Bridesmaid Blitz (20 page)

Just then, the satnav gives a little beep, and I move to the side of the corridor, away from the yabbering tourists, to check it. The red light is almost constant now, but where is he? I look up and down the corridor but there’s no sign of him. I hadn’t realized the gallery would be quite so big. I look down at the map that the lady in the ticket booth handed me.

Knowing Miss Lupin, she’s probably told her French class they can go anywhere they like, as long as they meet her back in the lobby at a certain time. She’s decent that way. My money’s on Mills and some of the other girls spending most of the time in the café, people (i.e.,
boy
) watching.

But it’s Seth I’m interested in right now. I can catch up with Mills later. Where would
he
go? My eye lingers over a certain painter’s name and — bingo! — I know exactly where I’ll find him:
LEVEL 5: FROM 1905 TO 1960.

I make my way up the escalator, gripping the moving handle for dear life. I’m not a great fan of heights, and the escalators are housed on the outside of the building, in giant glass tubes that look down on the bustling piazza. I look at the square for a second, seeing if I can pick out Clover, but immediately start to feel dizzy, so sweep my eyes away again.

At level 5, I jump off the escalator and check the satnav. The red light is almost solid, just flickering a tiny bit, like dodgy Christmas lights, and as I walk around the corner, it goes solid red. I look up. I was right. Room 40: abstract expressionism; Jackson Pollock and . . . Mark Rothko — our favorite artist.

I peer in the doorway — and there he is: Seth. Even with his back to me, I’d recognize him anywhere. He’s staring at the extraordinary huge black-and-red canvas like his life depended on it, not moving an inch. I watch him for a moment, emotions washing through me. I’m so happy to see him, but nervous too. Maybe Mills was right: maybe surprising him wasn’t such a brilliant idea. But it’s too late now.

I take off my sunglasses and study the canvas, drinking in the dense, sooty-black rectangle floating over a smaller red rectangle, feeling the intense emotion behind the painting so strongly I can almost taste Rothko’s anger, loneliness, and despair. There’s another Rothko — three brown boxes against a black background — on the left-hand wall, but it’s the red painting that really sucks you in. I can see why Seth is so transfixed.

I’m hesitating, wondering whether to just run away, when, as if sensing my gaze, Seth slowly turns around. Our eyes meet and for a second his face is blank, then slowly realization seems to dawn on him. “It’s really you,” he says eventually, staring at me in shock.

I nod, smiling nervously. “Surprise!” The moment it’s out, I regret opening my mouth. It sounds stupid, like something a child would say at a birthday party.

He shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I flew over this morning. With Mum and Clover and Mum’s friend Monique. We’re shopping for bridesmaids’ dresses.”

“How did you find me?” He doesn’t seem all that pleased to see me, and I’m starting to feel a little anxious.

“Clover’s satnav. We hooked it up to a tracking device — a special pen that Mills planted in your backpack.” I say it quickly without thinking, but as soon as the words tumble out, I realize how kooky it must sound. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut, or lied — told him I’d been talking to Mills or something.

“Tracking device?” He looks at me incredulously. “You’ve been
following
me?”

I shrug. “I know it sounds a bit weird.”

“A bit? Try completely freakoid. Stalking people isn’t normal, Amy. How long have you been watching me?”

“Not long. I just wanted to know where to find you.”

“You could have just rung and asked me. And what about Polly? You said you’d be there if she needed anything. You promised.”

My face falls.

“Didn’t think of that, did you?” he says bitterly.

“No,” I say in a tiny voice, my stomach dropping into my shoes. “Dave’s at home this weekend, though,” I add a bit desperately. “I could ring him, ask him to keep —”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you, Amy?” He has a hurt, angry look on his face that makes my heart shrivel up like a salted slug. “Just once I wish you’d —”

“Ah, Seth. There you are,” says a voice behind me.

Yikes, it’s Miss Lupin — that’s all I need.

Luckily, I have my back to her, so, throwing my sunglasses back on, I take a few steps away from Seth. (Dave told Mrs. Peacock, the school secretary, that I was attending an important family reunion in England today, and I don’t want to get him into trouble.)

“I was looking for you, Seth,” Miss Lupin says. “Do hurry along. The film about Calder’s
Circus
is about to start. I asked everyone to meet outside Cinema One ten minutes ago. You’re the last of my little lost sheep, apart from Annabelle Hamilton. But I’ve given up on her. Probably a blessing.” She walks back into the corridor.

“Seth,” I say when she’s gone. “Can’t we —”

He just shrugs. “You heard the teach. Better go. And it’s not like you can’t find me again with your little boyfriend-tracker.”

“But —” I’m flabbergasted. This isn’t how our romantic meeting in Paris is supposed to end. He’s supposed to sweep me into his arms, kiss me, and tell me how clever I am to have found him . . . not this damp squib of a reunion.

He ignores me and heads for the door.

Miss Lupin is waiting for him outside. “Who was that?” I hear her ask as they walk away together.

“Just a girl who likes Rothko,” he says. “No one special.”

When we get back from the Pompidou Centre, I flop down on my hotel bed and lie there, staring up at the slate-blue ceiling. Clover sits on the side of the bed and looks down at me. “Here’s the thing, Beanie,” she says. “You can either lie here all evening, wallowing in your misery like a hippo in mud, or you can forget about Seth and embrace the holiday regardless. We’re in Paris, Beanie.
Paris!
So which is it to be: hippo or Paris?”

I groan. I know Clover has a point. I mean, we’re in one of the most beautiful cities in the world and all I can think about is the mess with Seth. It’s all of my own creation too, which just makes it a whole heap more difficult to bear. I’ve rung and texted him loads of times, but I’ve only received one miserly text back:
C U BACK IN DUBLIN, AMY.

