The Traveller’s Daughter. Michelle Vernal
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.
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.
The petite figure lowered her cardboard, and her bold red-lipsticked mouth twitched into a