Authors: Suzanne Miao

Second Chances (42 page)

BOOK: Second Chances

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'Here.'
Simon,
his
receding
hairline
and
sunken
cheeks
making
him
appear
older
than
his
thirty
five
years,
came
back
almost
at
a
run
with
two
tall
glasses
of
water,
cracking
with
ice,
piled
high
with
lemon
and
limes.
He
handed
her
one.
'Well?'
he
asked.
He
pulled
a
chair
round
to
sit
opposite
her.

'Hopeless,'
she
said.
'Absolutely
useless,'
She
began
to
recite:
'Lease
isn't
long
enough,
space
not
big
enough,
area
not
grand
enough.
And,
wait
for
it,'
she
held
up
a
hand.
'Not
pink
enough,
not
blue
enough,
not
anything
enough.’
She
sighed.
‘I
don't
understand.
They
saw
the
details.
They
knew
it
needed
a
bit
of
tarting
up.
If
it
didn't,
the
price
would
be
twice
what
it
is.
Why
did
they
bother
coming?'

'Because
everyone
lives
in
hope.'
Simon
said.
'That
it
will
be
better
than
it
looks.
Look
at
me,'
he
jerked
his
head
towards
his
wine
bar
opposite.
'I
turned
that
place
down
three
times,
before
I
took
it.
It
just
looked
so
hopeless.'

Alice
let
her
head
slump
back.
'I
never
thought
it
would
be
this
hard.'

'It's
hit
all
of
us,'
Simon
pointed
out.
'Recession.
Not
your
fault.'

'Feels
like
it,'
she
sighed.
'I
just
want
something
-
just
for
once
-
something
good
to
happen.'

'What
about
Claude?'
he
finally
ventured.
'Couldn't
he
come
here?'

Her
expression
said
it
all.
'No,'
he
said
hastily
getting
up.
'Of
course
not.
Sorry,
Al.
Customers
waiting.
Must
drag
myself
over
there.
Drink
later?'

When
he'd
gone
she
thought
about
Claude,
on
holiday
with
his
children
in
St
Jean
de
Luz.
She
had
offered
to
go,
wanted
to.
But
he
had
hugged
her
and
said
no.
But
soon,
he
had
said,
when
she
was
living
in
Paris.
Then
it
would
be
easier.
Everything
would.
So
why
was
she
relieved
she
was
not
with
them?
Fear
of
course.
Fear
that
they
wouldn't
like
her.
That
she,
in
Claude's
eyes,
would
be
found
wanting.
That
they
would
tell
their
mother
before
he
could
defend
her,
that
not
only
did
she
exist
in
his
life,
but
that
she
wasn’t
liked.
Panic
began
to
rise
up
until
she
thought
it
would
hit
the
roof
of
her
mouth.
She
had
to
talk
to
him.
She
reached
for
her
phone.

'No,
no.
Wonderful.'
His
voice
was
all
she
needed
when
she
got
through.
'I'll
go
outside,'
he
whispered.

She
breathed
out
and
closed
her
eyes.

'My
mother,'
he
said
eventually.
'She
was
near.
I
was
going
to
ring
after
dinner.
What
happened?'

When
she'd
finished,
he
didn't
hesitate.
'Come,'
he
urged.
'We
will
make
it
work.
This
is
stupid.
To
hell
with
the
gallery.
Let
Sylvie
think
what
she
wants.
She
will
always
have
an
excuse
and
we
can't
go
on
letting
a
building
keep
us
apart.'

She
felt
both
ashamed
at
her
own
weakness
just
wanting
to
hear
something
that
was
so
impractical
she
would
have
to
reject
it,
and
at
the
same
time
revelling
in
a
quite
ludicrous
surge
of
pleasure
in
knowing
it
was
exactly
what
she
needed
to
hear
to
restore
her
confidence
in
herself.
In
them.
She
said:
'And
live
on
what?
It
would
be
different
if
you
…..
'

'I
can't,'
he
said
tersely.
'You
know
I
can't.
Please,
don't
…..'

She
could
hear
the
change
in
his
voice.
Not
quite
panic.
But
she
recognised
it
now
as
the
prequel
to
a
conversation
that
would
turn
stormy.
She
didn't
have
the
time.