“Hippo or Paris?” I say. “I choose Paris.”

Clover smiles. “That’s the spirit, Beanie. Now, why don’t you ring Mills — she might be able to cheer you up a bit. At the very least, you can have a giggle at her latest boy drama. You have her host family’s number, don’t you?”

I nod.

“Well, then, what are you waiting for?”

“What happens if Madame Barnard answers? What will I say?”

“I’m sure she speaks English, Beanie.”

I pick at my nail nervously.

“Oh, I’ll do it, then.” Clover takes my mobile off me and rings the Barnards’ number. She gabbles something in French, then hands the phone back to me with a smile.

“Think that may have been the bold Eriq-y-deek-deek. He’s getting Mills for you.”

“Thanks, Clover.”

“No worries, mate,” she says in her best Aussie accent. “I’m heading outside to soak up some rays in the outback. Catch you later, Sheila.”

It takes a few seconds for Mills to come to the phone, but then she asks with concern, “Amy, is everything all right? What happened with Seth? He wouldn’t tell me a thing, but he didn’t seem all that smiley.”

I’m so glad to hear her voice I instantly dissolve into tears. “It was a disaster! He thinks I’m a freak for stalking him, and he’s really annoyed I abandoned Polly.” I give a big hiccup of a sob.

“Ah, Ames, don’t cry. We’ll sort it out. Hang on a second.” In the background, Mills says something in French. (She must be talking to one of the Barnards.) A second later, she’s back. “I’m coming over there right now to give you a great big hug. Eriq knows where the hotel is. Stay right where you are.”

“Oooo-kaaayyy,” I wail.

I decide to wait for her in the lobby, and once I’ve stopped crying, I put on sunglasses to cover my blotchy eyes and head downstairs. I’m sitting on a sofa in the corner when I hear someone say, “Amy?”

I look up and there she is, Mills, with a boy loitering behind her who must be Eriq. She’s right: on the dark-haired cute scale, he’s right up there with Bailey and the Deppster.

Mills smiles down at me: a soft, gentle “I’m so sorry” smile, and I dissolve into tears again. Luckily, I’m still wearing my dark glasses, and apart from Eriq, there’s no one else in the lobby to see me.

“
Tu peux attendre dehors
, Eriq?” Mills says, without turning around.

“
Bien sûr
,” he says, and disappears.

“Found yourself a new lapdog?” I ask, putting my sunglasses on the top of my head and brushing away my tears with the back of my hand.

She wrinkles up her nose. “I asked him to wait outside. I’ve gone right off him, to be honest — too clingy. But he did give me a lift over here on his crossbar, so I’d better be nice to him, I suppose.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“That’s what friends are for.” She sits down beside me on the sofa, and the leather makes a tiny farting noise. “Wasn’t me.” Her face colors a little.

I laugh through my tears. “’Course it wasn’t. Mills Starr doesn’t fart or sweat — she’s far too perfect.”

Mills shoves me with her shoulder. “Good to see you smiling again. How are you holding up?”

I shrug. “Been better. I’m such an idiot. I should have listened to you, Mills. It’s all such a mess.”

“Tell me everything. Start from when Seth first spotted you in the gallery.”

I unfold the whole sorry tale, right up to the bit where Seth walked off with Miss Lupin, saying I was no one special.

“Ouch!” Mills winces. “Poor you. Has he been in contact since?”

I show her his text.

She pats my hand. “Never mind, eh? At least he’s not completely ignoring you.”

I sigh. “I wish I’d never come here. Now every time I think of Paris, I’ll feel sad. What a waste! Maybe I should just spend the rest of the holiday in my room.”

“Don’t say that, Amy. You have the whole weekend ahead of you. And what about Clover and your mum and Mad Monique? You don’t want to ruin it for everyone, do you?”

“Guess not.” I stare down at the marble floor, my glasses sliding down my hair. I take them off and hold them in my hands, turning them over and over.

“Try not to think about Seth, all right? You’re going shopping tomorrow. That’ll be fun. We’re off to Versailles for the day, but I’ll ring your mobile as soon as we get back. I’m sure the Barnards will let me use their phone. Mine doesn’t work over here, as you know.”

Mills is making such an effort, I force myself to be cheerful. “Thanks. Now, enough about me; heard anything else from Bailey?”

Her eyes light up. “Another PM. Says he’s missing me. Swoon. Be still, my beating heart.”

“Glad someone’s romantic life is working out,” I say glumly.

The following morning I open my eyes slowly, and once they’re focused, I spot Clover curled up in the window seat in her pajamas, the window thrown open and the sun shining in. The air smells fresh and slightly sweet and citrusy, like an orange grove, and birds are chirping from the trees.

She looks over. “Beautiful morning, Beanie.”

I push myself up in the bed and sit facing her. Then yesterday’s disaster comes flooding back to me and I feel sick to my stomach.

“You all right?” she asks. “You look kinda groggy.”

“Didn’t sleep very well, tossing and turning all night.”

“Nightmares?”

I nod.

“About what?” she asks.

“Can’t really remember: something about running after someone. Oh, and drowning in a lake full of blood.”

Clover lifts her eyebrows. “Nice.”

I roll my stiff shoulders and groan a little. “I’m not sure I’m up to shopping today. Do you think Mum will mind if I stay here?”

She goes quiet and gazes out of the window for a moment before looking at me again and saying, “Beanie, I thought you’d chosen Paris over feeling miserable about Seth. What if this is your only visit to Paris, ever? I guarantee you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting you didn’t climb out of that bed and make the most it.”