Just for the Holidays

by Sue Moorcroft

  ‘But you are cold, I think.’ He frowned at Leah and Natasha’s wet clothes.

  ‘I can put up with it.’ But Leah cast a worried glance at her niece.

  ‘Here, Natasha.’ Curtis gallantly pulled off his black T-shirt decorated with snarling wolves then turned to gaze out of the window while Natasha, thanking him shyly, pulled off her wet top and changed into his dry one, long enough on her to pass for a dress.

  Leah, not wanting to pause to accept similar offers from Jordan or Théo, pulled swiftly away. Or what passed for swift, in The Pig.

  Earning her undying gratitude, Théo located a parking place and the entrance to the correct hospital department – Leah wouldn’t even have known that A&E was called Urgences – bought them drinks from the vending machine, found them an English-speaking nurse and indicated the wet clothing and what Leah suddenly realised was a giant, sticky, gritty graze on her arm. Waving away thanks, he left to wait outside to be picked up in his cycling buddy’s car.

  The nurse provided white scrubs for Leah and Natasha and Curtis took back his T-shirt. While the nurse bustled off on some other errand, Leah tried to ring Michele but could only leave a message.

  Natasha, hoiking at her waistband to stop her hems trailing, declared, ‘I look like I’m in Casualty on TV!’

  ‘Wrong colour, gonk,’ began Jordan. Then he caught Leah’s baleful glare and subsided.

  Grateful just for dry clothes, whatever they looked like, Leah dropped into a chair in the glass-walled waiting area and tried to assess their situation. ‘OK. We’re all together and in the same place as Alister. The lovely nurse speaks English, for which I’m pathetically grateful. We have our phones back. We’ll survive. Curtis, text your dad and tell him where you are and not to worry. Now, please.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ Curtis grumbled, fishing out his phone.

  Leah’s arm throbbed like a bastard but she could cope if she didn’t think about it too much. Not thinking about it wasn’t easy and it seemed a long time before the English-speaking nurse reappeared. ‘Come,’ she said, gently taking Leah’s arm and inspecting it. ‘I will check it for you.’

  Alarmed at the idea of leaving the teenagers Leah snatched back her limb – ouch! – and flexed it. ‘It’s not broken, just bruised.’

  But the nurse, demonstrating her profession’s magical people-management qualities, somehow agreed, disagreed and got her own way. ‘I think so, too. But we will clean and dress it.’

  After at least seven assurances from each child that they’d be fine sitting on their bums and drinking fizzy drinks, that they wouldn’t leave, particularly with strangers, or be a nuisance to others, particularly with pointless bickering, Leah allowed herself to be ushered towards a cubicle, where she put up with the nurse persuading chips of gravel from her flesh and covering the fiery graze with an antiseptic dressing.

  When Leah finally returned to the waiting area it was to find a charming French doctor in a white coat laughing and chatting with the kids who, bizarrely, had stacked their empty drink bottles tidily on a seat, totally ignoring the nearby bin.

  The doctor rose. ‘Miss Beaumont? May I trouble you to follow me, please?’

  They were borne off to an office, Leah managing to snatch up the rubbish and transfer it to the correct receptacle in passing, to be informed that Alister had smashed his ankle in some complex manner that also included significant damage to tendons and ligaments. He would shortly be transferred to the city’s other hospital, Hautepierre, for an operation, and could expect to be there for about seven days.

  An entire week.

  As sentence was passed Leah knew how Natasha must have felt as her bike tried to drag her under the water. But her burden came in the form of the kids gazing at her in the evident expectation that she’d know what to do next.

  So, chips down, Leah gave it her best shot. ‘OK, I’ll get the kids home shortly but can I see my brother-in-law first? He’ll need to tell me what he wants from his room so I can take it to the other hospital tomorrow.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ the doctor beamed. ‘Families. We must look after each other, hein?’

  Stifling an urge to reply, ‘Must we?’, Leah just smiled.

  When Curtis had texted that he was at a hospital owing to Jordan’s dad having made an unscheduled switch from bike to ambulance, Ronan had asked whether Leah needed help. Though Curtis had relayed a message that she could manage, thanks, ever since Curtis had arrived home with details of the day Ronan had been battling an urge to rush next door.

