The 13:25 train to Paris Gare du Nord
is about to depart from platform three.
I don't understand. I thought it was going through.
What's left to discuss?
The food mixer? Why does she want the food mixer?
The barbecue?
Uh, I don't have a garden.
As she knows, I don't have a garden.
Merci.
- Hi. - Hi.
- You look different. - Do I?
If this was a fancy dress party,
you'd have come as sophisticated Parisienne.
Right. And what have you come as, then?
Ugh, I've come as fucked-up, suicidal divorcé.
Well, at least you're not bitter.
- Shall I just get back on the train? - Nah, not yet. Come on.
How far away is your flat?
Uh, oh, I thought we'd, uh, go for a walk first. See some sights.
Oh.
Okay.
Is that all right?
Of course. Yeah.
You didn't have to meet me. Of course I did. Tourist.
Paris suits you.
Yeah, I love it here.
I can see that. You've changed.
In two months?
You look beautiful.
So when were you last in Paris? Hmm. About three years ago.
My wife and I came for a mini-break. Stayed at the Georges V.
So that was a waste of fucking money.
Do me a favor. If I mention it again, could you just push me in the canal?
I don't… I don't mind.
But it's not why I came.
Okay.
I mean, we should talk about it.
What happened.
Yeah, we can.
Just later.
Here?
Shall we get some wine?
Not for me, thanks. Sort of off it.
Oh, really? How long?
A month or so.
I mean, it's not AA or anything.
Just, you know, trying to avoid it.
Nothing good ever came of it, so…
Okay. Uh, just coffee, then.
Just coffee.
- Ooh, uh… - Dex, listen, I have something I…
- Please, can you sign this for me? - No. Don't be ridiculous.
You've got to. Something… Something personal with today's date.
Just in case you get really famous and I need the cash.
Have you even read it?
Uh, I started to. I just didn't get past page four.
Emma, I thought it was wonderful.
It's just a silly kids' book.
"The most exciting new voice since Sue Townsend."
- Said the publisher's 12-year-old niece. - Said The Sunday Times.
I read it in one go, and this is coming from someone
who's been reading Howards' Way for the past 15 years.
You mean Howards End. Howards' Way is something different.
Whatever.
I loved it.
Okay.
Don't read it now. Read it later.
So tell me. How are things?
Divorce goes through in September.
Just a month before our anniversary.
Almost two whole years of wedded bliss.
Have you spoken much?
Not if I can help it.
We've stopped screaming abuse and throwing things.
Now it's just, "Yes,"No,"
"Hello,"Goodbye."
More or less what we said when we were married.
Did you hear that they've moved in with Callum?
Yeah, I know. Tilly told me.
Yeah, some ridiculous mansion in Clerkenwell,
which is where we used to go for dinner parties. Yeah, so…
…that's pleasant.
Do you speak to Callum much, or…
God, no.
He's tried.
Yeah, he leaves me messages. All gruff and cheery.
Like, "All right, mate. Let's, you know, get some beers."
"Give me a call. We'll talk things through."
Wanker.
Maybe I should go. He still owes me three weeks' wages.
And how's Jazz?
- Sorry. We don't have to talk about this. - No, it's fine.
Um, I've got her once a fortnight.
One lousy overnight stay.
Could you ask for more time?
I could, but…
Even now you can see the fear in her eyes when her mom drives off.
"No. Don't leave me here with this weird, sad freak."
And then I… I buy her all these presents, Em.
It's pathetic. It's pathetic.
I… You know.
There's a pile of them every time she arrives.
It's like Christmas morning every time.
Because if we're not opening presents, then…
I don't… I don't know what to do with her.
If we're not opening presents, then she just…
She just starts crying…
…and asking for Mommy.
By which she means Mommy and that bastard Callum.
And I don't even know what to buy her.
Because every time I see her, she's different.
It's, uh, you know, you turn your back for
a week, ten days, and…
uh… everything's changed.
And she started walking.
For Chrissake, she started walking, and I missed it.
How? How can I miss that? I mean, isn't…
Isn't that my job? Fuck, I'm sorry. Bollocks.
Sorry.
Not the plan. Not the plan.
Stop saying sorry, Dex.
You don't need a plan.
Right? It's only me.
My place is about half an hour from here.
Don't be imagining huge windows, parquet floors, or anything.
It's just… It's just two rooms over a courtyard.
Garret.
Yes, exactly. A garret.
A writer's garret.
"My gap year," says Emma, aged 33.
Living the dream.
Well, officially, I'm working. Book two.
Nisha Halliday goes on a school trip to Paris and falls for this French boy,
Luc Grenoble.
- Luc Grenoble. - Mm.
So here I am.
Doing the research.
Where have you gone?
Ah. Dunno, Em.
It's like
when I was younger, everything seemed possible, and
now it's like nothing does.
You've just lost your confidence. That's all.
All right, you've had a shitty, shitty time.
But at some point, you are gonna think of this as a new start.
What's going on with work?
- Not much. - Okay. There's lots of things you can do.
Like what?
I dunno. Media.
You could try for presenting jobs again.
- Oof. - What about photography? Or food?
- You could do something with food. - I don't have the experience.
I'm not really qualified for anything.
- You've got a degree. - A low 2:2 in Anthropology.
Hey. People will always need anthropologists.
