by Karen Clarke
There was a tall pine tree, wrapped with winking lights and topped with a flashing star, and a small, glistening ice-rink in the middle of the square, dotted with warmly dressed children on wobbling blades, trailed by smiling parents. If I’d still hoped to avoid signs of Christmas, I’d definitely come to the wrong place, but found myself soaking up the atmosphere, and taking some photos just because I wanted to.
I lost myself among the shoppers, keeping track of Ryan and Nicole’s progress as I took in the array of goods around me: handcrafted candles and soaps, wooden toys and fine crystal, handmade glass and Angora sweaters. There were plenty of local specialties on offer too – fresh bread, pralines and fudge – and a stall heaped with fresh seafood: eel, shrimp and trout.
I paused as Nicole stopped to admire a nativity scene in an open stall, complete with straw and a baby Jesus in a wooden crib. She seemed enchanted as she exclaimed and pointed, but I thought Ryan’s smile looked rather fixed. Perhaps he was thinking about his book (maybe I’d get written out, now they were back together) or even our kiss last night… I cut off the thought before it grew wings. It was more likely I’d misread his expression and he was simply feeling the cold.
As the icy air bit at my cheeks, I shuffled closer to a stall selling Mirabelle plum liqueur and drank one of the tiny samples, which tasted like warm honey, then bought a bottle, which I tucked inside my coat. I could give it to Dolly for Christmas – she deserved something nice. It was selfish to not buy gifts, just because the season was a reminder of my non-wedding and of losing Gran.
Returning my gaze to Ryan, I saw that he’d taken his phone out and was poking at the screen. His hair was sprinkled white with snow, giving him a distinguished air, and I imagined what he might look like when he was older. For a moment, I thought he was going to take a photo of Nicole, who was holding up a toy polar bear wearing a Christmas hat, but he carried on prodding his screen, not seeming to notice. I caught the roll of her eyes as she put down the bear, and felt a bit sorry for her. Maybe she’d thought about buying the bear for Lulu or Jackson, and wanted Ryan’s approval. What was wrong with him?
Then he stuffed his phone in his pocket, said something that made her laugh, and she nodded and picked up the bear again and handed a note to the stallholder, which she fished from a tiny purse in her pocket.
They ambled to the next stall, and Nicole picked up a gingerbread heart with ‘Noël’ piped in icing. She waggled it at Ryan, who shook his head, and put it back with a shrug.
I trailed them through the market to the shops skirting the square, which were ablaze with lights and festive decorations, stopping when they entered the boulangerie and Ryan turned, as if sensing he was being followed. What was I doing, sneaking after them?
Turning away, I inserted myself into a throng of chattering Germans and feigned interest in the nearest stall, heart banging against my ribs. If I’d wanted to see what they were like together, well, now I knew. They were like any other couple out exploring. Nicole had expressed a desire to see the island where her ex had been hiding out, and do a bit of Christmas shopping before they headed to the airport. Perfectly normal.
It suddenly struck me that she might have been to the island with Ryan before – after all, he’d visited Charlie in the past. The thought was unsettling, as though Chamillon, the café and everyone in it belonged to me, and Nicole was an intruder. What was happening to me? I looked down to see I was holding a pair of charentaises – traditional woollen slippers with crêpe soles that looked just the right size to fit Ryan.
I remembered his bare feet in the kitchen as he’d cleaned up the milk I’d spilled when he made me scream, and before I knew it, I’d paid for the slippers and they were in a paper bag with string handles in my hand, along with the bottle of Mirabelle liqueur. They’d probably fit Charlie, I reasoned, as I scurried away, boots slipping a little on the fresh fall of snow. Not that I’d ever seen Charlie wearing slippers, but there had to be a first time for everything.
I looked round, as if Ryan might be advancing, ready to accuse me of stalking, but could only see people enjoying the festive ambience, unaware of the crazy woman in their midst.
As the snow fell harder, I decided it was time to leave.
Twenty-Three
I couldn’t face going back to the café and thought of Dee, the florist. Dolly had mentioned I could go round anytime, and sorting out Dee’s bedroom was a task guaranteed to keep my mind off everything else.
