, wheelie-case trundling along behind her, she realized the little girl wasn’t a child after all. Rather, she was a tiny woman who looked to be around her age too. She took a deep breath; she couldn’t quite believe she was here on French soil. Her free hand strayed unconsciously to her stomach and rested there for a moment; it was a bundle of knots.

“Er hello, I’m Kitty,” she ventured stepping into the woman’s line of sight.