One Way Ticket to Paris

by Emma Robinson

Genres: General Fiction; Women's Fiction; Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

When I was a kid and I’d lost something, my dad always said, ‘Go back to the place you last had it’. The problem is that what I’ve lost is...me. Kate loves her family more than anything, but recently she has started to feel invisible. Lying awake at three a.m. as her husband snores, panicking about shopping lists, birthday parties and the school bake sale.... She finds herself in the kitchen, gulping water, staring at a postcard of the Eiffel Tower from Shannon, her best friend. Paris, with its red wine, slippery cobbles and curly lamp posts. Where the scent of freshly baked croissants hangs in the air, and Kate last remembers feeling like herself. The postcard is a year old. It has just one line on it: When are you coming? An inspiring, feel-good tale of friendship, love and what happens when running away is the only way you can find your way home. Perfect for fans of Sophie Kinsella, Jane Green and Marian Keyes.

Release date: October 31, 2018

Publisher: Audible Studios

Print pages: 350

Sample

Insomnia at three a.m. is not the ideal time to purchase an unplanned train ticket to Paris. Without telling your husband. Or having any clue who will look after your two children while you were away.

It was now 7.30 a.m. and Kate was in the bathroom, cleaning her teeth whilst undertaking covert surveillance on four-year-old Thomas doing a stand-up-wee-like-daddy. There weren’t enough bottles of bleach in the world to keep up with that boy. She spat toothpaste into the sink. ‘Thomas, please at least try to point your willy somewhere near the toilet.’

Luke shouted up the stairs. ‘Love, do you know where my car keys are?’

She gritted her newly-brushed teeth. Of course she knew where they were; she was the only person in this house who put things where they should actually be. ‘Look by the side of the kettle!’

Kate had woken at the usual three a.m. and, between her stowaway daughter’s determination to sleep like a star fish and her husband’s snoring, she hadn’t had a snowball in hell’s chance of going back to sleep. Then her brain had started its night-time cycle: shopping lists, upcoming birthday parties, school events, missed dentist appointments, things she’d forgotten, or might forget, or… Somehow, she’d wriggled caterpillar-like from under the duvet without waking either of them and had gone downstairs for a glass of water. Which is when she’d found Luke’s keys.

Alice wandered into the bathroom. ‘What do you think of my hair, Mummy?’

Kate’s six-year-old daughter was adorned with the entire contents of the box of hair accessories. ‘You look beautiful, darling, but I think it might be better to save that look for the weekend.’ Or a Boy George lookalike convention.

Alice flounced off to her bedroom and Kate turned her attention back to the boy child. ‘Pants up, Tom-Tom. Let’s give those hands a good scrub.’

The glass of water hadn’t really cut it last night, so she’d stepped it up to a cup of camomile tea. So rock and roll. The keys had been by the side of the kettle on top of the Eiffel Tower postcard. When they’d bought the house in Kent, Luke had waxed lyrical about the fact they would be so close to the Eurostar station at Ebbsfleet. But they hadn’t been to Paris since their honeymoon. Moving the keys, Kate had flipped the postcard over to reread the familiar handwriting:

When are you coming?

Luke stuck his head into the bathroom. His thick, blond hair was still tousled from bed. He winked at her. ‘Found the keys, thanks. Are you done in here? Can I get in to take a shower?’

He disappeared into the bedroom before she had a chance to say anything. But what was she going to say? Kate put a hand up to her own, dark hair and looked in the bathroom mirror. She still missed having hair which reached past her shoulders. But it had been the right decision to have it cut shorter. So much easier now she had the children to worry about. Practical.

Whether she stayed or went, the kids would still need lunch. Kate consulted the school lunch choices sellotaped to the door of the cereal cupboard, praying for pizza. No such luck: Beef stew. Fish stew. Vegetable stew. Fabulous. Did anyone’s child eat that?

‘Alice, Thomas. There’s a yummy stew for lunch today!’ The enthusiasm in her voice sounded fake even to her. But she really wanted them to have a hot meal at school. They might be eating later than usual tonight. Something else to feel guilty about. Just add it to the list.

Both children clutched their stomachs and pretended to be sick. Then Thomas looked up with his beautiful blue eyes. ‘Chocolate spread sandwiches?’ You had to admire his optimism. Kate got out the bread to make packed lunches – ham, not chocolate spread. Obviously.

Last night, she’d carried the postcard through to the lounge, putting it on top of the ever-growing pile of papers on her piano. Luke called it the most expensive letter rack in the country. She’d sat on the piano stool, sipping the disgusting tea and just staring at the postcard. Paris. And Shannon. If Shannon was awake at three a.m. it would be because she’d just got home from a glamorous night out, not because she was drinking camomile tea and turning over in her head whether or not she had made a fool of herself in the school office yesterday because she couldn’t for the life of her remember the name of her daughter’s class. Or worrying whether her husband would find out where she’d been. Or who with.

