It had been two months since Tanner had seen Cecile, though they'd been exchanging emails every week thereafter, he now felt justified in having made the initial contact. He'd only met her twice, but their subsequent communication only served to confirm, what he'd first suspected, during that first, nervous encounter in Paris. Here was a woman after his own heart. Their tastes seemed, almost uncannily in tune, no matter where the subject matter meandered. They'd also exchanged childhood tales and family backgrounds, and it soon became clear that, though their paths had taken quite different routes, they'd both ended up at a similar destination.

Cecile, unlike Tanner, was not an only child. Born into a middle class family in Paris, she had two elder brothers, and lived a formal childhood. Raised in a cultured household, her mother hailed from minor Spanish aristocracy, and her father was a prominent figure for UNESCO. Her early life was uneventful, and dominated by boarding school, and then, approaching her late teens, naturally enough, she started to rebel.

It was at this point in the tale, that Tanner sensed a certain vagueness, as no sooner had she touched on what should have been, her more interesting experiences, than the story seemed to skip forward to her mid twenties, and marriage. She'd married an accountant, and had a son not long after. From then on, it appeared, she'd lived a predictably comfortable, if mundane life. Only recently, since the failure of her marriage, had she pursued her interests into any form of employment. Now, established in costume design, with occasional visits to London, she'd finally taken the plunge, and decided to see if there was anybody out there, that might want to share her world.

Like Tanner, her first foray into internet dating seemed to have struck gold, but now she was here, her old doubts came flooding back. Ever since the meeting in London, when Tanner had tentatively suggested taking things to another level, Cecile had stalled. Emails were fine, but didn't make a relationship. Tanner would be coming over shortly. He deserved an explanation.

The Belleville Rider's rehearsals had been going well. Jack Renard, in many ways, was a more suitable band mate than Marrat himself. There was no mystery with Jack, although at times, he liked to insinuate there was. The problem for Jack, was Neil, who knew of his early days as a market trader, and failed punk rocker. It was appropriate then, that Tanner ensured that he made an appearance at rehearsals now and again, and on one occasion, during a lengthy smoke break, Renard tried to establish his credibility in the band, by virtue of his French roots. The story went, that Ren's paternal grandfather was a French fruit and veg trader, who frequently visited England back in the twenties. One such visit, with his heavily pregnant wife, was their last, as unable to travel on, she gave birth to Renard's father in Stoke, and the family had stayed there ever since.

“So you see, Alphonse decided to stay, and set up his business here in England. Best fruit and veg stalls in the country, we had...Renard and Son. I still can't pass a stall today, without admiring a decent display........It's quite an art, you know”

“Obviously qualified to front a punk band, then” Damon mocked

“Well, in a way, dear boy. Its the squeaky wheel that gets the oil....Don't do being a wallflower now, does it ?”

Tanner smiled. It was a long time since his days on the stalls, but it made him think of how he'd likened his early days with the band, to his time peddling bananas. Ren did have a point.

“Anyway, that may be true, but if you were a proper market trader, then you'll also remember there wasn't much time for hanging around on the job.......so erm, if you don't mind” Tanner gestured towards his watch.

“Why, of course Tanner old boy. Come on chaps, lets crack on !”

It was ten days until the first show, and by now, the band was sounding as good as Tanner could hope for. They were tight, and Renard sang well. He'd certainly learned enough now, to prowl around, in a manner that suggested something of his predecessor, but he couldn't help worrying that something was still missing. He didn't mention it to the others. Perhaps it was his state of mind. His whole reason for going ahead with this, now seemed much less certain. He decided to email Cecile.

He knew that she was aware that he'd be coming to France soon, but as yet, she'd avoided the subject, then, almost as if she'd been expecting his email, she replied.

Cher Tanner,

I know you think I've been avoiding seeing you again, and yes, that's true, so I must explain.

Even to try and write this down, is difficult for me. I've been putting it off, but finally, I have some time to myself.

I have an inner demon. It all stems from a time when I was barely an adult. I was sixteen, everything normal, exams on the horizon, I met a boy, a little older, and for a time, it seemed perfect. He was an artist, a good one. He had his first major exhibition on his 19th birthday. Anyway, not long after he changed drastically, and within a matter of months, he became a different man, abusive and mean, but in a way, even more attractive. Can you understand that?

We argued, we made-up, we argued, then I discovered he and his new friends were into something a little more scary – Heroin.

 I watched as he sank to the depths that only an addict can sink to. Theft and deceit became normal, he lost a lot of his good friends, and then his shows dried up. He found this extremely difficult to take, and basically lost control.

So finally, after two years, I decided to end it - perhaps not a good idea at the time, but I told him it was over as we were travelling home one night on the peripherique, from his appartement in Saint Germain. He promptly drove us into a concrete pillar, at the side of the road.

Out of his head, he didn't feel a thing. I got away with a small scar on my forehead, but gained years of guilt, as I took the blame from both his parents and friends. I felt loathed and hated, and somehow, it stuck for a very long time. I was not allowed to attend the funeral after telling his father, that in my opinion, his son had wanted to remove us both from this earth.

My parents, didn't take it well, either. They had previously no idea about how I had been living. It was all very complicated. I became extremely depressed, unable to function, but everything was hushed up. Apparently, my father didn't need the publicity.

This lasted 3 years then I finally took myself to the doctor, to get the help I needed. I declined the medication, and instead, channelled my thoughts in more constructive ways - I learned to sew, and realised I enjoyed making clothes. I read and read - anything and everything, and finally, I learned to look myself in the eye a little. I analysed myself to stupidity, before finally giving up, and accepting myself, and my foibles, and so it continues.

A few failed relationships followed, and slowly, the idea of ever finding something perfect disappeared. A while later I met Marc, at a time when my father was on his deathbed, and I agreed to marry, somehow thinking he might die happier. I was twenty four.

Jules was born a year later and he became my world - suddenly there was a purpose to everything. Now, at eighteen, he doesn't need me, but its hard to let go. 

Marc and I, what can I say? It reminds me of your situation, Tanner. He's a good guy, and we live comfortably, but if I'm honest it was never going to work, so for some time now, we live quite independent of each other. It works ok that way, he in his little cocoon, and I in mine....

And these days I have my costume design to keep me occupied, and a few friends, good ones.

I never look too far forward, and it doesn't pay for me to plan anything too much in advance, or invariably I feel it won't happen, but until recently, the security of marriage gave me stability.

Then, one day, a friend suggested I needed to meet someone new. Paris, somehow, still felt off limits to me, but when I got the work in London, I spotted the internet site. I hesitated for a long time, but then, as soon as I tried, you came along.

Tanner, I have to be honest, and admit in some ways, I wished I hadn't. I didn't expect this. Do I deserve this? I'm scared.

So there you are, I have laid bare my soul, none but my closest family know those things about my past, not even my husband! I understand completely if you feel this is too much for you.

With love

Cecile x