One Summer In Paris. Sarah Morgan

the fridge had been empty again and Audrey hadn’t realized until it was too late. Her mother, in a drunken state, had thrown everything away claiming it was “off.”

      It wouldn’t hurt not to eat for a day, but she didn’t want to draw attention to it.

      An hour later she grabbed her bag and took a walk to the local park.

      It was teeming with people enjoying the sunshine. Some sat on benches, others sprawled on the grass, shirtsleeves rolled back.

      Several were eating lunch. Huge slabs of crusty bread, fresh ham, packets of crisps, chocolate bars.

      Audrey’s stomach growled.

      Had anyone ever been mugged for a sandwich? There was a first time for everything. She could grab it and run. A whole new definition for fast food.

      Maybe she should use the tip Mrs. Bishop had given her to buy food, but she was saving everything she earned to put toward her escape fund.

      Trying to ignore the food around her, she pulled out her phone and carried on her search for summer jobs in Paris.

      That morning she’d narrowed it down to two.

      A family who lived in Montmartre wanted an English-speaking au pair with childcare experience. Audrey had never looked after children, but she’d looked after her mother and she figured that more than qualified her for the job although she still had to work out how to convince a potential employer of that without revealing more than she wanted to.

      She lifted her head and stared across the park. There was a faint hum in the distance and she could see someone cutting the grass. It was June and the air was sweet with the scent of flowers.

      In the distance she could see the running track. Audrey used it sometimes. She liked running. Maybe it was because it felt as if she was getting away from her life.

      She imagined herself wandering around Paris in the summer sunshine with two adorable children in tow. Or they might be two annoying children. Either way, the life she could see ahead of her was so much more appealing than the one she was living now.

      No more wondering what state the house would be in when she arrived home.

      No more worrying about her mother. That would be Ron’s job.

      Audrey felt dizzy at the thought of handing over responsibility and being liberated from it all.

      The man on the grass closest to her put his half-eaten cheese sandwich down.

      Not reaching out to grab it required more willpower than Audrey knew she had.

      She slipped her feet out of her shoes and turned back to her phone.

      A dental surgery needed someone to answer the phones and book appointments. True, Audrey didn’t speak French but there would be advantages to not understanding the inner workings of dentistry.

      She was about to close the app when a photograph caught her eye.

      She lifted the phone closer and peered at the text.

      A bookshop on the Left Bank was looking for someone to help out part-time during the summer.

      Audrey let out a snort of laughter. Working in a book-shop? If a worse job existed, she couldn’t think of it. She hated books. She hated reading.

      She was about to scroll past the job when something caught her eye.

      Did that say accommodation included? Yes, it did.

      Audrey stared at her phone. That side of things had been worrying her. How was she going to find somewhere to live when she didn’t speak French, didn’t know Paris and had limited funds?

      Her pulse raced forward, taking her imagination with it.

      A job with accommodation would solve all her problems. Still, a bookshop? She saw now that it was a used bookshop. Did that mean it was full of books people had given away? That was a concept she could get behind.

      What sort of person would they be looking for?

      Someone brainy and serious. Audrey was neither of those things, but she could fake it if necessary. She was used to presenting a fake self to the world. She’d tie her hair back. Maybe buy a pair of glasses to make herself look more intelligent. Try not to talk too much or crack jokes. That way she’d be less likely to reveal her real self.

      “Hey! Audie!” Meena appeared in front of her. “I was wondering if you’d be here.”

      Meena worked at the supermarket in the high street and sometimes they managed to coincide their lunch break.

      “You’re late.”

      “I was being verbally abused by a customer who couldn’t find his favorite brand of canned tomatoes.”

      Audrey didn’t see how a can of tomatoes could be the cause of friction, but she did know people got all revved up about different things. “Tomato rage.”

      “Don’t even joke about it. I was afraid he was going to throw it at me, and it was a multipack. That would have been the end of me.” Meena sat down next to her and opened her lunch box. “Where’s your lunch?”

      “I ate it.” Audrey put her phone on her lap. “What’s that?”

      “I don’t know.” Meena investigated. “Pakora, rice, yogurt—that’s to absorb the heat from the chili.”

      “It smells good. What’s in it?”

      “Vegetables and love.” Meena grinned. “That’s what my mum told me. When I was little I thought you bought love in the market, along with carrots.”

      “I can’t believe your mum makes all that for you every day and works as a doctor.”

      “Yeah, well, home-cooked food is a big deal in my house. Mum says she finds cooking calming. I do, too. Sometimes I think my whole family is glued together by food.”

      Audrey felt no envy that her friend had a place at Oxford University, but she envied Meena her family. “Is your sister still good at French?”

      “My sister is okay but my cousin is better. She gets top marks in everything.” Meena ate a spoonful of yogurt. “It’s annoying how good she is at languages.”

      “There’s a job I want to apply for, but my French isn’t good enough. Do you think she’d help?”

      “Yes. If she doesn’t, I won’t help her with physics.” Meena leaned across, trying to read Audrey’s phone. “What’s the job?”

      “It’s a bookshop in Paris. The pay is crap, but it comes with a studio apartment.”

      With the money she’d saved from working in the hair salon she’d be able to afford to get herself to Paris and keep herself for two weeks, maybe three if she ate only one meal a day. Then she’d need to find a job.

      True, she didn’t know anything about the Left Bank or the Right Bank and would definitely get them muddled up because knowing her left from her right was one of her biggest struggles, but she’d find a way.

      “Wait.” Meena stopped chewing. “You’re going to have your own apartment and a job in a bookshop? That’s cool. But if your French isn’t good enough to apply for the job, how are you going to manage when you get there?”

      The same way she’d lived her whole life. “I’ll muddle through.”

      “You’re so brave. What do they want you to do?”

      “I was hoping you could tell me that. Your French is pretty good, too.” Audrey thrust the phone toward her friend, and Meena read it quickly.

      “You need to write a piece on why books and reading are important.”

      “Crap.”

      Meena wiped her fingers. “I thought you hated books and reading.”

      “I