  The sight of Leah sprinting down the garden and into the little annexe, wearing white hospital scrubs and a hunted expression, had brought him up short. Nothing in her stricken appearance had given him the idea that she needed company, but to give himself an excuse to hover in the vicinity he set about taming the monster rambling rose that threatened the fence with its weight. Lopping its thorny arms, he chopped up the amputations to cram into the bin. As if in revenge, the fragile white blooms sent out their fragrance onto the early-evening air, enticing bugs to dive-bomb him.

  He was jolted from batting away his tormentors by a drawn-out, muffled but definitely distressed ‘Aaaaaaaa-rrrrrrggh!’ emitting from the annexe.

  He tossed down his secateurs, grabbed the top of the fence and scissored over, swearing as his shoulder wrenched with a burst of fire, but hitting the ground running. Next instant he was hammering at the annexe door.

  ‘Leah?’ He glared at the green-painted wood that was keeping him out. ‘Are you OK?’

  Just as he was about to ignore the niceties and rattle the handle the door jerked open and Leah, still in hospital scrubs like a crumpled paper bag, gazed back at him, eyes wild and golden brown hair unravelling.

  ‘What’s up?’ His eyes flew to a business-like dressing that graced the angle of her arm. ‘You’re hurt – is that why you screamed?’

  Stepping back to let him into the kitchenette, Leah clenched shut her eyes for a long, slow breath. When her eyelids flipped open again her usual sane self was staring back at him. She answered politely. ‘I’m OK, thank you.’

  He rubbed his shoulder resentfully, feeling foolish at his headlong dash. ‘Why scream, then? You frightened me to death.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Seeing only unhappiness in her face he let his voice soften. ‘It’s bad news about Alister.’

  Her shoulders sagged. ‘He needs an operation but they’re not sure when. They have to transfer him to another hospital. I’m about to move into the main house while he’s gone because I can’t leave Natasha and Jordan there alone.’

  Comprehension began to dawn. And with it, sympathy. ‘So you’re left being Deputy Dad as well as Deputy Mum? Now I understand the scream.’

  Her laugh strangled. ‘OK, I admit to a tiny letting-off-steam scream. I didn’t mean to be overheard. It’s just that I like my space and I can’t have it because I have to do a load of parenting that, despite loving the kids to bits, I don’t want to do. I’m not parent material. I let Natasha half-drown today.’ Then she squared her shoulders, though so much tension radiated from her he could almost hear her buzzing. ‘But there’s no one else. I’ll move into Michele’s room and look after the kids until Alister comes out of hospital. Then I might have to look after him, too, until I can get us all back to England, which, as we have two vehicles here, will be a challenge because Michele’s freaked out about driving on the right and refuses to do it.’

  Despite the wobble in her voice, he found himself admiring her, not just for stepping up to the plate but for so disarmingly admitting her discomfort in doing so. One of his hands found its way to her arm above the dressing. Soft, smooth, his fingertips told him. Almost shocked at his hand for transmitting that message at such an inappropriate moment, he let it drop. ‘I’ll help you move what you need into the main house. Then let’s all eat at the little restaurant in the village tonight and worry about tomorrow when it comes. You look as if you’ve taken quite a bump yourself.’ He
winced as he got a proper look at her grazed and contused arm.

  She touched her swollen elbow gingerly. ‘It’s sore.’

  ‘I’ll bet. Why don’t you just point me in the direction of whatever you want carrying?’ His left shoulder gave a throb as if to remind him it had been injured, too. ‘As long as it’s not madly heavy,’ he amended.

  She gazed around sadly. ‘I just need a few clothes and toiletries. It’s not as if I’ll be far away.’ But her sigh was all about leaving behind the most precious item – space.

  After several more attempts, Leah gave up trying to get more than her sister’s voicemail and turned to text instead.

  Leah: Michele, ring me ASAP. Alister’s had an accident and is in hospital. His ankle’s badly broken.

  Leah: It’s just me with the kids and they’re upset. A’s got to have an op and will be away about a week.

  Leah: Ring me now!

  In half an hour she was checking her phone for the hundredth time. Nothing. To reassure herself her phone was working she clicked on Scott’s avatar, showing his one-sided smile and tousled hair, and sent a long, groaning text to spill out the day’s events.

