‘Excusez moi?’ Is he joking or does he really think I’m here to unwind?
‘No need to thank me.’ He motions to a guy standing just inside. ‘This is Anais, drinks are gratis for her. She’s going through… some things.’
Before I can argue, Manon shows up. ‘Ooh, can I skip the queue with Anais? I’m going through some things too.’
Noah throws her a bright smile. ‘I bet.’ He gives me a long look as if to imply that I’m the issue. I’m roiling, my head is going to explode, but it’s so damn loud I can’t form words fast enough to cut this fool to the quick.
Before I know it, we’re being led inside the bar, Christmas lights are pulsing in time with the horrific bump of the base, it’s so loud I’m sure this must be what hell sounds like, and we’re deposited in a booth.
‘If you had to dispose of a body, Manon,’ I say through gritted teeth, ‘where would you suggest?’
‘Drink?’ She mimes the action.
I give in to it. A drink would certainly help matters. It can’t make it any worse, surely.
21
25 NOVEMBER
I wake to intense banging. Then it dawns on me it’s coming from inside my own head. Gah. I piece the previous evening back together and groan, pulling the pillow over my head so I can hide from my bad choices. But it doesn’t help. Mini jackhammers are drilling into my grey matter, while outside, actual hammers are hammering away in the hotel.
I glance at my watch and groan. It’s well past ten. What must JP and his crew think of me, a no show? This is all Manon’s doing.
One thing is certain: I need paracetamol and coffee, in that order. I throw myself in the shower and get dressed, going a little slower than normal due to my fragile state. Flashes of the evening before appear when I least expect them. Did I engage in a round of shots? Urgh. And… sing with the death metal band?
In the kitchen, I find painkillers and wash them down with some orange juice.
‘Bonjour, soleil.’ Manon saunters in looking bright and energetic. Life is not fair.
‘It’s not good morning, sunshine. Not even close.’
She takes a stool opposite the stainless-steel island bench. ‘Suffering a little?’
‘A lot.’
‘Youreallylet your hair down. That dance you did with Noah’ – she pulls her collar out as if she’s hot – ‘certainly got everyone’s attention.’
Mon Dieu.‘Ah – which dance was that?’
She shrugs as she pours coffee for the two of us. ‘Ithinkit was meant to be a kind of… tango?’
I want to curl up in a ball and die. ‘But – but I don’t know how to tango.’
‘You gave it your best shot.’
‘With Noah?’
‘Uh-huh. He was just as surprised. You don’t remember any of this?’
It’s all coming back to me, in mortifying flashes. ‘Manon, this is all your fault! I went over there to berate him, not… to tango with the guy. Then you ordered those blue-flamed cocktails that tasted like petrol and on it went, bad choice after bad choice and still no further along in my manuscript.’
‘That’s a lie. You told everyone last night you had written a sentence and then Noah was on about how Hemingway said something along the lines of only needing to write one true sentence and the others would follow, and then you got into a debate about toxic masculinity…’
‘Merci, Manon. That’s quite enough of a recap for me.’
Her cheeks are pinked as if she’s just done a workout or had a brisk walk in the cold. ‘I haven’t had a fun night out like that in ages. I can’t wait for this evening’s festivities to start. We’ll drinkvin chaud, eat Brie de Meaux, jambon de Bayonne and partake in a Christmas movie quiz. A little more subdued so maybe it’s not your thing?’
‘This evening? Next door?’
