by Mandy Baggot
‘Rach, what happened?’ Keeley put a hand on her shoulder.
‘Antoine came up to the suite,’ Rach whispered, her eyes glistening with something Keeley couldn’t quite translate.
‘With more alcohol?’ Keeley was hoping the concierge had sensibly brought coffee instead.
Rach nodded. ‘A very nice bottle of Burgundy.’
Keeley gasped then, hands flying to her lips. ‘I’ve just realised… you haven’t called him Antonie!’
Rach nodded again. ‘I know! And, after a while, he didn’t call me Rash.’
‘Rach! Tell me!’
‘I kissed him,’ Rach exclaimed. ‘I kissed Antoine.’ She gripped Keeley’s arm. ‘And he kissed me back. And… I was wearing my pyjamas.’
Sixty-Two
Ethan Bouchard’s apartment, Paris
‘How do I look?’ Ethan spread his arms out in the centre of his living area, not so far off from being able to touch the walls with his fingertips. Bo-Bo let out a bark, then preceded to try and leap up, his paws on Ethan’s dark jeans. ‘Down, Bo-Bo!’
‘You look fine,’ Jeanne answered. ‘Although you smell like maybe you have rolled around for a hundred years in a pine forest.’
Ethan slapped his cheeks. He had shaved. He had put on aftershave, perhaps a little too much. He couldn’t help it. His insides seemed to be filled with hundreds of tiny fleas performing like they were members of a circus troupe. Whatever was wrong, whatever concerns Keeley had, he could ease them. He would tell her that he felt what they had together was so special. He could not have imagined the way she had reacted to him ever since they had met, how her body had reacted to him only a few nights ago…
‘Relax,’ Jeanne ordered him. ‘You are making me feel nervous and I cannot make paper chains if my hands are shaking so much I cannot use the scissors.’
Ethan paid more attention to what she was doing then. Laid out on his coffee table were strips of newspaper, magazines, a cereal box and some tin foil. Jeanne appeared to be cutting into each of them, making hoops and connecting the circles together in a chain. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Getting a little Christmas in this apartment,’ Jeanne said with a sniff. ‘You have nothing.’
Ethan looked around the living room as if expecting to see at least one greetings card or something else festive he had overlooked. But it was true, there was nothing. Despite the lack of space, he usually had something in here. He sighed. Ferne had always been the one encouraging him to decorate. But Ferne had liked to decorate everything, even if it wasn’t Christmas. ‘Let me get you something from the hotel.’
‘The snowman that tips his hat?’ Jeanne asked, all bright eyes. ‘Or the reindeer that shakes its head?’
‘I am not sure there is the space for any of those in here.’
Jeanne screwed her nose up. ‘Do you not eat Christmas dinner either? Because the turkey and potatoes and gravy will not fit?’
Ethan sank down to the sofa. ‘Jeanne, I can find you something more than plain cardboard and tin.’
Jeanne raised her head from what she was doing and Bo-Bo looked up from the cleaning of his bottom. ‘You do not think my paper chains will be good enough?’
‘No,’ Ethan said, quickly. ‘Of course I do!’
‘I made them with my auntie. If she was my auntie.’ She sniffed again, getting back to work with the scissors. ‘She put on her record player – songs from the church, a choir and organs – and we sat by the fire, eating buche de Noel and making chains to hang around the house from whatever there was.’ Jeanne smiled. ‘One time we made pompoms with wool.’
Ethan nodded. ‘We made pompoms often at the orphanage. In fact, we made pompoms for almost every occasion. Perhaps it was because wool was the only substance we could not attack anyone with.’
‘Hmm,’ Jeanne mused. ‘You obviously never tied up any of the staff.’
Ethan got to his feet again. ‘I do not want to hear anything else.’ He smiled at Jeanne then. ‘But when I come back, perhaps I can help you make some pompoms. I remember how.’
‘Do you have wool?’ Jeanne asked, voice already wholly excited. ‘Or can I unpick that horrible green jumper in your wardrobe?’
‘You have been through my wardrobe?’ Ethan asked, astounded.
