Living with Love (Lessons in Love) (2 page)

Ashley merely shrugged and smiled.

“Do you even know any French?” Alex asked a little anxiously. It suddenly dawned on her that they were next destined for a country where neither of them spoke the language. England had been easy, as English was their native tongue.

“I know some,” Ashley said
, looking a little uneasy herself. “
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?
”

“I don’t suggest you go around saying that when we get there,” Alex said, raising an eyebrow.

“Why not? French men can be very passionate. I have first-hand experience.” Ashley smirked knowingly, referring to her ex-boyfriend Pierre, who was French.

“This vacation is a man-free zone, remember?” Alex reminded her.

“Shame.” Ashley winked, though secretly the prospect of meeting French men scared her; it would only remind her of Pierre and reopen old wounds.

“
Au revoir
, London!” she called through the glass. “And soon,
bonjour
, Paris!”

****

Bags repacked, Alex and Ashley navigated their way through the underground system and out of London. Their next train journey would take them beneath the ocean, through the Channel Tunnel, over to France and, ultimately, Paris.

“I’m not sure I like the idea of it,” Ashley pondered as they sat on the train, the British countryside whizzing past the window in a blur of green.

“Of what?” Alex asked, momentarily glancing up from the book she was reading.

“Of the tunnel,” Ashley clarified, biting her lip and looking nervously out the window.

“Why not?” Alex closed her book, taking care to mark her current page, and focused on her friend.

“I don’t like the thought of going under the ocean
,” Ashley admitted, shivering slightly at the thought.

“It
’ll be fine.” Alex smiled. “It’s built to withstand water pressure.”

“Still…” Ashley didn’t look any less uncomfortable. “I mean, did you ever see that movie
Daylight
, with Sylvester Stallone? Where they get trapped in a tunnel?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“What if we get trapped in there?” Ashley asked anxiously.

Alex was starting to discover that despite her wealth of experience traversing the globe, Ashley was a nervous traveler.

“We won’t,” Alex answered with complete conviction.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I am.”

Ashley continued to look out of the window and drum her fingernails nervously against the table between them. In less than an hour they would be approaching the tunnel and making their way through it, beneath the waves. Alex knew that she needed to distract Ashley, to help her relax
, so she decided to talk about something she really didn’t want to, knowing it would pique Ashley’s interest and cease her worrying about the tunnel.

“I was thinking about sending Oscar a postcard from Paris.”

Upon hearing this Ashley’s nails immediately ceased their tap dance on the table, and she looked at Alex with a face contorted with stern surprise.

“A postcard?” she repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Whatever will you say on it? Dearest Oscar, hope hospital is okay, I’m busy living it up in Paris, kisses!” Ashley asked sarcastically.

“I thought it might be a nice gesture. He’s always said that Paris is somewhere he’d want to visit.”

“So you thought you’d rub it in his face that you’re there whil
e he’s in the hospital?” Ashley was being harsh but honest, a quality Alex had always admired in her friend; few people had the strength of character to do it.

“I suppose you’re right,” Alex conceded, aware that the approach to the tunnel was drawing ever closer.

“Besides, it’s a man-free vacation, remember?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I was thinking we could visit the Moulin Rouge,” Ashley buzzed excitedly. “Apparently it’s like a burlesque show now or something.”

“Sounds…
classy.” Alex struggled to find the right word to use.

“Don’t judge!” Ashley scrunched her nose in disapproval. “Burlesque can be extremely classy; it’s an ancient art form.”

“If you say so.”

“Alex, don’t be such a prude!”

“Is this your not-so-subtle way of telling me that you no longer wish to be president, that instead you feel destined to live the life of an exotic dancer?” Alex teased.

“That’s exactly what this is,” Ashley entertained the joke, smiling cheekily. “And my stage name shall be Regretta.”

“Because you’re so full of regret?”

“Exactly!” Ashley laughed.

“And what would my stage name be?”

“Prudella,” Ashley declared, sticking her tongue out.

“Regretta and Prudella, doesn’t really sound that sexy. Shouldn’t we be car names or something?”

“Like Prius and Bentley?” Ashley arched an eyebrow in confusion.

“Maybe exotic dancing isn’t going to be our forte,” Alex concluded, pretending to be sad.

“Oh well,” Ashley said flippantly, “least we’ve got our Princeton degrees to fall back on!”

Ashley seemed more relaxed, so Alex returned to her book. Though her decision to use Oscar to distract her friend had backfired, and now Alex was once more thinking about him, once more feeling as though she was covered in the thick mire of guilt, unable to shake it off. It felt like it tainted everything she touched, refusing to leave, determined to leave its indelible mark on all that she experienced.

And each time Alex thought of Oscar
, she thought of Mark. She wondered how he would be spending his summer vacation. Would he stay in Woodsdale; go back home up North? She didn’t know, but a part of her was desperate to find out. She’d consider messaging him but decided against it. It just didn’t seem a fair thing to do when Oscar was still in the hospital, licking his self-inflicted wounds.

Getting a book out of her designer satchel, Ashley also began reading her book of French phrases. She wanted to try to partake in the culture as much as possible.

“Will you try frog’s legs?” she asked aloud as she scanned through the phrases.

“No
.” Alex shook her head but didn’t look up from her own book. “Will you?”

“Urgh, no
.” Ashley shivered with revulsion. “Same goes for snails,” she added.

