WINTER WONDERLAND

by Belinda Jones

  ‘So why the sniffer dog and police posse?’ she challenges.

  ‘Well, I don’t suppose they have much else on.’

  ‘On account of everyone being too nice to break the law?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  Laurie groans and then asks me if I’ll be including the Quebec–Lévis ferry ride in the guide.

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes – you get a great new perspective of the city and it’s only four pounds for a round trip!’

  ‘Sort of like Quebec’s answer to the Staten Island Ferry!’

  ‘Exactly!’ I laugh. ‘You don’t necessarily want to get off at the destination, but it sure does make for a marvellous ride!’

  Typically when New York is mentioned, Laurie starts billing and cooing and recalls some other highlight from her most recent trip, but this time she simply says, ‘Okay, well thanks for the update—’

  ‘Wait!’ I halt her, suddenly concerned that something is off. ‘Any news your end?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Not yet?’

  ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I know … ’

  I feel a stab of nerves. ‘It’s nothing bad is it?’

  ‘No, no! Not at all.’ She insists. ‘Quite the opposite in fact.’

  My eyes narrow. ‘You want to give me a clue?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Hmmm. All right. Well, you behave yourself.’

  ‘And you try to misbehave with the right person.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I frown.

  ‘I mean try to stay attracted to the nice guy and not the naughty one.’

  I almost take offence for a second. But then I decide to take heed. Laurie is usually pretty savvy about my weaknesses. But if she could see Jacques now, I think, as I head back in his direction, if she could feel what I feel when I look at him, she wouldn’t even entertain such a thought.

  There is nothing new to report as I rejoin the group. Niko has already had a good head-down, nose-foraging sniff of the ferry, and only supplied one false alarm with a man luring him with his packet of crisps.

  The police, however, have their own bait. Me. They want me to stand on the outer deck of the ferry and lean nonchalantly over the barrier.

  ‘So he can have the opportunity to approach you.’

  ‘And tip me over the side?’ I suggest.

  ‘You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,’ Jacques intervenes.

  ‘No, I will. I’ll be fine. Where do you want me to stand?’

  ‘Over this way,’ the policeman directs me to the closest door.

  Here I go!

  I gasp as the wind whips my breath from me. And then I take a tentative peek over the edge...

  The water surrounding the ferry looks more like a raggedy half-melted ice rink than a river, giving me a whole new perspective on the sinking of the Titanic. Just the thought of taking a dip right now all but stops my heart. I wonder how Jacques survived his fall in the lake? He must have got out pretty quick. Perhaps he climbed aboard an iceberg? These ones don’t look substantial enough – more like jagged white lilypads or panes of broken glass, jostling and grinding against each other. It’s almost as if they are part of a self-shifting puzzle, with certain pieces forcing and dominating themselves over their flimsier counterparts. Sometimes they just graze them, other times they ruck them up and churn the ice like a blended margarita.

  Still no one approaches me. My only human interaction is with a woman stepping out to photograph the Quebec skyline – layer upon layer of artfully arranged buildings, the Château Frontenac raised highest on the Cap Diamant bluff, its pointy turrets now in silhouette.

  ‘Jesus!’ she flinches as the wind roughs her up, sending her scuttling back inside.

  A minute or two more passes and then it would seem the police have given up because the others come out to join me.

  ‘Come on! Give us the Rose pose!’ Gilles cries, lifting his lens.

  ‘It’s way too cold to stand with my arms out!’ I protest, hugging myself for warmth. ‘And don’t even think about asking me to climb on the railings. How about a nice shot of me by the vending machine?’

  Nobody objects to heading back inside. I get a bumper selection of chocolate bars and hand them out to the police – that’s what I remember most from the London riots in 2011: those nice people who made cups of tea for the police. Made me feel proud to be British.

  As we compare our candy bar fillings – nougat versus caramel, peanut versus hazelnut, etc, I start to feel as if I’m on a family outing. This is fun!

  ‘Oh Krista, not again!’ Annique tuts as she points out my mess of chocolate smudges.