Kate had given up on the tea and hunted through the mountain of papers on the piano until she found the old photo Shannon had sent her the month before: the two of them drinking virgin marys, complete with celery sticks, at The Albert on Victoria Street. It must have been one of the many Mondays they had pledged to start a health kick. She peered at her thirty-year-old self. Where had that girl in the photograph gone?

Right now she was squashing an apple into each of her children’s lunchboxes – apples which would undoubtedly come back uneaten but would prove that Kate encouraged healthy eating. When she put the lunchboxes inside their backpacks, she found a letter in Alice’s informing her that an ‘optional’ homework for last night had been to draw their hero. ‘Shit.’

Alice was right behind her. ‘Mummy, is shit a square word?’

Perfect timing. ‘Alice, who is your hero?’

Alice considered for a moment. ‘I would say Daddy.’ Of course he was. It didn’t matter that Kate was the one running herself into the ground making healthy lunches, arranging excruciating playdates, supervising hellish craft activities. It was Daddy – who would come home late, feed them secret sweets and throw them in the air – who was the hero of the house. It wasn’t fair. Nothing had been fair lately. Nothing.

It had been that photograph which had started it. Or the girl in the photograph. Looking at it, Kate had had a sudden urge to find her; to bring her out again. And if anyone could help, it would be Shannon. Still wide awake, Kate had passed the time searching her mobile for Eurostar train times. By chance, there had been a £29 one-way ticket for the 10.30 a.m. later that morning. She’d screwed up her eyes and done the calculations. Eight forty-five drop off, plus fifteen minutes to get the car, plus half an hour’s drive… Yes, she would be able to do the morning school run and still make that.

Was it meant to be?

Showered and dressed for work, Luke now appeared. He always looked handsome in a suit. ‘I’m going to make myself a coffee for my travel mug. Do you want a proper cup of tea?’

Should she just tell him? No. It would spoil everything. ‘Actually, I’ll have a coffee, too.’

Luke stopped mid-spoon in the coffee jar and looked at her. It was the same expression Thomas wore when she explained he had to put on new pants every morning. ‘Really? That’s not like you.’

If changing her morning drink to coffee was surprising, Luke had better hold onto his pants when he found out what she had planned for the rest of the day.

Last night, she’d sat for at least five minutes as her thumb had hovered over the online payment button. It was the longest she’d sat on the neglected piano stool in years. The camomile tea had done nothing for her pounding heart. Was she actually going to do this? Going to another country on a whim – without booking a return ticket – was the kind of thing the old Kate would have done. The single Kate. The reckless Kate. The fun Kate. The new Kate didn’t do things like that. The mother Kate. The sensible Kate. The bloody boring Kate.

She’d pressed the button.

If she was being transparently twitchy this morning, Luke was his usual oblivious self. ‘Anything nice planned for today?’

Anything nice? Did he really think she spent her days lunching with the cast of Desperate Housewives whilst the housework and shopping fairies did their thing? ‘Nothing much, dropping the kids to school and then some cleaning, maybe a trip to the supermarket.’ Running away to Paris for the night. ‘Have you got a busy day today?’

‘Not really, I’ll try and get away early if I can – we could get a takeaway tonight, save you cooking.’

‘Mmmm, maybe.’ She wandered into the lounge to check on Alice and Thomas, who were about fifty centimetres from the TV, glued to Everything’s Rosie. If only it was.

Thomas, with his thumb in his mouth and his pudgy finger twisted in his hair, leaned in to Alice and she put an arm around him. Tears pricked in the back of Kate’s eyes. This was crazy. She couldn’t just drop them at school and skip off to another country. What if they were sick during the day or she’d forgotten something they needed and the school had to call her? She couldn’t just say, Sorry I’m in Paris, might be a while. What the hell would the school think?

She could just tell them to call Luke. He was their father, after all.

Luke wandered into the lounge with her coffee and put it on the dining table. ‘Okay, that’s me off.’ He kissed Thomas and Alice on the tops of their heads, and Kate on the cheek, and left for work. He was always the one who got to leave. Today he might not be the only one.

Kate’s heart started to pound again. Was she really going to do this? The ticket was only £29, so she wasn’t losing a huge amount if she chose not to go. She would just call Shannon. That would be the decider. Funny, clever, and too sensible to have children, Shannon was exactly what Kate needed right now. Shannon would understand how Kate was feeling. She’d help her to work this all out.

If Shannon was too busy to see her, Kate wouldn’t go. But if she was free and up for it, Kate would pack, take the kids to school then head straight to the Eurostar. Kate’s stomach fluttered as she listed to the warbled ringtone three times before the line connected. Voicemail. Dammit.