‘There was not a lock on the door,’ Jeanne answered, shrugging as if her response was the most natural thing in the world.
There was a knock at the door then. It startled him and set Bo-Bo off barking. Ethan checked his watch. There was still plenty of time before eleven. But perhaps Keeley had changed her mind and decided to come here.
‘You still smell like a forest,’ Jeanne remarked. ‘But now you look like a ghost.’ She shooed him with a hand. ‘Go and open the door.’
Ethan left the room, bolting down the spiral staircase to the front door, heart in his mouth. He had to remember to be calm when all he really wanted to do was throw his arms around Keeley. He pulled open the door, a smile already working its way over his lips until…
‘Louis.’
Ethan frowned, looking at the man who was unusually dressed down in jeans and a jumper, a casual jacket zipped up to his chin. He couldn’t remember Louis ever coming to his apartment before. And he didn’t really know what to do.
‘Ethan,’ Louis said. He put gloved hands into his pockets and looked as awkward as Ethan felt. ‘May I come in?’
‘I… have to leave for a meeting.’ Ethan stepped outside, pulling the door to behind him.
‘Really?’ Louis asked, shaking his head.
‘Yes,’ Ethan said, a little softer. ‘Really, I have to leave for a meeting but, we can talk… if talking is why you are here.’
Louis let out a weighted breath and appeared equally as heavy in demeanour. ‘I am worried about my mother.’
‘She is not well?’ Ethan asked.
Louis shook her head. ‘Not in the way you mean.’ He sighed again. ‘This time of year…’ He nodded towards the strings of festive lights around the buildings in the courtyard, the sound of a Christmas tune being played on an accordion rising into the air. ‘What has happened with Ferne’s will…’
Ethan waited for Louis to elaborate.
‘I… am worried she is regressing,’ Louis told him. ‘She has been spending time in Ferne’s bedroom again. She has got out all the old photographs, creating collages, reminiscing…’
‘There is nothing wrong with reminiscing,’ Ethan said. ‘Sometimes it can be… healing.’
‘That is just it. She is not healing,’ Louis said. ‘She is going backwards. Instead of using her memories to help propel her into something new, she is going over old ground, living in the past.’
Ethan nodded. It was quite possible that Silvie was doing now all the things he had done immediately after Ferne’s death. He knew Silvie had been the one who had to deal with most of the practicalities of Ferne’s passing, while he had tried to keep on top of the day-to-day running of the hotels as he trudged through his own devastation. Was Silvie’s grief only really coming to the fore now? Christmas always did seem to have a way of increasing the ferocity of feelings.
‘And what about you, Louis?’ Ethan asked. ‘What are your feelings?’
‘I am talking about my mother,’ Louis answered.
‘And I am asking about you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because… I have not taken the time to ask before. Because, perhaps I have never taken the time to ask before,’ Ethan said, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. ‘I am just thinking that… maybe both of us have spent so many years fighting about our place in this family that we entirely overlooked the whole reason for family.’
‘I do not follow.’
‘Ironically, going against our professional brand, family is not ever about perfection. Just as it is not about any one person that belongs to it. It is about the whole. And it is about all our family’s beautiful imperfections.’ He sighed. ‘It is about your father getting furious when his s
hoes were not polished correctly. It is about Silvie going through those months when she tried to cook herself. It is about you dying my hair bright orange in my sleep and blaming it on your awful friend Rolo. It is about Ferne being the biggest of bitches when she did not get her way.’ He shook his head. ‘We should be helping Silvie together, Louis. What do you say?’
‘God, Ethan,’ Louis said, sighing. ‘All this time you knew I was the one to dye your hair?’
‘Exactly like you know it was me with the penguin. But I truly did not know you were allergic.’
Louis smiled at him then playfully punched his arm. ‘You are an idiot. Still. Even now.’
‘You too,’ Ethan answered. ‘I am sure that will never change.’
‘I miss Ferne,’ Louis said then, shuffling his feet a little against the cold. ‘And I regret not handling things so well when our father died. I shut her out. I shut you out.’ He sniffed. ‘I shut out my mother and eventually I ran away. I don’t want to do that again.’