The shop wasn’t difficult to spot, the greenery in the window vivid against the whiteness all around, and if Dee was surprised to see me again, she didn’t show it as she emerged from behind the counter, this time followed by a little white dog.
‘It’s Bon-Bon,’ I said, bending to pat her soft head as she sniffed my feet.
‘I look after her now my sister has moved away,’ Dee said.
‘I saw her being walked on the beach the other morning.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Dee made a gentle shooing motion, and Bon-Bon retreated politely to a plush, padded dog bed by a pewter bucket of big-headed purple flowers. ‘Dolly, she was very kind to offer her visitor, the writer, to take her out when my dog walker was ill.’
I knew it was a set-up. ‘Very kind,’ I murmured as Dee led me up to her bedroom without question. It was easily the untidiest I’d ever seen – more of a storeroom than a bedroom.
‘The untidier the better,’ I said, when she offered an apology, blaming a busy workload. ‘I really don’t mind.’
‘I want it to be like…’ She made a wafting motion with her long, thin arms and did an impression of sinking into sleep, pressing her hands together and resting her cheek against them, eyes fluttering shut behind her narrow glasses.
‘Relaxing,’ I said. ‘Relaxant?’ It sounded almost the same in French and I blushed a little as I looked for a place to put my bag down, settling for a dressing table crowded with floral paraphernalia.
Dee smiled and nodded and disappeared, returning as I was shedding my coat with a mug of blue-tinted water that gave off a flowery scent. ‘Blue tea,’ she explained. ‘Oolong, blended with blue butterfly pea flowers.’
It looked as if it should have a paintbrush in it, but when I took a sip it tasted like walking through a meadow. ‘Délicieux.’ I smiled my appreciation, even as a scene from Ryan’s book popped into my head, where a shop owner offers Grace some Chai tea that turns out to be drugged. ‘Merci.’
‘You do not have to speak French. My English is very good.’
There was no disputing that. ‘How’s the knitting?’ I said, putting my mug on the cluttered dressing table.
She prodded her glasses onto the bridge of her nose, a cloud crossing her narrow face. ‘When I came home, I saw it was badly damaged,’ she said. ‘It was a scarf for my husband – a Christmas gift – but maybe I will buy him one from the market.’
From what I’d seen of the ‘scarf’, Delphine had done Dee’s husband a massive favour. ‘It can’t be rescued?’
Her eyes brightened. ‘Maybe I could ask my friend, Marie,’ she said. ‘She is very good with the wool.’
Oops! Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Poor Marie was going to have her work cut out. ‘Good idea.’
Downstairs, the doorbell tinkled, heralding the arrival of a customer, and once Dee had insisted nothing was off-limits and to let my imagination ‘be free’, she left me to it. I finished my flower tea and poked around, examining the contents of various boxes, reminded once more of the letters at the apartment. After visualising how the layout would work best, I rolled up my shirtsleeves and set about transforming the room into the relaxing space Dee craved.
It was surprisingly easy, once I’d moved most of the clutter down to the little storeroom at the back of the shop, but when I’d finished, I was amazed to see that several hours had flown by, and I hadn’t thought about anything but the job. It was like therapy, but free, and I didn’t have to talk to anyone – apart from disturbing Dee a couple of times to ask
for picture hooks, and a hammer and a screwdriver (I really needed my own toolkit).
She endearingly covered her eyes when I was done and let me lead her upstairs, and I realised my heart was racing, adrenaline flooding my body. This was the best bit – waiting for her response. I knew it could go either way (though I hoped she wouldn’t burst into angry tears), but the buzz of anticipation was almost worth it.
Luckily, when Dee dropped her hands from her eyes, her expression was one of surprised joy – just as Gérard and Margot’s had been. I almost wanted to take a picture – then realised I should, for my blog. Not my travel blog, but the house-whispering one I clearly needed to start. I almost laughed aloud as the realisation crystallised.
Of course this was what I wanted to do for a living. I just had to stop fighting it. ‘Do you mind?’ I said to Dee, taking out my phone.
‘Of course,’ she said, and as I snapped away, I explained how I’d moved the bed so it wasn’t directly in line with the door and had easier access from both sides, and that I’d rehung the mirror on the opposite wall to the window to spread the light around, making a mental note to write up the tips on my blog.