She would have to take a chance. The small purple suitcase was still under the bed from Luke’s last work trip. Underwear first.

In the underwear drawer were about twenty pairs of black knickers and ten bras, only three of which actually still fit. There were even a couple of grey maternity bras still kicking around in there like teenagers with nowhere to go. She pulled out the least pathetic-looking items. Maybe she could buy something new once she got there? Something sexy, even.

Next, she opened her wardrobe. What clothes should she take? These options filled her with even less enthusiasm. A row of loose-fitting tops and leggings. Her uniform was worse than the kids’. Maybe she should be the one raiding the hair accessories? Downstairs she could hear the beginning of an argument; there were probably only about five minutes before tears and/or bloodshed. She grabbed a daytime dress, an evening dress, a couple of T-shirts and some Capri trousers which she prayed still fit.

Hours sitting by a hospital bed eating sweets had done nothing for her waistline.

Shannon had been begging Kate to visit her in Paris for the last year. Why, oh why did she have to pick this weekend?

She’d missed Kate’s call due to an urgent need to vomit the contents of her stomach into the toilet. If only this had been self-induced by a wild night out. Ironic that the last time she’d clung to a toilet quite like this had been her first week in the UK after arriving as a fresh-faced Yank who couldn’t hold her ale. At least, that’s what Kate had called her as she’d held back her hair and laughed. They’d been ‘mates’ ever since.

Dragging herself away from the comforting coolness of the bathroom tiles, Shannon crawled back to the bedroom. There were six territory managers coming for a sales conference today and she was supposed to be the friendly face that put them at ease whilst organising everything within an inch of its life. Very much like a jovial duck, she had to be serene on the surface, paddling like a madwoman underneath. How the hell was she going to do it?

The mirror confirmed that her face wasn’t looking friendly so much as frazzled. She dragged the hair band from her ponytail. It had been a good idea to leave a pile of them in a pot by the toilet for puking purposes. Chunks of carrot did not coordinate well with rose-gold highlights. She rubbed at her face to generate a bit of colour. Did she have time to reapply her make up? Probably best to get dressed first in case there was another wave of stomach lurches. She paused and put a hand to her stomach. Was that another one coming? No, she was okay.

Sitting on the side of the bed, Shannon tried for the second time to put on pantyhose, managing to get her feet in before flopping forwards as she summoned the energy to pull them up. How could she be so exhausted when she’d only been awake for thirty minutes? She felt across the quilt to where her mobile was and listened to Kate’s voicemail, upside-down. The surprise made her sit back up.

Wow. Kate was coming. And on her own. On any other weekend Shannon would have been psyched to have Kate just turn up like this. It was the kind of thing the old Kate would have done. They’d done some totally crazy stuff back when they’d worked together in London. Once, they’d gate-crashed a really posh New Year’s Ball. It had been a huge deal in a marquee, with free champagne and waiters laden with canapés. There were so many people there, they’d thought they’d never be discovered. Everything was going well until Kate whispered to the man she was dancing with that they hadn’t actually been invited. ‘I know,’ he’d said. ‘It’s my party.’

Shannon lay back and wriggled the pantyhose up over her hips. A couple of weeks ago it had been still warm enough to go without them – and her legs tanned at the first sight of sun – but now autumn had brought a cool breeze. It was true what they said about Paris in the springtime, but autumn was a close second. She’d fallen in love with this city and its parks and open spaces and sprawling cafés. If Kate had just left her visit until later this month, they could have spent the whole weekend together. Now Shannon would have to try and see her around meeting times and meals out with the team.

Sales meetings were busy but a lot of fun. Every quarter they would meet at a different European office and this time they were hosting in Paris: the European HQ. She’d planned some nice things for them to do today as a counterbalance to what was coming from Robert: he was on the warpath about sales figures. He’d been stomping around the office like a bear with a sore head since his conference call with the US last week – even Shannon hadn’t been able to stand him. He was pretty cute when he was angry, though. A bear crossed with George Clooney. Although she knew better than to say that to his face.

Fabienne, the office manager, did most of his PA stuff now that Shannon’s role had morphed more into… What was she, exactly? Sales Manager Coordinator with extra responsibilities? Whatever. She still liked to coordinate events like this, though. The sales guys were a great gang and she was looking forward to seeing them. She was looking forward to seeing Kate, too. Her lovely Kate; she’d missed her.

Why had Kate decided to just book a ticket and come without any warning? Since children, the new, sensible Kate just didn’t do stuff like this. Whenever Shannon had asked her to visit, she’d always had some excuse. The children were always breastfeeding or teething or had just had injections. Was it that she couldn’t come or was it that she didn’t want to? People always changed when they had kids. Suddenly their lives revolved around their children and they got new friends who also had children and all they talked about was their children. Which is part of the reason Shannon had never wanted them. Part of it.

