19

The students decided to celebrate Grantaire's return to their fold by throwing a party of sorts. Courfeyrac and Bahorel had spent an entire day collecting Bliss into bottles for the event. It was being held at the flat that Prouvaire, Joly and Bossuet lived in together.

Éponine had never been to this particular flat before. She'd been in Combeferre's a few times now, and it was very different to her own; but this one was different again. All of their rooms were on different floors, including the two communal areas, so it was more of a house than a flat.

Apart from Prouvaire's flourishes here and there – lots of flowers, brightly coloured rugs and curtains, and somewhat hideous ornaments – it was quite a simple apartment. She arrived before everyone else, accompanied by Gavroche and Hyacinthe.

A slightly hassled looking Prouvaire met her in the doorway. "Go on up to the sitting room," he said. "I'm just…" He gestured towards the slightly ajar kitchen door. "I've never conjured éclairs before. It's not going well. They're green."

"I can help you, if you like," Éponine suggested, as Gavroche ran past her and up the flight of stairs.

"No, no, you're a guest," Prouvaire said, flapping his hands. "Go upstairs and sit down. Joly, Bossuet and Bérénice are up there, and so is the Bliss."

Éponine paused with one foot on the first step. "Bérénice?" she said, curious.

"Bossuet's mistress," Prouvaire replied, looking unconcerned. "Nice woman. Good taste in hats."

With that, he disappeared into the kitchen. Shaking her head, Éponine began to climb the stairs.

She walked into the sitting room to find Gavroche sat cross-legged on the rug with Hyacinthe rolling around in front of him, playing with some string. She smiled fondly at the scene, then turned her attention to the others in the room.

She hadn't seen much of Joly or Bossuet in the weeks since she'd been there, but it was nice to see them all the same. Joly sat, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair, staring up at the ceiling. Bossuet was on the sofa nearby, looking slightly uncomfortable but happy at the same time. There was a woman sat next to him; she had golden hair and a rather impressively large bosom, as well as a slightly crooked front tooth and rosy cheeks. She assumed this to be Bérénice.

Gavroche seemed oblivious, but she couldn't help but observe some tension in the room. She wondered whether Prouvaire needed help with the éclairs and considered tailing it out of the room, but then Bérénice spotted her.

"Hello!" she said, sitting up from her position leaning against Bossuet's arm. "Another woman!"

The men glanced at her; Joly kept his eyes fixed on her form whilst Bossuet's eventually slid back to Joly.

"I'm Éponine," she introduced herself.

Bérénice's already huge grin grew bigger, if that were possible. "I've heard lots about you," she said. "I've already met Gavroche a few times, of course…"

Éponine felt a bit silly, because she could hardly admit she'd known nothing of this woman before arriving at the flat.

"It's because of Gavroche I met Bossuet," Bérénice continued, stroking a hand down the bald man's arm. Bossuet gave her a quick smile and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, but then glanced towards Joly again.

"Bérénice conjures really nice cakes," Gavroche explained.

"And Bossuet has a sweet tooth," Bérénice finished.

At this, Joly let out a little huff. Éponine was surprised; she'd only ever seen Joly happy before – even when convincing himself he had cholera, he still managed to look on the bright side of things, in his own little way.

For the first time, Bérénice's smile seemed to falter at the man's snort of derision. Bossuet's face flushed in annoyance.

"You conjure cakes?" Éponine said, trying to diffuse the situation by turning the conversation further towards mundane topics.

"I run a bakery of sorts," Bérénice said.

"I make cakes for Gavroche sometimes," Éponine said, "But I doubt I'm as good as you."

"I was fond of it when I was alive," the other woman explained. "It all comes with practise and knowledge of what a perfect pastry should taste like."

"That would explain it, then," Éponine said. "I never had much time for baking when I was alive and I could rarely afford to buy any nice treats."

At that moment, an even more flustered Prouvaire burst into the room. There was whipped cream smeared across one cheek, and chocolate run through his hair. "Bérénice, please come and help me," he begged. "The éclairs just exploded, and the chocolate tastes like paper."

Giving Bossuet a kiss on the cheek, Bérénice stood and followed Prouvaire out of the living room. The door fell shut behind them and their voices grew distant as they went downstairs.

Once the kitchen door could be heard opening and closing, Bossuet twisted his body around to face Joly.

"Stop it," he said, harshly. "I am not asking for much, Joly, just that you be kind to Bérénice."

There was a mutinous look on Joly's face. "I just don't understand how you can do it."

Bossuet's face darkened even more. "Do what?"

"Be unfaithful," Joly snapped.

Éponine glanced towards Gavroche, meeting wide, confused eyes. Even little Hyacinthe seemed to have sensed something was wrong because the kitten stopped her playing and just stood there, staring.

Bossuet sighed. "I know you miss Musichetta, Joly. I do, too…"

"You have a funny way of showing it," Joly fumed.

"We're dead, Joly," Bossuet replied sharply. "Musichetta is alive. She will move on and we have to as well. I will always, always, always love Musichetta, but –"

"It's too soon."

"It feels right," Bossuet countered. "No matter the time. There are times when I feel like dying all over again when I remember that Musichetta is alone –" At those words Joly flinched, but Bossuet carried on regardless of his friend's discomfort. " – But I know that Musichetta would want us to be happy. Don't you want me to be happy?"

Éponine heard voices on the stairs and hoped it wasn't Bérénice coming back into this already awkward situation. She breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened and Combeferre and Éléonore came in.

"Of course I do," Joly muttered, staring at the carpet. Bossuet's face softened.

"Joly…" His voice was no more than a murmur, and in that moment Éponine knew that the two men had forgotten there was anyone else in the room. "I love Musichetta, but she was always more your woman than mine."

Joly's eyes flickered up to meet his closest friend's. He shook his head, and then looked and seemed to realise that everyone was staring at them. Clearing his throat, he stood up and pushed past Combeferre and Éléonore.

Bossuet rubbed a hand over his head. "If you'll excuse me," he mumbled, also standing and leaving the room.

There was silence for a few moments after the two men left, before Combeferre took Éléonore by the hand and pulled her further into the room. He shut the door behind them with a soft snapping sound and raised his eyebrows in Éponine's direction.

"I don't actually know what just happened," Éponine said. "Except that it was incredibly awkward, I think."

Combeferre sighed. "This place doesn't suit Joly," he said. "In a lot of ways, it should do; there is so much here that he likes. But the fact is…"

He trailed off, looking down into Éléonore's face. The Guardian gave him a sad smile.

"It's unfortunately something we see a lot here," Éléonore said. "People pining for loved ones left behind. It's the most common thing to stop people from adjusting."

"And it doesn't help that the man Joly would expect to understand is apparently not feeling the same way," Combeferre added. "It's sad, but…"

Éléonore squeezed Combeferre's hand before pulling away from him to sit on the sofa. "It happens," she said. "It will sort itself out, somehow. Try not to fret over it, 'Ferre. You can't solve everyone's problems, no matter how hard you try."

For the second time since arriving in this house, Éponine felt like she was intruding on something. With a roll of her eyes, she stooped down to scoop Hyacinthe into her arms and nodded her head at the door. "Let's go and help Prouvaire and Bérénice with their pastries," she said.

Gavroche didn't need telling twice. He scrambled to his feet and was out of the door before Éponine could even start walking.

Stepping into the corridor, Éponine pulled the door shut behind her with one hand and hugged Hyacinthe closer with the other. Then she leaned against the wooden door and closed her eyes.

Even in death, everything was complicated.