‘So help me,’ Ethan encouraged. ‘Work with me.’
Louis let out a noise of discontent then. ‘I don’t know what is for the best anymore. And I am also not sure my mother inviting the recipient of Ferne’s kidney here was the best idea.’ He let out a noise of discontent, his hands going to his head. ‘I have tried my best to support it, but my mother has been a little fixated with trying to get me to spend time with her.’
‘I… could not think about that.’ He still didn’t want to think about it now.
‘You should have come to the dinner and the lunch. You could have helped bring some normality to the proceedings. Not that the girls are not good company. They are nice enough. But it gets a little wearing when the only memories your mother is sharing of your sister are the good bits. There is very little mention of the stubborn, foolhardy person Ferne could be. And you know that side of her like I do.’
‘The girls?’ Ethan queried. Suddenly what Louis was saying was drip-feeding into him a lot more slowly than he needed it to. And there was something, the smallest of thoughts, morphing and expanding, prickling his subconscious as he took it on board.
‘She has a friend. A rather nice friend actually but… I do not need the complications of a relationship right now. Not when I am worried about my mother and the hotels and…’
Ethan’s head was suddenly full of Keeley. Keeley’s laugh. Keeley’s smile. The way her hair moved in the breeze of a snow shower, their passionate, perfect night together… Her scars. He swallowed as her words came back to him. It was a shark. He came off much worse than I did. Momentarily, it felt like he was paralysed and then, when adrenaline started kicking in, pulsing around his body hard and fast, it was pushing scenarios he didn’t want to have to contemplate right at him. It couldn’t be. Why would it be. How could it be?
‘What is her name?’ Ethan asked, the words scratching their way up his throat.
‘What?’ Louis replied.
‘The… person,’ Ethan began, suddenly sweating despite the fiercely cold temperature of the street. ‘This… girl. The one that… received… part of Ferne.’ He could not even bear to say the words. But, as Louis opened his lips to make his answer, Ethan already knew what was coming. He braced himself against the brickwork of the apartment, flesh against stone, heart achingly waiting for confirmation he didn’t want…
‘Keeley,’ Louis said. ‘Her name is Keeley.’
Sixty-Three
Outside La Valentin, Passage Jouffroy, Paris
For ten minutes Keeley had debated whether she should wait outside or whether she should go into the smart patisserie. There were so many different varieties of desserts in the front windows, – puffed up macarons, fluffed out croissants, cakes with cream and cherries on top – a collection of colour and textures. All of them looked equally perfect, yet none of them were desirable to someone whose stomach was in knots. Finally, she had opted for staying outside, where she could busy her feet, stamping them down on the tiled floor of the impressive arcade that was Passage Jouffroy, as well as keeping out the cold. Its impressive high glass ceiling let in the bright light of this December day, then, below it, nestled between the frontages of the independent shops and curling wrought-iron lamps were lots of Christmas touches – thick garlands of red tinsel looped around shiny gold baubles and white fairy lights. She breathed in, re-imagining the scent of freshly ground coffee and letting her mind fill in the gaps of exactly what the bonbons and other sweet treats might smell like. Rach was shopping, not far away, ready to arrive should Keeley need her. She was hoping she wouldn’t need her. She hoped she could cope with whatever this conversation brought.
Keeley’s phone started vibrating and she drew it out of the pocket of her coat expecting it to be Ethan. Was he running late? Was he not coming?
Erica. An audio call.
Keeley’s heart lurched and she rushed to answer, pressing the phone to her ear. ‘Hello.’
‘H…ey.’
Keeley screwed her eyes up tight. It was Erica but she sounded so weak. So so weak. Now was the time to gather herself and say only positive things. Because amid whatever she was going through there was someone in the UK she needed to be super-strong for. ‘Hi, Erica. I was going to send you another video. Do you want the River Seine and some of the boats, or do you want cakes and coffee and Parisian walkways?’
There was a pause and Keeley could hear how laboured her friend’s breathing really was. She waited.
‘No… more… time for… videos,’ Erica whispered.