“What about a baguette? That’s French.”

“Baguette is fine.” Ashley nodded approvingly.

She continued to browse through her book, focusing on phrases she thought might come in
handy but struggled to pronounce any of them correctly. Giving up, she glanced at Alex’s book.

“What are you reading?”

Alex flipped the book up to reveal the cover. She was reading
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
by Victor Hugo.

“Isn’t that a Disney movie?” Ashley asked, confused.

“Yes, but first it was a classic piece of French literature,” Alex explained.

“Are you reading it in French?” Ashley queried in awed disbelief.

“God, no.” Alex laughed. “It’s been translated into English.”

“You’re really getting into the spirit,” Ashley complimented her friend.

“Here, why don’t you read a great French novel,” Alex said, delving into her duffel bag and pulling out a battered paperback. She tossed it across the table to Ashley, who picked it up carefully and scowled at the cover.

“
Les Miserables
,” she mouthed the title aloud. “Isn’t that the musical?”

“It was a book first.”

“Oh.”

Ashley felt slightly embarrassed at her lack of knowledge about classic literature. She opened the book and was relieved to see that it had also been translated into English.

“You know a lot about books these days,” Ashley noted.

“Mmm, well, it was Oscar who told me to read these,” Alex admitted, her face saddened upon bringing him to the surface once more.

“He studied English Literature,” she added by way of further explanation.

“You know what
? That’s it!” Ashley raised her hand so that the palm was facing Alex. “I’ve had enough of hearing Oscar’s name and seeing your face fall to the floor each time you think of him! This ends now! I shall be right back!”

Fuelled by angry determination
, Ashley pulled herself out of her seat and stormed off purposefully down the main aisle and out of the carriage, leaving Alex looking after her, bewildered about where her friend could have gone.

Ten minutes later Ashley returned, clutching a bottle of champagne and two plastic flute glasses. She proudly placed the bottle on the table and smiled at Alex.

“Now this is a much more fun way of embracing the French culture!” she declared, picking the bottle up once more to remove its cork.

“Is that where you went, to get champagne?”

“Don’t sound so surprised!” Ashley smirked. “Champagne, I believe, is named after the region in France where it is produced.”

“Very good
.” Alex smiled.

“So let’s down this essence of Fr
ance, stop thinking about you-know-who, and start having a good time!”

Ashley poured the bubbling pale liquid into the two glasses and raised a toast with her friend.

“To our trip!”

“To our trip!” Alex concurred.

As they each drank down the soft bubbles, the green of the countryside began to fall away as they approached the entrance to the tunnel. The bottle of champagne was half-consumed as the train passed beneath the ocean and crossed over into France.

****

Alex awoke with a start as the train jolted suddenly. Shaking her head and trying to gather her senses, she realized it was now dark outside, the interior of the train dimly lit as other passengers also slept. In the center of the table the empty bottle of champagne lay on its side, the plastic glasses nowhere to be seen.

Rubbing her eyes
, Alex groaned. How long had she been asleep? She couldn’t even remember going through the tunnel. She looked outside the window but saw only darkness. It was difficult to tell exactly where they were.

Across from her, Ashley was fast asleep, bunched up against her designer satchel
, which she’d made into a makeshift pillow. Her hair was matted wildly against her head, and her mouth hung open as she let out soft, contented snores.

Stretching, Alex tried to wake up. She imagined that they couldn’t be far now from their stop. As if on cue
, a conductor entered the carriage, dressed in a smart navy uniform. Loudly he declared that the next stop would be Paris. Other passengers began to stir and wake upon hearing the news.

“Ashley
.,” Alex kicked her friend beneath the table. She grunted but did not waken.

“Ashley!” Alex said more loudly, kicking again slightly harder. Ashley spluttered and then coughed before slowly opening her eyes. She looked at Alex in confusion and then turned to look around the carriage.

“Have we been asleep?” she asked, her voice groggy.

“Yes, for quite a while
.” Alex yawned sleepily.

“Did we go through the tunnel?”

“Yes.”

“And we survived?” Ashley’s eyes widened with awe
, and Alex realized that her friend was probably still drunk.

Deciding to tidy up, Alex reached forward for the empty bottle but instead made a clumsy pass close by it and sent it cl
attering across the table. Sighing, she realized that it was not only Ashley who was still feeling the effects of the champagne.

“I feel like crap,” Ashley moaned, attempting to straighten her hair as best she could. Then she
noticed the empty bottle and began laughing.

“Did we drink the whole thing?” she asked Alex, her voice small.

“Well, someone did.” Alex coughed. Her head was starting to throb.

“And you think it was us?” Ashley pressed, the liquor clouding her judgement.

“I’m pretty sure it was us.” Alex managed to smile.

“Where are we?”

“We’re nearly in Paris,” Alex updated her friend.

“We are!” Ashley beamed, immediately looking out of the window
, but unable to see anything through the darkness.

But from Alex’s vantage point
, she could make out the lights of the city in the distance, lights that they were fast approaching.

“Look there,” she instructed Ashley
, who turned her head so that she could see.

“Is that Paris?”

“I think so.”

“Eee, I’m so excited!” Ashley buzzed. “We are going to see the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and the Moulin Rouge!”

“Yeah, it will be amazing,” Alex agreed, her own sense of excitement growing within her, increasing with each thrust of the train as they edged closer to the city famously associated with romance.