Chapter 1.1
Tuesday, September 11th
Nick couldn't help but feel a little dejected when his father didn't pick him up from the airport. It wasn't like it didn't expect it, quite the opposite, but a small part of him had hoped that Lionel would have taken time out of his day to collect his son.
He didn't hate his father. He didn't much think anything of his father, simply because he wasn't around. Not that Nick could remember anyway. His mum and dad were from different parts of the world, it made sense that neither of them wanted to leave their life behind. He just grew up in one of those parts. His mother's part. But then the situation back home started moving downhill, and it was decided that Nick would go and live with the man that he only ever remembered meeting once when he was ten years old.
So when he didn't see Lionel at the airport - just a soft, balding stranger that held a sign with the words Noël Mercier scrawled on the front - he the smallest part of him felt like he'd been stung.
With a sigh he hoisted the backpack that contained everything he deemed necessary over his shoulder and trudged over to the man. As he approached, the man looked up and gave him a puzzled look, as if he had an idea of what Lionel's son looked like in his head and Nick didn't quite fit the description.
"Monsieur Mercier?" He asked.
Nick nodded.
The man lowered the sign and gestured for the younger boy to follow on.
As he followed the man Nick caught the scent of a strong cologne failing to mask the pong of tobacco, and he noted curiously that, this close, the fluorescent lights of the airport bounced off of a thin sheen of moisture that the man seemed to be coated in.
He stifled a yawn. The flight had been long: about twenty-five hours between Sydney and Paris, not including the stopover at Singapore in the middle. He hadn't slept for most of it. He was tall, and the plane didn't seem to be built with the length of his body in mind. He'd spent most of his time feeling half-folded while watching mind-numbing Hollywood blockbusters. At least it was the afternoon. He only had to stay awake a few more hours before he could assume the horizontal position.
The balding man led Nick outside, where the frost in the air knocked the wind out of him. His breath came out in thick clouds in front of his face and he found himself making a concerted effort to have his teeth not chatter. He was led to a taxi, where the man gestured for him to climb in. He got into the drivers seat without waiting and started the engine.
Nick opened the backseat door and got inside, finding to his own discomfort that the car was just as cold and smelled just as poorly. The man started driving out before Nick had even put his seatbelt on.
They travelled in total silence. Nick stared out the window. The drive in felt bland. It was winter, so nothing was in bloom, so all he saw were the mottled greys and browns of the sky, the dirt, and the Parisian city streets. Despite the weather, the people were out, seeming to rush from one place to another, everyone walking with a mission or a deadline that needed to be met. Nick smiled lightly. I guess cities are the same no matter where you go.
He was vaguely aware of the people drinking inside the cafes at the base of the lorises, and of the tourists who so obviously didn't belong in this part of the world.
"Eh..." The driver began to say, as if he was grasping for the right words. "Cigarette?" He asked eventually.
"Sure, go ahead," Nick waved it off.
Taking his apathy for consent, the driver withdrew a smoke from his pocket and jammed it between his lips. Nick opened the window a touch to let the smoke drift from the car.
His drowsiness began to take hold and he felt his eyes begin to close. As the car stopped with a jolt he awoke.
The driver no longer had a cigarette in his mouth and was staring right at him.
"You pay." He said in his broken english.
Nick's eyes widened. He hadn't been given any money for the trip over. He assumed that everything had been paid for by Lionel, at least until he got to where he'd be staying. He opened his mouth to try say something, but he figured nothing he said would make any sense.
"Uhhh..."
A knock on the window broke the tension. Outside, on the curb, a curly-haired blonde woman with comically large glasses was holding up a wad of euros. She spoke to the driver loud enough for him to hear through the glass, but Nick couldn't understand a lick of it. He just watched as the driver wound down his window and took the money.
"Mercie," the woman said, giving a light nod, before opening the door on Nick's side and gesturing for him to get out.
He gripped his backpack and climbed out of the taxi. As soon as he closed the door the driver revved the engine and took off up the narrow street.
"I was wondering when you would arrive," the woman said brightly. "You must be Noël."
Nick winced somewhat at the name, but dismissed it. "Yeah, that's me. I'm sorry, but who are you?"
"Anastasia," the woman said. She took his hand a shook it enthusiastically. "It's great meeting you. Lionel told me you'd be visiting." She looked at the backpack slung over his shoulder. "Is that all you've brought with you?" She shrugged it off before Nick could answer. "No mind. If you would follow me, please."
Bewildered, Nick allowed himself to be led into the building in front of him. The interior was noticeably warmer than the outside, in both decor and temperature. There was a small desk by the door, and the rest of the room was decorated with a coffee table and two wooden chairs. An orange rug sat on the timber floors, and a few framed photos of sandy beaches and the Eiffel Tower adorned the walls. Toward the back Nick saw a narrow flight of stairs, but no elevator.
Anastasia took her place at the desk and opened a laptop. "I'll just need to check you in before I show you to Lionel's apartment," she said. "Did you have your passport on you?"
Nick took the passport from his pocket and handed it to her. She opened it to the right page and began typing the information she needed.
"Nick Harris," she said, reading from the passport. "So you don't go by Noël back in Australia?"
"Um, no. I don't."
"Do you prefer Nick?"
"I do, yeah."
"Ok. I'll make an effort to remember that." She smiled and handed him back his passport.