‘It looks so different,’ she breathed, taking in the cleared surface of her dressing table, her floral accessories back in the shop where they belonged. ‘Maman!’ she exclaimed, spotting the pair of pictures above the bed I’d found stuffed in a box underneath, of a smiling woman surrounded by buckets of bright flowers outside an older, sun-bathed version of the shop. ‘I had forgotten all about them.’ Her eyes shone as she moved to examine them more closely, and I felt an ache in my cheeks from smiling as I put my phone away and retrieved my bag and coat.
‘I’m so glad you like it,’ I said.
She turned, eyes sweeping from the newly-attached light shade to the small pile of books on the nightstand, down to the clear stretch of gleaming floorboards. Sliding her hand into the oversized pocket of her apron dress, she took out a handful of notes. ‘I’m very happy.’ There was an emotional catch in her voice. ‘I think I will sleep well in here tonight.’
I didn’t ask what her husband would think – it was clear that this was Dee’s room, regardless of who she shared it with. ‘I don’t want payment.’ I waved her money away. ‘It’s practice for me,’ I said. ‘You’re happy, I’m happy.’
‘This is not a good way to run a business.’ She reluctantly tucked the money back with a frown. ‘You must set a tariff.’
‘I will.’ It sounded like a promise, and the irony of those two words, which should have been spoken in an entirely different context today, wasn’t lost on me: ‘When I have more experience.’
‘I will recommend you,’ Dee said. ‘My friends, they will be very happy for you to do this.’ She looked back at the room, which was awash with light filtering through the muslin curtain at the window. ‘I will show them.’
‘You don’t have to do that,’ I said. ‘I’ll be returning to England after Christmas.’
‘Ah.’ She nodded, looking as if she didn’t quite believe me – as though people who came to Chamillon never left. Then I remembered that was what had happened to Dolly and Charlie, and even Elle was returning to live at the café. ‘You are lucky you have a calling,’ Dee said. ‘I did not find mine, but I am good with the flowers, thanks to Maman.’ Her smile returned. ‘Let me make you another bouquet.’
I nodded, chewing over her words as I followed her downstairs. It was sad to think she was a florist because she felt she’d had no choice, and I hoped that wasn’t my brother’s view about working on the farm, though he seemed to be enjoying it so far. Not all jobs were instant cures for sadness. I knew that from working at the pub and then the gallery. It was so easy to fall into doing something just to earn a living – it was what most people did, after all. I supposed anyone who had a calling, as Dee had put it, was one of the lucky ones, like Dolly with the café, and Ryan and his writing, although – recalling the frustrated outburst I’d read on his laptop the day I arrived – even that had its moments.
As my thoughts landed back on Ryan, the sense of peace I’d felt in Dee’s bedroom began to evaporate. He was probably at the airport now, and I’d let him go without even saying goodbye.
It was for the best, I decided, fondling Bon-Bon’s ears as I watched Dee expertly hand-tie a bunch of winter-white roses and some other white flowers I thought might be irises but didn’t like to ask. I’d only just started getting to know him, and one amazing kiss didn’t compare to a relationship that had almost led to a wedding – still could, if he and Nicole managed to work things out. I imagined his reunion with Lulu and Jackson and felt an almost melancholic twist, as if I was mourning something that had never even happened. Thank God they were young enough to adjust to all these changes – at least, I hoped they would, once things had settled down.
‘You don’t like them?’
I realised Dee was holding out the flowers, while I stared at the space above her head, imagining Ryan, Nicole and the children on a fairground ride, her fantastic hair whipping across her face, the children’s laughter streaming out and Ryan… I couldn’t quite place him in the scene, probably because I’d inserted myself into the picture, and now there was just the two of us, on Dolly’s orange sofa, locked in each other’s arms – I was a terrible person.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I was miles away! They’re magnifique.’ I took the flowers from Dee and pressed my nose into the velvety rose petals before arranging them in the bag with the slippers and bottle of liqueur. It was starting to look a lot like Christmas shopping. On impulse, I pointed to a pretty cut-glass vase on a shelf. ‘I’ll take that too, s’il vous plaît.’
