A Perfect Paris Christmas

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘No, you haven’t,’ Keeley answered quickly. ‘If anyone’s talked too much it’s—’

  ‘Me!’ Rach interrupted brightly. ‘And I’ve definitely drunk too much. In the volume sense, not the alcoholic sense. A pint and a jug of water and two coffees. Just popping to the loo.’ She put a hand on Keeley’s arm. ‘That OK?’ she whispered.

  It was nice that her friend was checking on her. But she really had no qualms about being left on her own with Silvie. ‘I’m fine,’ she told Rach.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ Rach said, standing up and moving away from her seat.

  ‘Another coffee, Keeley?’ Silvie asked her.

  Keeley shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I’m completely full too. It was a lovely lunch.’

  ‘It was, wasn’t it?’ Silvie answered. ‘I like it at this place, very much. Yes, it may be in the middle of the touristic area, but I like the… how do you say… the mood.’

  ‘I like the mood too,’ Keeley agreed. ‘It feels very grand, but at the same time it’s also cosy.’

  ‘You have a good feel for places, I can tell,’ Silvie said, taking another drink from her coffee cup.

  ‘Well, that’s kind of my job,’ Keeley admitted.

  ‘Really?’ Silvie said, showing surprise. ‘You told me that you work for an estate agency.’

  ‘Oh, I do. But I work there in a different capacity to Rach. They call me a “house doctor”.’ She smiled at what she considered to be a silly title.

  ‘A house doctor? What is this?’ Silvie asked. ‘When your home has a little rise in temperature do people ask you to visit and… give it medicine? Or maybe a dose of the vacuum?’

  Keeley laughed. ‘No, not like that. I’m a qualified interior designer but, lately, it’s been my job to stage homes before they are put on the market to sell.’

  ‘How fascinating,’ Silvie said, seeming truly taken with the idea.

  ‘I do enjoy it,’ Keeley said. She picked up her coffee spoon and absentmindedly stirred it around in the cup. ‘But I don’t think it’s quite enough for me.’

  ‘What is it you really want?’ Silvie asked her.

  Keeley lifted her eyes from the coffee then. ‘To rewind the past year.’ She sighed, preparing to divulge even truer feelings. ‘To have my sister back.’

  She swallowed. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that. Regressing in front of the very person who had enabled her to have a future at all wasn’t really on.

  ‘Sorry,’ Keeley blurted out.

  ‘Your sister?’ Silvie queried. ‘She has gone away?’

  ‘Oh,’ Keeley said, a lump the size of a sugar cube arriving in her throat. ‘You don’t know. I’m sorry. I mean, why would you know?’ She sighed, before starting again. ‘I lost my sister in the accident. The accident I was in.’ She paused. ‘Her name was Bea.’

  ‘Oh, you poor girl.’ Straightaway, Silvie had reached across the table and enveloped her hand in hers. It was a reassuring, gentle touch but also firm and supportive. ‘I had no idea,’ Silvie breathed.

  ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘No,’ Silvie said, sighing, fingers squeezing Keeley’s. ‘It is not OK. Here I am, telling you about my grief for Ferne and you are grieving too. Your sister. Your poor, poor parents.’

  Keeley nodded, telling her brain to hurry up and batten down the hatches. She could almost hear Bea telling her to stop being such a cry baby and eat the biscuits that had come with their coffees. Bea, the youngest of the family, but the one who’d had an infinite supply of strength and resilience in pretty much the face of anything. Keeley’s confidante and hair stylist… the one she had whispered secrets to in the night when they’d shared a bedroom.

  Keeley took a breath and spoke again. ‘My parents will forever be grateful that they didn’t lose both their children that night,’ Keeley told Silvie. ‘And that is what would have happened if it hadn’t been for Ferne.’

  Silvie shook her head, finally letting go of Keeley and picking up a serviette from the table to dab at her eyes again. ‘Look at me,’ she said, her voice rich with emotion. ‘I am leaking again.’

  ‘I leak too,’ Keeley responded, a small smile forming. ‘But lately it’s mainly from my hair. Cheap products.’ She pulled at a section to demonstrate, then instantly regretted it when a smear of brown appeared on her forefinger.

  It earned a light laugh from Silvie and she coiled the tissue up in her hand. ‘How old was your Bea?’