He smiled too. "Thanks." It was easy to feel comfortable around Anastasia. She must know what it's like to be as lost as he was, or at least know someone who does.
"Your english is really good," he said.
"Thanks, I spent lots of my later schooling years in Ireland."
"Wow. That sounds... difficult."
"It was a bit," she said, giving him a knowing look. "But you get used to it pretty quickly. It helped that I knew some english before going over. Tell me, Nick, do you know any french?"
He shook his head sheepishly.
Anastasia smiled. "That's alright. I'm here Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, so I'd be happy to teach you the basics if you're around."
"Thanks. I appreciate that."
"You're welcome. Come on," she stood and made her way to the stairs. "I'll show you to Lionel's apartment."
The building was structured so that there was an apartment on every second flight of stairs. Anastasia explained that the landlord rented out whole floors to tenants, because if they were split in half there wouldn't be enough room for people to live. Each apartment housed two people comfortably, but most of the tenants in this building lived on their own. Mostly because they were career-types.
"I think a lot of the other tenants will be surprised to see you here," she explained. "No one really knows that Lionel has a son."
His father's apartment was on the third floor. Anastasia handed the key to Nick so that he could unlock the door. She moved in passed him to turn some lights on before inviting him in.
"Welcome home," she said with a smile. "Lionel told me to tell you to make yourself at home. What's his is yours, just don't go into his room while he's away. He's away on business at the moment, he won't be back in Paris until next week sometime. Just a few things," she led Nick to the kitchen. "When you need hot water you'll need to wait for a minute or so for the water to actually heat up. Try not to play loud music, noise travels through the floors easier than you'd think. You do all of your washing of clothes and dishes yourself, there's a laundromat just down the street next to the general store. That's the housekeeping out of the way. Info dump, sorry."
Nick shook his head. "That's ok, I need to know it."
"Sorry, could you talk just a little bit slower?" Anastasia asked. "I know what you're saying but your accent makes it hard sometimes."
"Oh," Nick could feel himself going red in the face. "Sorry."
Anastasia laughed. "That's fine, it's my problem not yours. You can't help your accent. Oh!" She clicked her fingers. "Lionel told me that he left something in the drawer for me to give you."
Nick watched as she hurried over to a cabinet and rummaged around in one of the draws. A moment passed and she came back across the room with a package wrapped in brown paper.
"There are a few important things in here," she started. "Your school uniform, a metro map, and your metro pass."
When she noticed Nick blink a few times in confusion she spoke in more detail.
"Lionel bought you this uniform for you to attend the Lycée Mondial Parisien. It's an international school. You knew that, right?"
Nick nodded. "Yeah. What confuses me is the him buying the uniform part. I'm not really average size."
Anastasia looked him up and down. "You might need to buy some uniform for yourself." She said at last. "Anyway, the metro map is straightforward enough. Lionel said he wrote the directions for you to get to the school on it for you, and the pass will let you take the metro anywhere in Paris."
"Does it cost anything?"
"Yes, but it is connected to Lionel's bank account so you don't have to worry about it."
Nick took a heavy breath.
"Are you feeling ok?" Anastasia asked.
"I'm just tired," he said offhandedly. "And this is all... a lot to take in."
"I'm sure." She put a reassuring hand on his arm. "I'll give you my phone number just in case you need anything. You can get a prepaid SIM from the general store I told you about earlier." "And that is...?"
"Just that way, down the street," she pointed in the direction.
"Thank you, Anastasia," Nick said. "I really appreciate it."
"That's alright Nick. I'm happy to help."
Nick nodded and stifled another yawn. Anastasia cocked her head.
"If you fall asleep now you'll probably regret it."
"I know, I know. I'll see if I can find some money around here so I can go to that store. I could use something to eat."
"That is a good idea." Anastasia took a card from her jeans and put it on top of the cabinet she took the parcel from. "That card has my number on it. And before I forget, your school is expecting you to start on Thursday. So you really only have tomorrow off, and then the next day life begins."
Nick chuckled. "How exciting."
Anastasia chuckled too, and with a smile she left. Her footsteps grew fainter as she went back down to the lobby.
Nick figured he'd use tomorrow to get his bearings for the local area, that way he would at least know where he's staying. He took a cursory glance around his father's apartment, almost shocked that a space so small would comfortably fit two people.
Cultural differences I guess.
The kitchen was a tiny area off to the side, about as wide as a hallway. There was a small table with two chairs next to that, and following the L-shape came to a two-seater couch facing a wall-mounted television. The door was a step behind the couch, and to the left of it was the cabinet Anastasia had rummaged through. On either side of the television were two rooms. One of the doors was closed, the other open, and Nick could see a double bed, a single lamp and cupboard in that room. Since it was the open door, he assumed that that's where he would be sleeping.
He went to that room, tossing his bag onto the floor and collapsing onto the bed. It was surprisingly comfortable, but anything would be comfortable when you hadn't had a proper sleep in over a day. He felt something pressing into his stomach and rolled over, finding an envelope with the words "enough to live until I get back." It felt like there was money inside. Nick tossed it onto his backpack, telling himself he'd check it tomorrow.
He checked his phone, which had already clocked over to the timezone. It was just passed 5 o'clock in the evening. He took a pair of earphones from his pocket and tried to untangle them. He plugged himself in and picked a song - Miss Jackson by Panic! at the Disco - figuring he could kill some time by listening to music.
He was asleep before it had even ended.