  The reply arrived in seconds:

  Scott: You need to give your sister a kick up the arse. Btw, do you know you’re only 2 hours from the Merc museum in Stuttgart? tongue hanging out x

  Briefly, she dreamed of the luxury of jumping into the Porsche and crossing into Germany to spend tomorrow admiring amazing cars. Then shoved the dream away.

  Leah: Very helpful. Not. x

  Scott: Does Alister’s accident mean you’re coming home? x

  Leah: I wish. x

  Hearing Ronan and Curtis knocking at the door and shouting to announce themselves, she shoved the phone into her pocket and ran downstairs. She found Jordan and Natasha in the kitchen ahead of her.

  Over their heads Ronan sent her a smile and mouthed, ‘OK?’ She rolled her eyes but nodded as Jordan shoved his feet into unlaced trainers and Natasha crawled beneath the table looking for a missing pink flip-flop.

  When everyone was finally ready to leave, Ronan said to the teens, ‘We’re walking into the village. Don’t get too far ahead, you guys.’ This pretty much guaranteed that they got as far ahead as they could along the lane without being out of sight, leaving Leah and Ronan to enjoy the peace and tranquillity of bringing up the rear, Ronan entertaining Leah with tales of childhood holidays in Kirchhoffen until they reached the village restaurant.

  À la Table de l’Ill was in the centre of the village where Rue Paul Deschanel widened into a crossroads. Painted blue and bedecked with white petunias and red geraniums, it was evidently popular with the locals. Wine bottles gleamed on tables beside jugs of water that clinked with ice. Intertable banter filled the soft evening air and Leah supposed that in a place the size of Kirchhoffen you fell over your friends and neighbours – which was companionable or claustrophobic, depending on your point of view.

  Ronan chatted to the pretty waitress as she showed them to a table in the courtyard, his deep voice rolling over the rhythms of the French language and making the waitress smile.

  Once the kids were engrossed in their own whispering and sniggering, Ronan dropped his voice to ask Leah, ‘Have you managed to get in touch with their mum?’

  Leah pitched her voice equally low. ‘I’ve tried several times, but no reply.’

  ‘Worried?’

  She considered the emotions prompting the butterflies waltzing tensely in her tummy. ‘I’ve been focusing on terror with a touch of anger but, yes, I’m uneasy. In the furore of her leaving, I never thought to ask where she was headed. Bailey could have minced her up and stuffed her in his boot for all I know.’

  Ronan’s eyes smiled. ‘If that was his plan I think he’d have done it at home, saving the expense of travelling to France.’ He went on more seriously. ‘She couldn’t have foreseen what was about to happen and she’ll probably come back when you get the chance to explain.’

  ‘I hope she does, but the Michele who’s infatuated with Bailey is not the one I’ve known all my life.’ She put her glass down on the wooden table, too on edge even to enjoy the wine. ‘It’s scary enough for me, with the kids, the language and the French medical system, but goodness knows how Alister feels, in pain and abandoned in hospital. We don’t even know when his surgery will be. I’m to ring in the morning for an update, which will be fun if I don’t get an English speaker. I’m more worried about the prospect of trying to make myself understood in French than driving in a strange city on my own, which I’ll have to do to find this new hospital.’ She wiped suddenly sweaty palms on her dress.

  Beneath the table, Ronan’s hand found hers. ‘I can telephone the hospital for you. And why drive into Strasbourg when the trams and buses are so fantastic? Hautepierre’s website will have directions for public transport and Curtis and me would be happy to come along to familiarise you with the system.’

  Some of Leah’s tension seeped away. ‘Would you mind?’ She had to swallow a wimpy urge to cry in gratitude. ‘I wish I hadn’t dropped French as soon as my school let me. Even Curtis knows more than I do.’

  He picked up the menus and passed them around the table. ‘We can’t all be good at everything. I can’t do handbrake turns.’ He winked.

  Blushing at this reminder of her inglorious hour Leah turned her attention to selecting her meal.

  However, when her food arrived she found herself doing more brooding than eating, reminding herself to pack Alister’s bags then checking her phone in case she’d somehow missed a call or message from Michele.

  Ronan’s voice jolted her from her thoughts. ‘Is that sauce as good as it looks?’

