‘What?’ Jules shouted back.

‘I said… Oh, forget it.’ Alice turned around and ground against her while Jules twerked and Nina clapped and laughed.

*

Who could blame her? Alice pondered later, luxuriating in the oozing softness in her brain, the velvet edges of her thoughts, as she stared at the photo of Mr Hough and tapped out a message to him.

I have a crush on my teacher, she wrote.

Hm. Too creepy?

She deleted ‘on my teacher’.

Stared at the words until they swam hypnotically.

I have a crush…

She looked again at the photo, at the drops of sea water on his skin that she was desperate to lick off. The months of tension, of daydreaming, and now him, in message form, seemingly wanting the same. How could she resist?

I have a crush on you, she added.

Satisfied, she clicked ‘send’ and flopped on her back. She giggled to herself as she messaged the girls next door, then placed her phone on the nightstand beside her. She smiled in the darkness. Things were going to get better. She was fast asleep in minutes.

In the room next door, Jules had turned on her phone and a number of missed calls from Paul flooded the screen. She felt a tug of sentimentality. Her husband. Despite it all, her husband still loved her. She was loved. She called him back. She was ready to explain, to reassure him she’d fixed things. The phone rang out. Something was amiss but she couldn’t place it. She clicked off sleepily. I’ll try again in the morning, she thought. Like Alice, her hangover was already rattling in her skull, but her heart was full. She hadn’t noticed the international ringtone.

In her bedroom, Nina was already asleep, her body curled on its side, less a question mark and more a haven, her hand on her stomach.

Alice, Nina and Jules slept deeply, happy in their Paris bubble, content to know the other two women were near, their friendship as strong as it had ever been.

Each of them unaware that it would be a long time until they slept that way – or saw each other – again.

9

Paris, 2015

Jules wandered around the Marché Raspail in a chic pale-blue linen dress with thin straps and a tie front, immersed in the scent of seaweed and brine as her head dipped to peruse the wares at a seafood stall. She and the girls were preparing dinner together later, one course each, and in a step change for Jules she had come without a list, ready to be inspired, and settled on oysters, shallots and Tabasco sauce.

Jules had always been a perfunctory eater; it brought her little pleasure. She understood the satisfaction in slicing through a steak as cleanly as butter, or the comfort of roasted garlic chicken with mash, but she wouldn’t go out of her way to eat those things. A sandwich from Pret at her desk suited her fine, sushi if she had some extra time, but since meeting Paul she was enjoying food in a way she hadn’t done previously. She was enjoying life in a way she hadn’t done previously.