A Perfect Paris Christmas

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘Yes,’ Keeley answered. Except there hadn’t really been a man on her scene since well before she got her new kidney. And even then there hadn’t been any dates that had lasted past the first few – her choice. She had always preferred to be head down in work-related activities or spending time at the weekends with Rach and Bea. The expos or, in the summer, music festivals where Bea was always the first to complete putting up the tent. It was Keeley’s thought that if someone was her Mr Right then it would happen just like that, bam! A string quartet would play and fireworks would crackle and fizz. Or, at least, work would automatically start to slip a little down the list to make room for him. But, as yet, it hadn’t happened. And, of course, everyone she met now was greeted with a transplant story before they’d drunk the first drink. She had promised Rach not to do that here though. Except until they had met any men she didn’t have the chance to try that out. Although, there had been Sebastian, their driver, and then the guy who had saved them in the revolving door and Antoine, the receptionist. And absolutely no ‘I’m a two litre of water a day, limited caffeine kind of a girl’ faux pas had occurred.

  ‘It’s two-thirty,’ Rach informed, checking her watch.

  ‘Is it?’ Keeley answered. She shivered. They had thirty minutes until they met Silvie for afternoon tea. Another involuntary shudder rocked her and she pretended to herself it was the bite of the breeze.

  ‘How are you feeling about it?’ Rach asked.

  ‘Terrified,’ Keeley admitted. ‘I feel like… I don’t know… like I don’t want to be a disappointment to her.’

  ‘What?’ Rach laughed.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ Keeley said, a smile reaching her lips. ‘I feel more responsible for the upkeep of this body part than I did before when it was just my mum with the vested interest.’

  ‘You can’t think like that. It’s yours now,’ Rach reminded. ‘Your body. Your kidney. Your life.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You don’t get a used car and have the old owner telling you how to drive it, do you?’

  ‘I guess not.’ Keeley didn’t know how she felt about being compared to a second-hand vehicle.

  ‘And why would she be disappointed? You’re amazing.’

  Keeley smiled again. It was nice of Rach to say so, but she kept thinking that her real shot at amazing had been pre-accident with her eye on the home design prize career. Now, with her job at Roland’s estate agency, it all felt a little bit second best. But maybe that’s what you had to be happy with after a transplant. She was lucky to be here at all and no one knew how long this degree of normal was actually going to last. Her forever was likely going to be a lot shorter than the average twenty-six-year-old.

  ‘Anyway,’ Rach said again, snapping more pictures through the fence as they moved along it, taking in different aspects of the view. ‘What about her? You might not think much of Silvie Durand when you meet her. And her daughter might have been a horrible person.’

  ‘I’m not sure anyone who has signed up to be an organ donor could be a horrible person.’

  ‘O-K,’ Rach said, seemingly thwarted on that line of conversation. ‘Well… she might… not like… burned toast. I mean, total heathen if she didn’t like that. Or, she might not… do any charity work like you do with the hospice.’

  Straightaway Keeley thought about Erica, her lovely friend who was so special to her, getting weaker every day. She drew her phone from the pocket of her coat and began to take photos. ‘Most people don’t have time for charity work. It isn’t that they don’t want to.’

  ‘Well,’ Rach said, ‘all I’m saying is, without sounding too ungrateful about the trip… you are awesome and don’t let this swaggy French woman with her free Eurostar tickets and our presidential-style suite make you feel inadequate. Because you’re not.’

  Somehow, amid this pep talk, Keeley couldn’t help but feel more inadequate than ever. She focused her phone camera on the view, zooming in to get a closer look at L’Arc de Triomphe. She had to make sure that she enjoyed the experiences for Erica too and shared as much as she could with her. She should do a video so Erica could hopefully feel a little like she was there too.

  ‘God,’ Rach breathed. ‘Don’t look now but I think that guy is going to propose.’ She put one hand to her chest and the other on Keeley’s shoulder, turning her to the scene.

  Keeley watched, expectant, fully invested already as the young man wearing dark jeans and a padded jacket dropped to his knee next to his female companion. Rach let out a squeal… and then they both sighed heavily in unison.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Rach said with a grunt.