So, that's your pep talk?
That was it. How was it?
I still wanna jump in the canal.
Come on. Let's go.
It's just here.
Here we go. Chez moi.
Ah.
Oh, wow. Is that…
Book two? Yeah, but don't read it. It's a work in progress.
- Oh, sorry. Sorry. - No.
Dex, Dex, Dex, Dex, Dex.
Sorry. Sorry about that. I'm just a bit, um, self-conscious.
The thing is, Dex, I've met someone.
Uh, you… you… you met someone?
Yeah.
Uh…
Okay. Who?
His name's Jean-Pierre. Jean-Pierre Dusollier.
He's French?
No, Dex. He is Welsh.
Well, um…
Yeah, that's… that… Uh, good for you, Em.
That's really great.
- I just wish you'd told me. - You just got here.
Yeah. No, I mean before. Before I came.
Well, we haven't spoken much, have we?
Apart from the odd email, and now here you are.
- Yeah. I came to talk about what happened. - What's to say? We slept together once.
Three times.
I don't mean how many acts of intercourse, Dex.
I mean the occasion.
Okay. The night. One night together. A single night.
Yeah. Next thing I know, you've run off to Paris
and thrown yourself under the nearest Frenchman.
Thrown myself? Oh, fuck off, Dexter.
I don't mean that, obviously.
And I didn't run off. The ticket was already booked.
Why do you think that everything happens 'cause of you?
Could you not have phoned me, maybe?
- What? To ask your permission? - No, to see how I felt about it.
To talk about that night.
- Maybe what it meant. I don't know. - This is amazing.
You're annoyed because we haven't examined our feelings.
Because you think I should've waited for you.
No, not waited.
What?
You do realize there's a certain amount of irony in this?
How?
Look. If you wanna talk about that night, let's talk about it.
- We were both quite drunk. - I wasn't.
Dex, you tried to take your pants off with your trousers still on.
It wasn't that bad. Was it?
Don't fish. Come and sit down.
I think… you were very upset and quite pissed that day, and
you came over, and it just happened.
With everything going on with Sylvie, and not seeing Jasmine as much,
I think you were lonely, and I was a shoulder to cry on.
Or to sleep with.
That's what I was. I was a shoulder to sleep with.
- So that's what you think? - That is what I think.
So you only slept with me to make me feel better?
Did you feel better?
Yes, much better.
Okay, well, so did I. There you go.
It was pity sex. It was… It was pity sex.
It wasn't pity, and you know it.
Well, I've been thinking about it.
A lot.
I haven't stopped thinking about it.
Ever since it happened.
You and me.
Yeah, I've thought about it too.
In the late '80s, it was all I thought about.
- And now? - Now?
Our time's passed.
How can you know that unless we give it a try?
Because I know, Dexter. Because I've met someone else.
And I'm not something you can resort to when every option has been exhausted.
That's not what's going on.
It was just sex, Dexter.
With respect, Em, that's bollocks.
With respect, Dex, you can't rock up here when you're on your uppers and think,
"Good old Emma. Can always fall back on her."
- I am not the consolation prize, okay? - I do not think that.
It's the opposite. It… It… It's…
Who's that?
It's Jean-Pierre.
Fuck.
Let's be nice? I thought we could eat.
Good idea.
- Hey. - Hi.
Um, Dexter, Jean-Pierre. Jean-Pierre, Dexter.
- Nice to meet you, man. - Hi.
Um, I have heard so much about you.
Oh.
Famous Dexter.
Oh. Yes.
Yeah. So tell me everything about Emma.
Everything?
Where to begin?
Uh, no. You… you first. How did you two meet?
Uh, in the bistro.
Yes, she… she was reading,
and usually people who read in public places,
most often they're just pretending to read, right?
But she was totally focused, and, uh…
I was intrigued.
So I asked her about the book, which was L'Étranger by Camus.
I haven't read it.
It's okay. Anyway, uh, she was reading it in the original French
and talked a lot about Camus.
That's how I discovered that she's a… a real nerd.
A pretentious nerd.
Yes. Yes.
Exactly. But, uh, you already know that, right?
Yeah.
Yeah, I do.
Right. So we've booked a table for seven.
- L'Éguille. - Cool.
I'm sorry it's early, but I couldn't get a later one.
Oh no, it's fine.
Shall we go?
Yeah, no. Actually, I'm sorry. I think I've, uh…
I think I've picked something up on… on the train.
I… My neck feels swollen.
Swollen glands or something. Um…
I think I'm gonna get, uh, an early night.
Oh. Okay, are you sure?
Yeah, absolutely. Yeah, go.
Or I can stay.
No, definitely not. Just go. Go.
Sorry to be boring.
I'll be fine tomorrow.
Bye.
I'm gonna stay at Jean-Pierre's tonight, so you can have the bed.
I'll be back in the morning.
Feel better.
What is it? What's wrong?
What?
It's French for "tonsillitis."
Your pretend tonsillitis.
I told Jean-Pierre I was coming down with it too.
If you muck me about, Dexter.
- I won't. - No, I mean it.
If you lead me on, or let me down, or go behind my back…
…I will murder you.
I swear to God, I will eat your heart.
I won't do that, Em.
You won't?
I swear.
What?
I just thought I'd finally got rid of you.
I don't think you can.