  I roll my eyes. ‘I’m just going to wash my hands!’

  ‘Don’t go alone,’ the police chief cautions me.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think he’s dangerous.’

  Everyone turns and looks at me as if I’m one of those women who correspond with inmates in maximum security prisons.

  ‘But of course I could be wrong,’ I correct myself. ‘Annique, would you care to join me?’

  ‘Aren’t you a little bit worried?’ she asks me as I rinse my hands off in the sink. ‘He does seem to be singling you out.’

  ‘The only thing that gives me pause is that I set Niko on him,’ I say as I switch to the dryer. ‘That may have slightly soured the relationship.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she smiles. ‘I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you.’

  ‘Really, you mustn’t worry,’ I insist. ‘If I can survive Delhi Belly and the Mall of America, I can survive it here!’

  She sighs. ‘I wish I had a friend like you in Quebec.’

  I blink back at her. What a lovely thing to say. ‘You know I’ll be back. I can always tell if a destination is going to be a one-off or another room in my house,’ I tell her. ‘And honestly, this is one of the most charming places I’ve been.’

  ‘You should see it in the summer!’ She brightens.

  ‘I actually think I’d miss the snow!’ I confess, surprising myself.

  When we return to the others, we find Gilles in conversation with Jacques.

  ‘So how did you end up with a sniffer dog?’ he asks. ‘Or did you train him to be that way?’

  ‘Actually he belonged to a friend of mine,’ Jacques replies.

  ‘And he gave him up?’

  ‘In a way.’

  ‘I’m always surprised how people can leave their dogs,’ Gilles tuts. ‘You’d think they’d have an especially close bond in this case. Maybe that’s why he looks so sad … ’

  Annique and I exchange a horrified look. But there’s nothing we can do to stop him. The damage has been done.

  ‘Excuse me a moment,’ Jacques steps away, taking Niko with him.

  ‘Gilles!’ Annique swipes at him, explaining his faux pas.

  ‘I didn’t know!’ he protests. ‘Perhaps if you’d told me?’

  I leave the two of them bickering and head towards Jacques, who has stepped back outside. But then I hesitate. I don’t officially know about Rémy. If I approach him I’m going to be tiptoeing around the conversation and will probably end up making things worse.

  I head instead to a spot further down the ship’s rail. I want him to at least know that I’m nearby.

  The light is just beautiful now, turning all the buildings on the opposite shore gold, the snowy banks reflecting the pink of sunset and the water, by comparison, looking all the more deadly … Oh my god! Did I just see … ?!

  ‘Jacques!’ I call to him.

  He looks up, still lost in his thoughts.

  ‘Quick! Come here!’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I thought I saw … ’

  ‘What?

  ‘It looked like a flipper,’ I gush. ‘You know, like scuba divers wear? There!’ I exclaim. ‘Oh!’

  I slump back down as a bit of tyre rubber manoeuvres to the surface. ‘As if anyone could survive in these waters!’

  Jacques smiles ki
ndly and then raises his gaze. ‘You know every year we have a Carnival canoe race that goes from bank to bank.’

  ‘They race in these conditions?’ I can’t believe it.

  He nods. ‘Château Frontenac sponsors a team.’

  ‘Of penguins?’

  ‘No,’ he laughs. ‘Real men. In wetsuits.’

  ‘But what if someone fell in?’

  ‘It is possible to survive submersion, for up to five minutes actually.’

  ‘Really?’ That seems unfathomable to me right now, though of course the man next to me is living proof.

  ‘The main thing is to control your breathing,’ he informs me. ‘You’ll start hyperventilating from the cold shock, so you need to slow that down to conserve enough energy to drag yourself out. I’ve known people who’ve got their upper body out and then let their arms freeze to the ice just to give them a firm grip to extract their lower half.’

  ‘That’s crazy!’

  ‘If you do get out, you don’t want to stand up straight away as the ice around the hole is weakest. You have to slide on your belly to a stronger spot … ’

  I can’t help but shiver at the mere thought of the ice-drenched clothes and no one for miles.