  ‘Oh,’ Keeley said, in disappointment.

  ‘Who does up their shoelace at the top of the Eiffel Tower? Who, I ask you?!’

  ‘Come on,’ Keeley said, putting her arm through Rach’s and leading her towards the inside. ‘We have sandwiches and cakes to get to.’

  Fourteen

  L’Hotel Paris Parfait, Tour Eiffel, Paris

  The afternoon tea spread was glorious. Four tiers of food ranging from rectangular-cut sandwiches – egg mayonnaise, salmon and cucumber, a soft cheese with chives, thick ham with a bright yellow chutney – to scones with pots of fresh cream and strawberry jam, then cakes (chocolate eclairs, tarte citron, Paris-Brest and macarons). Keeley could see that Rach was ready to dig in. Her friend had furled and unfurled her napkin several times and had carefully turned the display a full three-sixty twice, her fingers grazing the edge of the scones as if trying to ‘accidentally’ loosen a crumb or six… Keeley looked at her watch again. It was ten past three. It was official. Silvie was late.

  ‘She’s probably stuck in traffic,’ Rach said, doing her best-friend mindreading again.

  ‘Yes,’ Keeley said. She lifted herself off the chair a little and flattened down her taupe-coloured woollen skirt. She had quickly changed out of her jeans before they came down to the dining room, feeling as if she wanted to be a touch smarter for the meeting, even after everything she and Rach had discussed over that Parisian view from the top of the tower. Making an effort didn’t have to mean her everyday was ordinary, just that she regarded this meeting as important. It was kind of momentous really.

  ‘The traffic is mental here,’ Rach continued, fingers tracing the rim of one of the elegant plates. ‘More than the Blackwall Tunnel kind of mental.’

  ‘Yes,’ Keeley replied. She looked towards the door again. She had already decided exactly what Silvie was going to look like. She would be tall. She would be one of those French women who oozed confidence from the balls of their designer-boots-clad feet to the crown of their thick, luscious hair. She would have dark hair, long but well-managed. She would carry a large handbag full of expensive make-up products with a purse containing business cards for all the best boutiques. Somehow Keeley sensed Silvie would give off all the strong and successful.

  ‘You’re not listening, are you?’ Rach said, interjecting into Keeley’s thought process.

  ‘Sorry… I was… it’s just…’

  ‘I know,’ Rach said. ‘It’s gone three and she’s late and you’re worried she’s not coming.’

  It was exactly that. Surely Keeley wasn’t going to have come all this way, having been invited here, to be stood up. It had to be traffic, didn’t it?

  ‘Excusez-moi, there is something wrong with your food?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Antonie! You scared the shite out of me!’ Rach exclaimed.

  ‘It is Antoine,’ the concierge replied through gritted teeth yet still with a smile on his face. ‘You do not like the afternoon tea selection?’

  ‘No,’ Keeley answered, patting an imaginary crease out of her skirt. ‘That is, yes, I’m sure it’s delicious but—’

  ‘We are waiting for someone,’ Rach told the man. ‘In England it’s rude to start eating before everyone’s arrived… unless you’re really really hungry and haven’t eaten anything since breakfast… hours ago.’

  ‘You are waiting for anothe
r guest?’ Antoine pulled a face like this was news to him and removed a small electronic device from the pocket of his trousers. He started to tap at it with his long, slim fingers, eyes visibly flitting from side to side as he checked out the screen.

  ‘Yes,’ Keeley answered. ‘Mrs… I mean, Madame Durand? She booked the afternoon tea with you?’ Keeley’s mouth felt arid. Never mind eating, she really did need to drink something soon. Could you get dehydrated in close-to-freezing temperatures?

  ‘Ah! My apologies,’ Antoine said, eyes coming away from the device. ‘Maybe I was not clear. Madame Durand made the booking for only two people. You, Ms Andrews and…’ He looked at Rach. ‘Your guest.’

  ‘It’s Rach,’ Rach answered huffily, pulling down her micro-mini.

  ‘Oh,’ Keeley said, disappointment taking hold of her insides and shaking them like a tambourine. ‘I assumed she would be joining us.’