  ‘She was twenty-four,’ Keeley answered. Forever twenty-four. Always that upbeat, focused, funny individual thinking she had all the time in the world. She forced a smile. ‘She was living her best life which, when I look back at things now, I am so glad about.’

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘She was an engineer,’ Keeley said proudly. ‘She worked for a company designing different components to help repair or maintain bridges. Sometimes she got to design them from scratch. Bea was always the Lego builder of the family.’

  ‘That is such a wonderfully different job for a woman. Am I allowed to say that?’

  Keeley nodded. ‘She was up against six men for the position and she got it, fresh out of college.’ And Keeley still remembered how much they had celebrated the weekend after Bea had received the email. They’d had too much wine and pizza Bea had tried to build a replica Golden Gate bridge out of the crusts. Her little sister had been destined for such great things…

  ‘It is such a waste,’ Silvie said, tone regretful. ‘All of it. Is it not?’

  ‘Yes,’ Keeley agreed. She didn’t really know what else to say. ‘Tell me what Ferne did. You said she loved music and animals. Did she do either of those passions for a job?’

  Silvie shook her head then. ‘No. Ferne, she was in hospitality. Apart from the music and the animals there was nothing she liked more than people and parties. Her great gift was being able to communicate at every level. She would always treat people exactly the same, you know. It did not matter to Ferne if you were… say, part of the royal family or… someone who sleeps on the streets. She wanted to know you, no matter what you you were.’

  Her donor was kind. In touch with humanity. It all made perfect sense.

  ‘But Ferne was not without her faults,’ Silvie admitted. ‘She could have a temper when things did not go her way. She once gave me the silent treatment for a whole week when I did not immediately get on board with a plan she had for a charity summer fiesta.’

  ‘Phew,’ Keeley said tongue-in-cheek. ‘I was beginning to think she was a saint.’

  ‘Non,’ Silvie said. ‘Not a saint. A normal, ordinary girl who was living her best life too.’ She smiled at Keeley. ‘That always gives me comfort also. To know she was happy with life and not struggling with sadness, or illness, or the weight of the world.’

  ‘Yes,’ Keeley agreed. ‘I feel the same with Bea.’

  Silvie smiled again. ‘In a lot of ways we are lucky to have those perfect memories, no?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’

  ‘So,’ Silvie said, ‘you have plans for tonight?’

  ‘I don’t know. Rach mentioned maybe taking in a cabaret show one evening while we’re here but…’

  ‘Will you do one favour for me?’ Silvie asked her. ‘My son, Ferne’s brother, he is in Paris for Christmas and he has been away for some time. I have two tickets for the ballet tonight, but I need to be elsewhere. Would you go with him? It would be nice for you two to meet and maybe talk about Ferne a little more. To be honest, I think he has struggled with his grief even more than I have, although, he is a man and men can be very inverted. Is that the right word?’ She sighed. ‘What else can I say? Men tend to hide away things that they feel will show a weakness in them.’

  ‘I…’ Keeley didn’t know how to reply. It was odd, wasn’t it? To accept an invitation to the ballet with someone she didn’t know. She barely knew Silvie. And her donor’s brother. How would he feel about her being here?

  ‘I have asked too much. I am so sorry. Please, ign
ore me, forget I said anything.’

  Keeley was suddenly wracked with guilt. Ferne had saved her life. Silvie was paying for her to be here and she was so nice. What harm would it do to see a show with her son? As long as Rach could keep herself occupied and didn’t mind.

  ‘No,’ Keeley said. ‘You haven’t asked too much. But can I… can I think about it?’

  ‘But of course,’ Silvie agreed. ‘No pressure at all. I will send you the details and you can see what you think.’

  Keeley smiled and nodded as she saw Rach making her way back to the table. She took a deep breath. ‘OK.’

  Twenty-Four

  L’Hotel Paris Parfait, Tour Eiffel, Paris

  ‘I can’t go.’

  Keeley’s heart was racing so much it felt like she was still in those first tentative days of recovery, her body battered and bruised from the accident as well as the operation, a cast on her arm and a bandage around her skull, every breath bringing excruciating pain and utter fatigue. She’d got ready, even making a special effort with her outfit. She hadn’t been sure what people wore to go to the ballet in Paris, because the nearest she’d got to anything ‘theatre’ was watching Hamilton in the West End. And people didn’t tend to dress up for matinee performances at all…

  ‘What?’ Rach looked up from her phone.