  ‘I actually had a fall last year,’ Jacques confesses. ‘Not here. In a lake near the farm – totally misjudged the thickness of the ice. But I’m still here.’

  ‘I’m glad that you are,’ I hear myself saying.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here too,’ he smiles back at me, and suddenly I feel as warm as can be!

  The chief then announces that they are joining the police team at Lévis, but the rest of us are relieved of our duties. We can stay on the ferry and go back to the original shore.

  I feel a pang saying goodbye to Jacques. I leave for Montreal early tomorrow morning and I don’t know when I’ll see him next. But at least I will be connected to him via my mission. That’s some consolation.

  As is the filet mignon avec deux sauces at Café de la Paix …

  ‘It really is the best of both worlds here,’ I decide as I mop up the last of my sauce. ‘All the splendour and gastronomic delights of France without any of the snobbery!’

  Annique laughs.

  ‘I’m serious! You don’t know what it’s like for British kids going over to France! They make you study the language at school for years, you go to Paris all eager to try out your vocab and they just give you this infuriating blank stare as if to say, “I don’t understand a word you are saying, you uncultured fool.” And all you said was, “Un pain au raisin, s’il vous plaît!”’

  ‘You know they are the same way with us!’ Gilles offers.

  ‘What? It’s not possible.’

  ‘Oh yes it is. We’re not true French to them.’

  ‘You’re the super-breed of French! French flair with North American friendliness and cheer!’

  Annique and Gilles exchange a smile as I tell them that I also think that Canadians seem a tad more palatable to the cynical Brit who can find Americans rather OTT. ‘Canadians seem more understated,’ I decide. ‘Less showy – more natural, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, thank you for that,’ Annique raises her glass.

  We all chink. I’m getting a warm feeling again. Partly due to the fact that, even when my dinner plate is removed, it leaves a circle of warmth on the tablecloth. The only thing that persuades me to release my séance-like pose is the arrival of our crème caramel dessert. Light but appropriately slippery, it sets us up nicely for an evening at the Carnival…

  It’s quite a different atmosphere after dark. Sort of like a child-friendly rave with a lightbulb-flashing big wheel at its centre. Music is pounding out of the speakers at the Ice Palace – a Lego-like blue-tinted building fashioned from blocks of frozen water. Still can’t quite get my head around that. There is a stage and dancers and Bonhomme doing high kicks and hugging the Carnival president whose name, believe it or not, is Mr Alain Winter. Talk about the right man for the job!

  Annique finagles us entry to the disco dome, where the dance music intensifies and people are pumping arms and thrusting hips, but I can’t get into moving my body, not least because it would be like working out in thermals and a cashmere polo neck.

  ‘Why don’t we go skating under the stars?’ Gilles suggests, causing both Annique and myself to swoon for a moment. Me at the concept, at least. Now if only I could skate…

  ‘Oh it’s easy,’ Gilles insists.

  ‘Why do people say that?’ I groan. ‘Balancing on a knife-edge is not easy. Trying to stop thinking about your hand being sliced open by a passing skater when you fall is not easy.’

  Gilles laughs.

  ‘Really? That amuses you?’

  ‘You amuse me.’

  I look at Annique, suddenly feeling a little awkward, but she is smiling too.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be lovely if you could tell people that you learned to skate in Quebec?’

  ‘Yes, and I’d like to say I learned to surf in Maui and walk like an Egyptian in Cairo, but it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. Although actually I did do that last one… ’

  ‘Well then!’

  ‘Come on!’ Gilles sets me in motion. ‘Didn’t your dad ever take you when you were a little girl?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘I guess it’s different here – ice hockey being a national obsession. Was he more into cricket?’

  ‘I didn’t know my dad,’ I say in a small voice.

  ‘Oh,’ Gilles looks thrown. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay. I’ve made up for it in later life. In activities, not dads, obviously. Besides, it was different then. Parents didn’t live to entertain their kids, you just went along with whatever they happened to be doing. You didn’t feel like the centre of anyone’s universe.’

