Chapter 3

By noon the girls were enjoying a bird's-eye view of London from their vantage point within a capsule as they rode the London Eye, which was essentially a giant Ferris wheel.

"Ooh, there's Big Ben," Ashley shrieked, pointing; then she pivoted around and looked through the opposite side of the glass and cried out, "There's The Tower of London. And Tower Bridge." Dusty followed her friend's frantic gaze, looking through her camera lens as she kept taking pictures, determined to capture every single moment of their vacation.

A nearby family kindly offered to take a picture of the two of them together, so Dusty and Ashley smiled broadly, their hair flat and wet from the rain, the grand tower of Big Ben lurking in the background.

"I'm going to miss London," Dusty admitted sadly as she thanked the tourists and took back her camera.

"Me too," Ashley agreed.

"But we are going on to Paris." The English accent was now dropped in favor of a French one.

"Your accents are awful." Dusty laughed. Ashley merely shrugged and smiled. "Do you even know any French?" Dusty asked a little anxiously. It dawned on her that they were next destined for a country where neither of them spoke the language. England had been easy, as English was their native tongue.

"I know some," Ashley said, looking a little uneasy herself. "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?"

"I don't suggest you go around saying that when we get there," Dusty said, raising an eyebrow.

"Why not? French men can be very passionate. I have first-hand experience." Ashley smirked knowingly, referring to her ex-boyfriend Pierre, who was French.

"This vacation is a man-free zone, remember?" Dusty reminded her.

"Shame." Ashley winked, though secretly the prospect of meeting French men scared her; it would only remind her of Pierre and reopen old wounds. "Au revoir, London," she called through the glass. "And soon, bonjour, Paris."

****

Bags repacked, Dusty and Ashley navigated their way through the underground system and out of London. Their next train journey would take them beneath the ocean, through the Channel Tunnel, over to France and, ultimately, Paris.

"I'm not sure I like the idea of it," Ashley pondered as they sat on the train, the British countryside whizzing past the window in a blur of green.

"Of what?" Dusty asked, momentarily glancing up from the book she was reading.

"Of the tunnel," Ashley clarified, biting her lip and looking nervously out the window.

"Why not?" Dusty closed her book, taking care to Valentine her current page, and focused on her friend.

"I don't like the thought of going under the ocean," Ashley admitted, shivering slightly at the thought.

"It'll be fine." Dusty smiled. "It's built to withstand water pressure."

"Still..." Ashley didn't look any less uncomfortable. "I mean, did you ever see that movie Daylight, with Sylvester Stallone? Where they get trapped in a tunnel?"

"Can't say that I have."

"What if we get trapped in there?" Ashley asked. Dusty was starting to discover that despite her wealth of experience traversing the globe, Ashley was a nervous traveler.

"We won't," Dusty answered with complete conviction.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I am."

Ashley continued to look out of the window and drum her fingernails nervously against the table between them. In less than an hour they would be approaching the tunnel and making their way through it, beneath the waves. Dusty knew that she needed to distract Ashley, to help her relax, so she decided to talk about something she really didn't want to, knowing it would pique Ashley's interest and cease her worrying about the tunnel.

"I was thinking about sending Kyera a postcard from Paris." Upon hearing this Ashley's nails immediately ceased their tap dance on the table, and she looked at Dusty with a face contorted with stern surprise.

"A postcard?" she repeated.

"Yeah."

"Whatever will you say on it? Dearest Kyera, hope hospital is okay, I'm busy living it up in Paris, kisses?" Ashley asked sarcastically.

"I thought it might be a nice gesture. She's always said that Paris is somewhere she'd want to visit."

"So you thought you'd rub it in her face that you're there while she's in the hospital?" Ashley was being harsh but honest, a quality Dusty had always admired in her friend; few people had the strength of character to do it.

"I suppose you're right," Dusty conceded, aware that the approach to the tunnel was drawing ever closer.

"Besides, it's a man-free vacation, remember?"

"Yeah, I know."

"I was thinking we could visit the Moulin Rouge," Ashley buzzed excitedly. "Apparently it's like a burlesque show now or something."

"Sounds... classy." Dusty struggled to find the right word to use.

"Don't judge." Ashley scrunched her nose in disapproval. "Burlesque can be extremely classy; it's an ancient art form."

"If you say so."

"Dusty, don't be such a prude."