The tears were in Keeley’s eyes before she really, truly acknowledged their presence. Her friend was truly losing her battle now. ‘OK,’ Keeley answered. ‘No more videos. Just tell me what you want me to do.’
She turned towards the window of the café, shielding herself from the passing shoppers who were talking as they strolled, sharing laughs and holiday joy. Part of her wished she could be there with Erica now, holding her hand, wetting her mouth with a moist swab, sheening a little balm on her lips. Be the friend she needed, right by her side.
‘You,’ Erica began. ‘You… owe me… a photo.’
Keeley furrowed her brow. What was she talking about? And then, all at once she remembered. The selfie. The photo of her and Ethan from the night before. Before everything had changed. She had taken the picture, but she had never sent it. ‘Oh, Erica, I’m so sorry! I took the photo but… I forgot to send it to you. Give me a minute.’ She took the phone away from her ear for a second.
‘Not now,’ Erica breathed. ‘When… I’m done.’
Keeley paid proper attention again, pressing the phone back to the side of her face. ‘I’m listening. I’m here.’
The sound of Erica’s slow rattling breaths was heart-breaking, but Keeley had to keep it together. She simply had to be here and listen.
‘You are… the best friend… I ever… had,’ Erica made clear.
‘Oh, Erica,’ Keeley sobbed. ‘You are the strongest, most opinionated, most brilliant person I’ve ever met.’
‘I… know that,’ Erica wheezed in approval. ‘And… I am counting… on you… to… live for… you… and live… for Bea and… for me and… to wear out that kidney… you got given… with all the fun… the world has.’
Keeley was nodding as the tears tracked down her cheeks, her eyes blurring and the flans in La Valentin’s window display beginning to lose their vivid shape. ‘I promise you. I will do that.’
‘Swear it,’ Erica ordered, making the words as clear as she was able. ‘Swear it… on Nick Jonas.’
‘I swear it,’ Keeley told her. ‘I swear it on Nick Jonas. I promise.’ She sobbed and tried to catch the sound in her throat so Erica couldn’t hear her despair. She had to be brave all over again. Face this farewell to someone she loved for a second time. This was Erica saying her final goodbyes and this was Keeley’s chance to say goodbye too. She had never had the opportunity to tell Bea how much she loved her, what an amazing little sister she had been, how life
would never be the same without her. But she had a chance to say all the things she wanted to say with Erica now.
‘I am never going to forget you, Erica,’ Keeley told her, her voice full of admiration and, she hoped, strength she never knew she possessed. ‘You are one amazing, fierce friend and I am going to do…’ Keeley stopped talking. She had been about to say she was going to do her best, but this was the time for being a whole lot more definite than that. ‘I am going to savour every moment like it’s… turkey crisps and Celebrations and… popcorn.’ She took another breath, her thoughts gaining momentum. ‘I am going to… dance like poodles and I’m going to be—’
‘All in,’ Erica interrupted. ‘All in… every time.’
Erica’s statement hit Keeley hard and she crushed her lips together, fearful all her emotions were going to leak out and down the phone line. ‘All in,’ Keeley repeated. ‘Every time.’
It took Erica a few moments to speak again and it was obvious the conversation was sapping her strength. ‘Don’t… say goodbye.’
‘I won’t,’ Keeley replied, turning away from the café window and again facing the shoppers flowing through the nineteenth century passageway. ‘Because… it’s not goodbye.’ Her tears were falling faster now. ‘I’m in France and I have had you here with me the whole time. So… it’s à bientôt,’ she said. ‘Only à bientôt.’
‘What you said,’ Erica rasped out before the call ended.
Keeley held the phone away from her, not quite ready to let go yet. But then she tapped at the screen, eager to do one more thing she knew would make her friend happy. Finding the photo of her and Ethan she took a second to let the image hit all her senses. She ran a finger over Ethan’s face, along that jawline, down his aquiline nose to the breadth of his smile. She looked so happy, carefree and that was something she hadn’t felt in such a long time. Whatever happened next, how could she ever regret meeting Ethan exactly as she had met him? By chance. Absolutely, completely by chance. With a penguin.