  Now Annique is looking sad.

  ‘It was the same for all my friends.’

  This doesn’t help.

  ‘Oh god, all right!’ I despair. ‘Teach me to skate!’

  ‘Really?’ They both brighten.

  ‘Well I don’t suppose I’ll ever be more padded!’

  ‘Good girl!’ Annique cheers. ‘Sit down here and I’ll do your boots for you!’

  It’s a strange thing to well up over, but I do. My Puffa dumpling self squatting on a bench, with Annique kneeling before me like she has probably done hundreds of times with Coco, yanking off my boots, setting them to one side and now lacing up the leather ice skates, just like a mum would.

  ‘Not too tight?’

  ‘Just right,’ I tell her. ‘Does it count if I sit here in my skates and watch you two?’

  ‘No. Get up.’ Gilles is uncharacteristically forthright.

  I can’t decide if I’m better off holding onto them or trying to find my own balance. Either way I am completely and utterly freaked out.

  ‘You know, I really don’t think this is my thing,’ I announce after five minutes’ flailing and shrieking.

  ‘You just need to fall over,’ Gilles advises.

  ‘Yes, that’s my goal.’

  ‘No, so that you realise it’s not so bad.’

  ‘Listen,’ I say, holding up my hands and wiggling my gloved fingers. ‘These babies are my livelihood – if I can’t type how I can I write?’

  ‘If you break all your fingers, I’ll buy you a dictation machine and personally type up your notes, I promise.’

  ‘God, you sporty people are always so persistent!’ I complain. ‘I don’t go around trying to enforce my slovenly, cowardly state on you!’

  And then, out of the blue – or should I say out of the black – the sky starts popping and cracking and fizzing with fireworks.

  ‘Look at that!’ I gawp upward.

  ‘Come over here, you can see better … ’ Gilles pulls me over to the right.

  I can’t tear my eyes away from the sky – I love that golden shower effect! The spangles that stay suspended long after the initial burst, the manically whizzing-whistling streaks …

/>   ‘A little further.’ Annique moves forward and I follow.

  ‘Just keep going,’ Gilles encourages.

  Before I even realise it, I have found a rhythm.

  ‘I’m skating! I’m skating!’ I gasp, amazed, looking down to see exactly what my feet are up to.

  And that’s when I fall over. Taking Gilles and Annique with me in a big tumble of limbs.

  Oomf-doomf-thwack!

  ‘Hands in the air, hands in the air!’ I cry as I right myself.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Everybody put their hands up!’

  ‘It’s all right Krista, everyone still has all their fingers,’ Annique tries to calm me.

  ‘And you can still move your legs?’

  ‘I will be able to when you move off them.’ Gilles wriggles free of my bulky bottom.

  Meanwhile the fireworks crescendo towards their mega-watt finale – zapping and clashing and overlapping like a celestial superhero fight: Kapow! Zowee! Zing! Take that!

  We sit there in a happy heap, looking up at the dazzling explosions, and then it dawns on me; all the places I have been in the world hoping to have a profound thought or revelation – gawping out across the Grand Canyon, standing beside the Ganges river, closing my eyes as the Islamic call to prayer wafts over me in waves of Arabian heat – and here I am having the least earth-shattering thought and it’s far and away my favourite:

  I really like it here. I really, really do …

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It’s still dark when Sebastien comes to collect me at the auberge. I’m so disorientated I almost climb into the boot along with my overnight bag, packed to cover all eventualities.

  Though I am somewhat loathe to leave Quebec, I am more than a little curious about meeting Jacques’ father, because it will be like discovering another aspect to this man who has quickly become the focus of my day. And perhaps it will clarify the link between two such different brothers, though it may just be the inherited athleticism Jacques referenced when we had lunch at Parliament yesterday. I smile to myself. Parliament indeed! Quebec is a hard act to follow!

  It’s only when the sun starts to rise and I reach the halfway point in my flask of coffee that I regain my ability to converse. Much to Sebastien’s disappointment.