  Not even sure she’d tasted it properly, sufficient professional interest stirred for her to swirl a forkful of duck in dark-red sauce and pop it in her mouth. ‘It’s unusual. Mushroom base, owes something to pine nuts and a lot to red wine.’

  His eyebrows lifted. ‘Impressive analysis. What about mine? It’s a local speciality, baeckeoffe, a kind of hotpot of more than one meat.’

  As the kids laughed because ‘baeckeoffe’ sounded like ‘bake off’, she tried a few bites. ‘Mutton, beef, pork, onions, carrots, leak, celery, bay leaf and clove. White wine, probably Riesling.’

  They continued tasting, discussing ingredients, and it was only when most of both dishes had vanished that she realised it had probably been a ruse to get her eating. She narrowed her eyes at him but definitely felt better for the food.

  Natasha dragged her chair closer so that she could rest her cheek against Leah’s arm. ‘Are we having dessert here or are you going to make something?’

  ‘Here,’ Ronan replied, firmly.

  Leah, smothering a yawn, didn’t protest at his answering for her. Her elbow was throbbing and she was beginning to feel a lot of other bruises.

  Finally, full of plum clafoutis and wilting fast, they trailed homeward along the cobbles, past the tabac, a mini-market, a pizza vending machine – to the fascination of the children, who had to be dissuaded from trying it there and then – and the boulangerie-pâtisserie, which was also a salon de thé. Beginning the climb up the hill, Jordan and Curtis, with legs young and long, strode ahead into the darkness.

  Natasha hung tiredly on Leah’s arm. ‘What are we doing tomorrow?’

  Leah recognised the onset of anxiety. In uncomfortable situations Natasha sought reassurance by testing the knowledge and control of those around her. ‘Hopefully, we’ll be able to visit your dad.’

  Natasha yawned. ‘Will Mum go?’

  ‘I haven’t heard from her yet. I’ll probably get her tomorrow.’ Apprehension squiggled like a snake in Leah’s belly but she refused to let it betray its presence to Natasha.

  ‘Have we got food for breakfast?’

  ‘Yes, don’t worry.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Eggs, cheese, meat, bread. All the usual.’

  ‘Have we got enough money, with Dad in hospital?’ It
was as if Natasha woke every morning with a quota of questions to ask and she’d just seen bedtime approaching.

  ‘Yes, don’t worry, we have money.’ It just wasn’t in Leah’s purse.

  ‘Will you drive to the hospital?’

  ‘Ronan says the tram will be easier. We haven’t been on one so that will be cool, won’t it?’

  ‘Do you know the way?’

  ‘Ronan’s going to show us.’

  ‘Will you like the tram more than The Pig?’

  ‘Hugely,’ said Leah, frankly. Beside her, she heard Ronan give a quiet snort of laughter.

  Natasha dragged even more heavily on Leah’s arm – luckily not her sore one. ‘What’s a MILF?’

  Leah halted to stare at Natasha, whose eyes were full of her usual guileless curiosity. She cleared her throat. ‘What?’

  Natasha started forward again, dragging Leah with her. ‘Curtis said that you’re one,’ she said, chattily. She frowned. ‘Oh, no, he thought you were a MILF. Then Jordan told him he was stupid because you’re our cool auntie, so Curtis said you were a BILF, but I didn’t get it. Are MILF and BILF words in French? I could ask Dad because you don’t talk much French, do you?’

  Leah floundered. In her cool auntie role she’d occasionally encountered awkward questions from Natasha or Jordan – mostly Natasha – and had had no hesitation in referring them to a parent. As Deputy Mum she realised she ought to take an active part in the conversation but, gripped by a paralysing combination of horror, mortification and the urge to giggle, had no idea where to start.

  Ronan stepped in smoothly. ‘Curtis shouldn’t be using either of those words, Natasha, and I’m sure your parents would prefer it if you forgot them. I shall explain to him why.’

  ‘Oh.’ Natasha digested this. ‘But shouldn’t I make up my own mind? Dad’s always telling me I should.’

  Stifling more mirth at Ronan’s perplexed expression Leah scrabbled around for a distraction technique. ‘I’d much rather you looked up yummy chocolate recipes.’