  Keeley shook her head at her friend who was still sitting cross-legged on her bed like she had been since Keeley’s ‘getting ready’ had started an hour ago. It was six o’clock now. She was supposed to be at the theatre at half-past for pre-performance drinks. ‘It’s… too much.’

  Her breathing pattern felt uncomfortable and she put a hand to her chest, fingers brushing the burgundy corduroy fabric of the Topshop dress she was wearing. It was smart-casual at best, but it was long-sleeved and warm and more snow was predicted that night. She tried to steady the in and out motion, be mindful of her breath like the counsellor had taught her.

  ‘OK,’ Rach said, unfurling her legs and getting up. ‘You just need to relax. This isn’t a big thing.’

  ‘But it is a big thing,’ Keeley immediately blurted. ‘It’s a huge thing.’

  ‘It’s not a date,’ Rach said, making her way over to Keeley. ‘This is how you usually get before a date.’

  ‘I don’t have dates.’

  ‘OK, wrong choice of words.’ Rach started again. ‘This is how you get before we go out for drinks where there might be the chance of meeting someone.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have said I would go.’

  When they’d left Silvie outside Café Marly, Keeley had said again that she would think about it. And then, very quickly – obviously a little too quickly – under the influence of fine food and feeling that the lunch had been a success, she had actually accepted the ballet invitation. But now the thought of going and meeting another member of Ferne’s family so soon, felt insurmountable.

  ‘It’s been a big day already and… you wouldn’t be with me and… it’s a man and…’ Keeley stopped talking when she realised she didn’t know what else to say. Was she blowing this out of all proportion?

  ‘And what bit of that sentence is freaking you out the most?’ Rach asked. She was stood in front of Keeley now, her eyes locked on hers, soft yet definitely questioning her sanity. There had never been anywhere to hide when it came to her best friend. Rach was honest to a fault and never one for lowering the curtain on things. Sometimes Keeley was really grateful for it. Other times not so much… like right about now.

  ‘It’s not him being a man.’ Keeley blew out a breath she’d been holding tight, as if someone had knotted her throat like a party balloon.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Rach asked, still all scrutiny.

  ‘Yes.’ Keeley nodded. ‘I’m sure I would feel the same if I was supposed to be meeting a sister instead of a brother.’ She wasn’t completely sure.

  ‘So, it’s just the high drama of carrying around one of his sister’s internal organs.’

  ‘Just?’ Keeley said, letting go of another breath. She moved towards the balcony doors then, needing to look at something other than her best friend. It was dark outside now, Paris lights brightening the cloudy skies, headlights streaming back and forth along the road, cafés all warm and inviting, storefronts glittering with festiveness…

  ‘Well, how about I go with you?’ Rach said. ‘I’ll buy a ticket and I’ll come along.’

  ‘Do you think we could do that?’ Keeley asked, looking back to Rach.

  ‘No,’ Rach said. ‘It sounds exclusive and expensive and I probably can’t afford it. And there’s no way I’d be able to get a ticket anywhere near you. Plus, all my dresses are probably too short for the theatre.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  Keeley deflated again. She had been anticipating a pragmatic solution. Even though it shouldn’t be up to Rach to bail her out. It was easy. She either went to the ballet or she didn’t. A quick text to Silvie saying she didn’t feel very well wouldn’t be that far from the truth at all.

  ‘So… how did it feel meeting Silvie?’ Rach asked, checking her reflection in the glass and preening her hair a little.

  ‘It was actually better than I thought it would be,’ Keeley admitted. ‘She was nice and… she made things easy and calm, didn’t she?’

  ‘But you don’t think it can be like that tonight with her son?’

  ‘I don’t think I can do it all again this soon. I think that’s the issue,’ Keeley said, pangs of worry gathering in her stomach again. Silvie had suggested they meet up again in a few days’ time and a few days’ time was well-needed breathing space. ‘I think I’d much rather… go for a walk.’

  Looking back to outside, she felt Paris was calling. A quiet stroll along the Seine watching the illuminated boats drift by was what Keeley wanted. But perhaps it shouldn’t be about what she wanted. Being here was all about meeting Silvie. And Silvie wanted her to meet her son.