Looking pleased, Dee wrapped it in layers of white tissue paper and refused to let me pay. ‘You have earned it,’ she said, kissing me on both cheeks. ‘Merci, and joyeux Noël.’ She tilted her eyes to the ceiling. I could tell she was waiting for me to go, so she could run upstairs and admire her room once more, and I left the shop feeling happy that I’d brightened her day.
I still wasn’t quite ready to return to the café and ducked into the gift shop next to Dee’s, where I checked to see if Charlie had replied to my message. Nothing. I called the number and it went straight to voicemail. Maybe his phone battery had died and there wasn’t a charger at the cottage. Unless he’d turned it off and was still sleeping through whatever lurgy Dolly was insisting he had. Poor Charlie. He must have had the usual childhood ailments, but I couldn’t remember him ever being ill when he was staying at the farm – not counting the time he disturbed a wasp’s nest and got badly stung and reacted as though he had the plague, demanding Mum call out a doctor because of ‘anaphylactic shock and poison’.
Thinking back, it was the only time I’d seen him really grumpy, ordering me to fetch him drinks and make him toast and check his stings to see if they were getting worse. ‘He’s scared, that’s all,’ Mum had said when I complained that he was being ‘nasty’. ‘He’s frightened he’s going to die.’ She was blunt about death – most people in the farming community were – but Charlie had heard the words ‘going to die’ and started sobbing hysterically, and Ben had to let him have a go on his new Nintendo.
‘Allez-vous acheter?’ Back in the moment, I realised I’d been fingering a keyring in the shape of a fluffy ginger cat that reminded me of Delphine, and instantly recalled how Ryan had pressed his face to the grouchy cat’s fur and looked as if he was in love.
‘Yes, I’m going to buy.’ I handed the keyring to the snooty assistant, who eyed me suspiciously, as if unused to seeing visitors daydreaming in her shop. ‘These too,’ I added, grabbing some novelty pink braces and a souvenir pen, as if to show her I wasn’t a shoplifter.
‘Thirty euros,’ she said in perfect English, raising her neatly pencilled eyebrows.
I raised my natural eyebrows. ‘Thirty euros?’ I pointed to the label on the box. ‘It says two euros ninety-nine here.’
‘Twelve euros ninety-nine.’ She said it in a tone of
such contempt that I made a point of counting out the exact amount of money, practically curtseying before leaving the shop.
Outside the snow had stopped, leaving an untouched stretch of pure white on the quiet street, which was tucked away from the busy market square.
I crossed the road, my boot prints joining the bike tracks left by a couple of cyclists, who seemed to be taking great pleasure in making a pattern of tyre marks in the snow, looking back dangerously to admire the trail they’d made.
On a whim, I made up my mind to visit Frank and Charlie at the cottage. It was a risk, if they really were ill and contagious, but it must be miserable being cooped up. I could make them something to eat, if they felt up to it. Even I could manage to make a sandwich or some eggs. As long as the eggs were scrambled. I was hungry too, now I thought about it, having only drunk a flowery tea at Dee’s since my pain au chocolat hours ago.
I pushed my phone into my pocket and walked back through the square, where a pair of teenage girls were gliding expertly around the ice-rink, jumping and twirling to the delight of the watching crowd, and rounded the harbour to the row of white-fronted cottages facing the café. The sky had darkened, lights twinkling across the water, the snowy rooftops glistening, and I suddenly wished Mum and Dad were here to appreciate the view, instead of the usual vista of muddy fields. It was ages since Dad had been anywhere, and I knew Uncle Hank would be only too happy to take charge of the farm for a few days. It would be good for Dad to take a break, especially one with Mum.
Then I remembered I’d wanted to escape all reminders of home and Gran, and they could hardly come away anyway with all Mum’s Christmas preparations coming to the boil.
I tapped on the cottage door and when no one answered, tentatively opened it, mindful of the sight that had greeted Ryan and me at Gérard’s house. Not that there was any chance of seeing a half-naked woman parading around here. Even if Frank wasn’t crazy about Dolly, he probably wasn’t up to much more than blowing his nose right now.