  ‘Antoine!’

  ‘Excuse me, Ms Andrews… Rash…’ He left their table.

  ‘Did he just call me Rash?!’ Rach exclaimed, infuriated. ‘Bloody nerve of him!’

  Keeley felt completely deflated. The moment the afternoon tea had been mentioned on their arrival she had imagined meeting Silvie and starting to get to know more about Ferne. Initially, she might have thought it was too soon, but now she had all that anticipation followed by… nothing.

  ‘Let’s look on the bright side,’ Rach said, fingers already crawling towards the sandwiches. ‘At least we can start on the food.’

  Except there was no bright side right at this moment. It had been a whole giant sizzling bonfire of emotions and expectations and now it was as if someone had hosed the whole thing down with everything a fire hydrant had to offer. Keeley rose from her chair again, but this time she wasn’t going to untuck her skirt.

  ‘I… need to get some fresh air.’

  ‘Keels,’ Rach said, seeming to be caught between getting up too and stuffing a salmon sandwich in her mouth.

  ‘It’s OK. I… just need some air and… a minute. I need a minute.’ Suddenly it felt like the ultra-contemporary and sumptuous surroundings in the restaurant were crowding her. It was all different and… foreign and currently Keeley was feeling a little misled. She ignored Rach’s second attempt to get her to stop and instead, grabbed her coat and hurried from the room. Removal men were attempting to install a very large Christmas tree in reception and pine needles were scattering all over the floor. Baubles slipped off boughs and dropped to the tiles. It was chaos she didn’t need. She headed to the exit.

  Maybe her mum had been right. Was it better not to know anything about her donor and her family? Keep a distance? Had Silvie perhaps also had second thoughts about the whole thing? Keeley ignored the revolving door and instead opted to push at the smaller door next to it. She needed that rush of real air and she needed it now. Barrelling through, she waited for the icy temperatures to hit her cheeks…

  ‘Ow!’

  Instead something hit her – and not just on her cheeks. It was full-on body contact with something hard and firm and she was currently spiralling her way down to the pavement.

  Fifteen

  ‘Non!’ a voice ordered. ‘Non! Non! Non!’

  There was a loud clatter and for a millisecond, Keeley thought it was her body meeting the cobbles, but it wasn’t her bones that were breaking, it was her fall. Two strong arms were underneath her and she was suspended, gazing upwards, the strong winter sunlight refracting and making it almost impossible to see anything. Although… Focusing, her breath catching in her chest, Keeley made out the features of the person who was holding her. Dark wavy hair, a little tousled, angular features including a not unattractive nose, and rather appealing grey eyes…

  The man said something else in French and Keeley couldn’t reply. She wasn’t sure whether it was because she didn’t have the local vocabulary or because she was winded.

  ‘Can you stand?’ the man asked, tipping her upright almost in a move like he was trying to rid her of vertigo.

  ‘I… yes…’ She was on her feet again now and he hadn’t given her much choice in the matter.

  ‘Where the hell is it?’ The man was spinning around now, looking up and down the street outside the hotel. He picked up a plastic carrying box, its metal gate swinging loose at the front and peered inside. ‘Fuck!’ That word wasn’t French.

  ‘Was there… something in there?’ Keeley found herself asking.

  ‘Yes!’ he snapped a reply. ‘And it wasn’t mine! I borrowed it and I have to take it back in a couple of hours before anyone notices it is missing.’

  ‘O-K,’ Keeley replied. Was this man sane? Or was this some sort of avant-garde street entertainment the French were keen on?

  ‘Can you look behind the bags?’

  He was pointing now at a collection of refuse sacks to the left of the hotel. This was so bizarre. But Keeley found herself stepping towards the pile of bin bags… Was it a cat or a dog that had escaped?

  ‘What am I looking for and does it have a name?’

  ‘Pepe,’ the man replied.

  ‘OK,’ Keeley said. She picked up a bin bag and looked beneath, but how this man thought an animal could have got under it without them seeing was a bit mad in itself. She shook another bin bag to make sure. ‘Is Pepe a cat or a dog?’