"Is this your not-so-subtle way of telling me that you no longer wish to be president, that instead you feel destined to live the life of an exotic dancer?" Dusty teased.

"That's exactly what this is," Ashley entertained the joke, smiling. "And my stage name shall be Regretta."

"Because you're so full of regret?"

"Exactly." Ashley laughed.

"And what would my stage name be?"

"Prudella," Ashley declared, sticking her tongue out.

"Regretta and Prudella, doesn't really sound that sexy. Shouldn't we be car names or something?"

"Like Prius and Bentley?" Ashley arched an eyebrow in confusion.

"Maybe exotic dancing isn't going to be our forte," Dusty concluded, pretending to be sad.

"Oh well," Ashley said flippantly, "least we've got our Princeton degrees to fall back on." Ashley seemed more relaxed, so Dusty returned to her book. Though her decision to use Kyera to distract her friend had backfired, and now Dusty was once more thinking about her, once more feeling as though she was covered in the thick mire of guilt, unable to shake it off.

It felt like it tainted everything she touched, refusing to leave, determined to leave its indelible mark on all that she experienced. And each time Dusty thought of Kyera, she thought of Valentine. She wondered how Valentine would be spending her summer vacation. Would she stay in West; go back home up North? She didn't know, but a part of her was desperate to find out. She'd consider messaging her but decided against it.

It just didn't seem a fair thing to do when Kyera was still in the hospital, licking her self-inflicted wounds. Getting a book out of her designer satchel, Ashley also began reading her book of French phrases. She wanted to try to partake in the culture as much as possible.

"Will you try frog's legs?" she asked aloud as she scanned through the phrases.

"No." Dusty shook her head but didn't look up from her own book.

"Will you?"

"Urgh, no." Ashley shivered with revulsion. "Same goes for snails," she i.

"What about a baguette? That's French."

"Baguette is fine." Ashley nodded approvingly. She continued to browse through her book, focusing on phrases she thought might come in handy but struggled to pronounce any of them correctly. Giving up, she glanced at Dusty's book.

"What are you reading?" Dusty flipped the book up to reveal the cover. She was reading The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo.

"Isn't that a Disney movie?" Ashley asked, confused.

"Yes, but first it was a classic piece of French literature," Dusty explained.

"Are you reading it in French?" Ashley queried in awed disbelief.

"God, no." Dusty laughed. "It's been translated into English."

"You're really getting into the spirit," Ashley complimented her friend.

"Here, why don't you read a great French novel," Dusty said, delving into her duffel bag and pulling out a battered paperback. She tossed it across the table to Ashley, who picked it up carefully and scowled at the cover.

"Les Miserables," she mouthed the title aloud. "Isn't that the musical?"

"It was a book first."

"Oh." Ashley felt slightly embarrassed at her lack of knowledge about classic literature. She opened the book and was relieved to see that it had also been translated into English. "You know a lot about books these days," Ashley noted.

"Mmm, well, it was Kyera who told me to read these," Dusty admitted, her face saddened upon bringing her to the surface once more.

"She studied English Literature," she added by way of further explanation.

"You know what? That's it." Ashley raised her hand so that the palm was facing Dusty. "I've had enough of hearing Kyera's name and seeing your face fall to the floor each time you think of her. This ends now. I shall be right back." Fuelled by angry determination, Ashley pulled herself out of her seat and stormed off purposefully down the main aisle and out of the carriage, leaving Dusty looking after her, bewildered about where her friend could have gone.

Ten minutes later Ashley returned, clutching a bottle of champagne and two plastic flute glasses. She proudly placed the bottle on the table and smiled at Dusty. "Now this is a much more fun way of embracing the French culture," she declared, picking the bottle up once more to remove its cork.

"Is that where you went, to get champagne?"

"Don't sound so surprised." Ashley smirked.

"Champagne, I believe, is named after the region in France where it is produced."

"Very good." Dusty smiled.

"So let's down this essence of France, stop thinking about you-know-who, and start having a good time." Ashley poured the bubbling pale liquid into the two glasses and raised a toast with her friend. "To our trip."

"To our trip." Dusty concurred. As they each drank down the soft bubbles, the green of the countryside began to fall away as they approached the entrance to the tunnel. The bottle of champagne was half-consumed as the train passed beneath the ocean and crossed over into France.