The tights were on. Now, where had she put her skirt? It had been thrown to the floor in her haste to make it to the bathroom in time. At least that was one benefit of this tiny Parisian apartment: less distance to run. This lounge was the size of a hotel bedroom back in Chicago, and the kitchen area was almost an afterthought. Shannon found her skirt dangling from the back of a chair and slipped it on. Was she imagining it or was the waistband a little tighter than usual? Hopefully it had just shrunk in the wash. Don’t think about it till you know for sure. Think about Kate instead.

Something big must be up if Kate was coming out to Paris alone. Hopefully there wasn’t some problem. It couldn’t be her marriage, surely? Luke was a cool guy; the two of them always seemed real happy together. He was funny. And kind. And he looked at Kate as if she was the most fabulous woman on the planet. It was almost enough to make a woman jealous. If she was looking for that kind of thing.

But maybe things had changed. Shannon hadn’t seen them in a year. Even when she’d gone to the UK with Robert six months ago, she hadn’t looked them up. Hadn’t even told Kate she was there. Of course, it had been a business trip. There hadn’t really been time to leave London to visit Kate. But she should have made time. You didn’t find friends like that everywhere. Kate was a keeper.

Now the skirt was on too, it was time to get going. Although, maybe she should try and force down a couple of ginger cookies before heading for the Métro. The cookies were in the cupboard in a jar she’d bought especially a few days ago. Before that, she hadn’t allowed confectionery of any type in the house. Now it was her best friend. Speaking of which, she’d better call Robert and tell him she was going to be late.

He picked up on the first ring. ‘Hi.’

Was he still mad at her from their argument last night? She’d been pretty mad too, but right now she was too wrung out to carry it on. ‘Hi, I’m going to be late.’

There was a long pause at the other end. He was still mad. ‘Why?’

Shannon took a small bite of the ginger cookie, chewed and swallowed. Two could play at this pausing game. ‘Just running late.’

At the other end of the line, Robert took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Maybe it was her excitement at seeing Kate again, but it almost made Shannon laugh. He could be so dramatic. So deliciously French. ‘You know we are meeting the sales team at one thirty at the hotel? It was your idea to waste time sightseeing. As if strolling around the Louvre staring at paintings is going to help them get anywhere near their targets.’

Of course she knew. She was the one who had booked everything. The conference room, the hotel, the minibus and the tour guide for the Louvre. ‘Yeah. About that. I need an hour at lunchtime to meet an English friend at Gare du Nord.’ She purposefully enunciated the ‘d’ at the end of ‘Nord’. It really irritated him.

But Robert was more interested in who she was meeting. ‘What English friend?’

Shannon took another bite of her biscuit. She could picture him right now, frowning into the phone, running an irritated hand through his thick, dark hair. He was too easy. ‘Oh. No one you know.’

‘A man?’

Fun though it was to make Robert jealous, Shannon didn’t have the energy this morning. ‘No. A girlfriend. Kate. We worked together in the UK. I have mentioned her before.’

Despite the short notice, it was going to be great to see Kate. Shannon had been so busy since she came to Paris to work for Robert that she hadn’t had time to make any friends here. Of course, dating him made that even more difficult. He didn’t have a large social group himself. Although his divorce had happened a long time before he met Shannon, his ex-wife seemed to have won most of their mutual friends in the settlement. He also had two almost-adult daughters. Shannon hadn’t met them either; families weren’t her thing.

Robert’s voice was so sharp he was in danger of cutting himself. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before? Why is she coming this weekend? We have work to do.’

Shannon took another cookie and snapped it in half. If he was going to talk to her like that, he didn’t deserve an answer. This was why she hadn’t let him stay over last night. He’d started on at her about meeting his girls. She’d tried — again — to make him understand that she just wasn’t the maternal type. With any luck, God had got that memo too.

Finally, when he didn’t get a response, Robert’s voice softened. A little. ‘Okay. Meet your friend from the station. I can do the Louvre on my own. I’m in the office now. How long before you get here?’

This was usually how their disagreements went. He would blow up and then back down. But he’d irritated Shannon now. ‘Actually, I have my laptop, so I may as well work here until I go and meet her. Otherwise, I’ll be wasting time on the Métro. If I come in to the office, I’ll only have an hour before I have to head to Gare du Nord.’ She pronounced the ‘d’ again.

But he didn’t bite. ‘Well, I’ll see you at the Louvre later, after the tour. Maybe we can have coffee together when they have their free time this afternoon?’

The ginger snaps were doing their thing an. . .