  There was no reply and, when Keeley turned around, the man had disappeared. Where was he? She sighed. Why did she care? She had come outside to try and quell the irritation of being stood up and maybe regroup. Suddenly, she gasped as the man appeared from behind a giant green recycling bin. He still looked harried. He still looked attractive…

  Keeley swallowed. ‘Is Pepe a cat?’ she repeated. ‘Or a dog?’

  ‘A penguin,’ the man replied almost nonchalantly. ‘Not something I can easily pick up a replacement for.’

  ‘What?’ Keeley exclaimed. ‘Did you say penguin?!’

  He couldn’t have said ‘penguin’. That was craziness of the highest order. Who carried around a penguin on the streets of Paris? Who carried around a penguin at any time? Unless you were… heading for a zoo. Keeley side-eyed the man as he mounted a large bin on wheels and the top half of his torso disappeared completely inside. He didn’t look like a zookeeper. He was wearing a three-piece suit underneath his dark, expensive-looking woollen coat, smart brown shoes… She shook herself. She should retreat now. This penguin business wasn’t her business. She was here on the street to get her head together. She should focus on the festive lights being strung up across the street and a stall of shabby chic Santas and star ornaments doing a roaring trade…

  The man popped back up, a piece of orange peel in his hair. ‘Have you seen him?’ he asked her.

  ‘No, I… don’t know where else to look.’ And helping strangers recover animals who should be living in the Antarctic wasn’t her remit.

  ‘There!’ the man shouted, pointing a finger to a bright red fire hydrant. ‘Pick up the box!’ He took off in hot pursuit.

  Before Keeley knew it, she was doing as he’d asked, snatching up the carrier and charging down the street after him… and it. She could just see Pepe the penguin, running at quite a pace, weaving in and around passers-by making a hideous squawking noise and flapping its flippers like it intended to defy everything known about its species and its lack of taking-to-the-air ability.

  Who knew penguins could run so fast? Or that a creature usually known for being cute could terrify the crap out of the citizens of the French capital? Yapping dogs were fear-whining and retreating as it flashed past them, grown businessmen were clutching their iPhones to their ears and leaping out of its path… and now Pepe was heading for the road.

  ‘Excusez-moi! Excusez-moi! Bouge toi!

  The man was getting caught up in a group of people who were coming together in an attempt to take a selfie with the Eiffel Tower in the background. Pepe was about to sprint off the pavement and into traffic. Mopeds gathered pace beeping their horns, taxis continued to buzz alo
ng and now there was a van revving its engine as a pod from its roof extended out and up, a man in its basket ready to hang Christmas garlands. Keeley couldn’t wait. Dropping the carrier down, she stepped up her pace. Then, praying it wasn’t going to hurt too much, she launched herself forward, hands outstretched, focusing on her black and white feathered target…

  The pavement rose up to meet her and its cold, hard concrete impacted through the thick padding of her coat. But her fingers had definitely met small and fuzzy and she clung on, ignoring the ache in her ribs and concentrating on establishing her connection with the animal, dragging it towards her and out of the gutter. A bicycle rang its bell in warning and then suddenly Keeley found herself propelled backwards.

  *

  Ethan caught his breath as he sat on the ground. There was now a woman and the penguin between his legs, only a few inches away from the roaring of the Paris traffic. He felt sick, as if the sweets he had consumed were going to make a reappearance. He was also completely out of breath. He really did need to get back to the gym.

  ‘I’m… not sure how long I can hold it for.’

  Ethan shifted then, gently moving the woman’s weight from his body and shuffling around her to grab Pepe who was squawking like he could front a heavy metal band.

  ‘I did not know it was going to be so… crazy,’ Ethan admitted to her. ‘But that might pay off later.’ He watched as the woman gingerly got to her feet, travelling back a few paces to where she had abandoned the carrier. She brought it over and Ethan managed to place the bird inside before ensuring it was securely locked this time. He turned away from the animal to the woman, noticing she hadn’t quite caught her breath yet and seemed to be holding the side of her body.

  ‘You are hurt?’ he asked her.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You spoke the words like you are not fine at all.’