The Train to Paris by Sebastian Hampson

drinks outside.’
    The terrace was dark and quiet, although there were some people at the poolside tables. I could hear the waves breaking on the beach, but I couldn’t see them. Illumination came only from the bulbs set into the swimming pool and the restaurant terrace beside it. Across the beach, the lights of the town’s taller buildings glinted like crystals on black velvet.
    Selvin had his cigars in a pocket-sized humidor, which was sleek and had a cutter fastened to the lid’s interior alongside a thermometer. He held one out to me.
    â€˜No, really, I don’t think I will,’ I said.
    â€˜Come on, Lawrence,’ Élodie said in drunken exasperation. ‘You can’t dismiss it without trying it at least once. You don’t inhale these, so they are healthier, if that really worries you.’
    I had decided to stay. I would smoke the cigar, to discover how it felt. I took the brown finger. It had the texture of flaky skin. I pretended to know what I was doing with the cutter, and I took too much off. I tried to think of the times I’d seen this elaborate process in films, and I puffed heavily as Selvin held up the lighter. I felt the thin first wave in my mouth.
    â€˜I’ll regret this tomorrow,’ Élodie said. ‘It always feels as though a family of gypsies has paraded through my mouth.’
    â€˜Are you kidding?’ Selvin said. ‘This taste is as good as they get. It’s sex in the mouth.’
    I tried to keep my coughs and splutters under control as I breathed in the smoke and it clouded and swirled.
    â€˜What do you think, Lawrence?’ Élodie asked.
    â€˜Not bad.’ My voice sounded nothing like its old self. It had aged several years. ‘Rather strong.’
    â€˜Twenty years I’ve been smoking these,’ Selvin said, ‘and I’ve never heard anyone describe it like that before. Either you love it or you hate it. Nobody has ever held such a bland view of a Montecristo.’
    â€˜Well, I’m the first at something for once.’
    Ã‰lodie must have seen how much distress I was in. I wanted to throw first the cigar and then myself over the parapet.
    â€˜You don’t need any more than that,’ she said. ‘Put it out if you don’t like it.’
    â€˜Hey, I’m not having that,’ Selvin said. ‘Men finish their cigars. Learn to enjoy it.’
    I sought relief from my daiquirí. Somehow it had become the more attractive option. My head felt light. I was even more desperately in need of water. I took another puff.
    â€˜Give it here,’ Élodie said. She left it to smoulder in the ashtray. ‘You did well for a first time. It gets easier with each experience.’
    â€˜Some people never experience these sorts of things.’
    â€˜And good riddance to them.’
    It amazed me that Élodie could be so intimate one minute and so cold the next. She was everywhere and she was nowhere. I wanted to feel as though we were the two most important people in the world again, as we had been in the restaurant, discussing her favourite wine and pouring it for each other. If only there could be one Élodie, the one that I imagined lying beside me on the beach, her hair wet and salty, her eyes alive with longing. Now I could not see her eyes because they were directed at Selvin.
    Music started to come through the outdoor speakers. It was a mid-tempo bossa nova with a wispy saxophone.
    â€˜Good Lord,’ Élodie said. ‘How do they do that? They somehow guessed that I was in the mood for a dance right about now.’
    â€˜This is what we pay them for,’ Selvin said. ‘I’ll sit this one out, though.’
    â€˜Too bad. What about you, Lawrence? You could give me a preview of your moves.’
    â€˜A preview?’
    â€˜Do I really have to explain everything? Come and dance with me.’
    She had asked Ed first. That was enough to make me resist the