  ‘I could go,’ Rach said, breaking the silence. ‘You know… without you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, if you really feel you can’t go, I could take one for the team.’ Rach sniffed. ‘If they don’t have a dress length policy. And I know nothing about ballet. Except that all the dancers are a lot more graceful than me and all the men wear tight tights… OK… actually, thinking about it, maybe it’s right up my street.’

  ‘You’d do that?’ Keeley said, already feeling a wave of relief flow over her. ‘Go in my place?’

  Rach shrugged. ‘I’ve come here for you, Keels. This trip is meant to make you feel better and… empowered about getting your second chance, right?’

  ‘Right,’ Keeley replied. She felt the total opposite of empowered at the moment if she was honest.

  ‘So, you can either tell Silvie you’ve changed your mind and we can both head out for a walk and dinner at a nice brasserie…’

  ‘I’d like that,’ Keeley said. ‘But… I’d feel bad about letting anyone down at late notice.’

  ‘OK then, that’s decided.’ Rach said with a nod. ‘I’ll go to the ballet and meet Son of Silvie.’

  ‘God, I feel so much better,’ Keeley said, breathing out what felt like a whole tumult of anxiety.

  ‘Good,’ Rach said, nodding as she looked back to her reflection in the window of the balcony doors. ‘That’s settled then. Just promise to keep your mobile on – and not on silent – and let’s hope Son of Silvie is at least a little bit hot… and not too young for me.’

  Twenty-Five

  Dodo Manege, Jardin Des Plantes, Paris

  Ethan was blaming tonight on the street girl. After he had emailed his lawyer asking for advice on Louis Durand’s plan to try and sell the hotel chain, he had gone out for coffee and ended up standing outside the orphanage he had grown up in. From the exterior it looked like an almost quaint Parisian townhouse – impressive steps to the front door, Juliette balconies – but behind the not-at-first-noticeable bars on the windows, it had been the kind of dwellin
g depicted in television crime dramas. Ethan had stood there, almost trying to look through the bricks of the building and vividly remembering the deep, rich, coldness he’d endured each and every day. A bone-chilling icy temperature no high tog duvet could ever fix and the kind of wicked, cruelty that carers who should never have been carers had doled out. Was it still going on behind that charade of a façade? Was this the kind of place the street girl came from?

  Ethan shook his head now and took a sip from his take-out cup of coffee. He was thinking too much about the girl. Maybe she wasn’t an orphan or even in foster care. Perhaps she was just a thief and his feeling of false kinship was because of what was happening with the hotels right now. He should have guessed this was coming. Without Ferne here, the Durands were always going to revert to type. Rich people liked rich people. They didn’t like strays like him. Guttersnipes shouldn’t exist in their world. They turned a blind eye and willed extinction.

  Endangered species. Ethan watched the menagerie of animals in front of him slowly rotating to music. Drawn to a carousel! Drinking coffee and refreshing his email inbox! What a life! Ferne would be laughing at him now if she were here. As hard as she had worked, she had played equally as much. She had always, somehow, been able to switch off as quickly as she switched on. And this children’s ride amid the Jardin Des Plantes was a throwback to his youth. The very place he had first met Ferne. These model animals on the ride were all extinct or endangered. Unlike the more familiar fairground horses, this circular whirl comprised of a dodo, a Barbary lion, a horned turtle, a panda and other animals dead, or on the brink of eradication.

  A young Ethan hadn’t really thought about what these animals were when he had snuck on for a free ride, but Ferne had shown him the guide on a small plaque next to the roundabout. The animals had been as foreign to him as the girl who had ridden next to him. She had been all smart clothes and long words – even at that age – and he had marvelled at her mere existence. Back then, young, knowing nothing about a brighter, lighter world outside the walls of the orphanage, everything about the moments Ethan achieved when he snuck out felt exotic. The smell of the air, mingling with other scents that invigorated his soul – fresh, rich coffee he had never tasted but longed to, sweet pastries that sang of sugar and syrup, the water of the Seine, its smell a muddied mix of fresh water and for some reason, pigeons. Ferne smelled like a light summer’s day wrapped up in a covering of Chanel, a delicate perfume the exact opposite of the clawing brand the manager of the orphanage wore over her body like a second skin. Ferne was joy and hope with a laugh that could have made the sullenest tramp crack a smile at life. From that very first encounter, Ethan had wanted to find out exactly what it was that made someone so in love with being alive.