A Perfect Paris Christmas

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘So, I’ve been wondering, what you do… as a job I mean.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Do you work at the zoo?’

  ‘The zoo?’ He suddenly wondered if he might smell. He hadn’t managed a shower this morning. He had woken irritably at the early alarm call until he remembered who he was meeting for the run. Then it dawned on him. Pepe.

  ‘When we met you were chasing a penguin,’ Keeley reminded.

  He wanted the pathway to widen again, so they could jog next to each other. As cute as her bobbing ponytail and rear view was, he really wanted to look into her eyes. ‘I was.’

  ‘So, you don’t work at the zoo?’

  ‘Not the zoo,’ he answered. And he couldn’t tell her the truth about why he had acquired Pepe. He didn’t want her to think he was juvenile. And it had been juvenile. In the end his prank had played right into Louis’s hands. ‘I… work in…’

  Emerging from the narrow street and onto a bigger road there was the sudden sound of squealing brakes followed by a loud wail that sounded very much like a cry for help.

  Thirty

  For a second, Keeley froze. Those sounds. Metal on metal. A tell-tale crunch. And then she came-to as a cry hit the air.

  ‘Mon chien! Mon chien!’

  There was a small boy in the middle of the road ahead, his body draped over the prostrate form of a shaggy-coated brown-coloured dog. Keeley’s heart was already in her mouth as she powered towards them. It was the dog, not the boy. The boy had shouted out. The dog was not barking.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked.

  The boy cried out again, this time so loud and with such anguish that Keeley dropped to her knees onto the ground next to the possibly-ten-year-old. ‘It’s OK. It’s alright.’ She had no idea if it was going to be alright. The dog was very still and with the boy lying over it she couldn’t ascertain exactly what had occurred. She assumed, given the boy’s concern, and the dog’s lack of movement that the animal had to be injured.

  ‘Une voiture,’ the boy simpered, raising his head.

  ‘Tu!’

  Ethan had arrived and after this single first word that Keeley understood as ‘you’, he had started talking at speed in French to the child. She didn’t understand a word of it, so while the boy got to his feet she focused on the dog. It was breathing, but it was very slow and shallow, as if each rise and fall of its abdomen was taking it further and further away from this world…

  ‘Keeley,’ Ethan said. ‘This is a scam.’

  ‘What?’ she asked, looking away from the animal for a second then back to it again as if she was missing a vital component of the scene.

  ‘There is nothing wrong with the dog,’ Ethan carried on. ‘It will possibly not even belong to her. Come on. Let us carry on our run.’

  ‘Non!’ The boy was down on his knees again, hands in the dog’s mottled fur.

  Keeley looked up to Ethan. ‘I think the dog is really hurt.’

  ‘Impossible. This girl is from the street. Yesterday I thought she was simply looking for food, but now she is trying out one of the oldest tricks. Playing on your sentiments. Make sure your wallet is secure.’

  Had he really said ‘girl’? Keeley looked again at the now sobbing child who was cradling the dog’s slightly floppy head whispering softly in French. Was ‘he’ a ‘she’? It was hard to tell with her head covered by a hat and the rest of her/him dressed in gender neutral jeans and a baggy black jumper. ‘Ethan,’ she said her eyes now only on the dog, ‘I think the dog is genuinely very unwell.’

  ‘What?’

  His word was coated in shock and surprise and in a second he had joined her on his knees on the road as the boy/girl cried out again, body trembling.

  ‘Well… we can take it to a vet,’ Ethan said immediately.

  He made a movement like he was going to try and scoop the animal up from the concrete. Keeley reached out a hand, holding onto his arm and shaking her head. She whispered, ‘It’s best not to move him. Can you call someone? To come here?’

  ‘To come here?’ Ethan asked.

  Was that the right course of action? To keep the dog still? Or was Keeley saying that because she remembered the words of the paramedics when she’d been lying half pinned into the back of the taxi, being ordered not to turn her head or move even a centimetre, calling for Bea and reaching to hold her hand.

  She watched Ethan pull a mobile phone from the pocket of his joggers and make a call. She put an arm around the child, patting their shoulder. ‘Listen,’ she whispered. ‘You need to tell the dog you love him. Keep telling him so he can hear your voice. Tell him that he is the best dog in the whole world. That everything is going to be OK.’ A lump gathered in her throat as she lifted her eyes to Ethan who still had the phone to his ear, call not yet connected. ‘Can you… tell him in French.’

  ‘Her,’ Ethan repeated. ‘It is a girl.’ He took a deep breath and said some words in French. This seemed to make the girl cry anew and she buried her face deep into the dog’s mottled fur.

  Keeley put her hand on the dog’s tummy and closed her eyes channelling hopeful, bright thoughts. This dog had to survive. It had to. She had to be able to save someone. She began to talk. ‘What a lovely, handsome dog you are. So pretty and…’

  ‘He is a boy dog.’ It was the girl, juddering out the words, shoulders shaking with either cold or emotion or perhaps both. ‘His name is Bo-Bo.’

  ‘What a splendid name,’ Keeley said. ‘A really lovely, lovely name.’

  ‘Is he… going to die?’ the girl asked, raising large haunted chocolate brown eyes and looking to Keeley for the answers.

  Keeley watched the dog’s breathing. It was slower now, his abdomen barely moving at all. How many times had she sat next to someone at the hospice watching them come to the end of existence? She knew the signs in humans, knew humans had a will to hang on as long as they possibly could. Was it the same for animals?

  ‘Keep talking to Bo-Bo,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Someone is coming to help,’ Ethan said. ‘But I cannot sit here and just do nothing. I cannot. There must be something we can do. There must be. Where is it injured? There is no blood we can see… there is nothing. Perhaps it is in shock. Where is the car that has hit it? Did they just drive away?’ He reached out to the animal.

  ‘No,’ Keeley ordered, her chest tightening in response to the sentiment in his statement. ‘Really, Ethan, stop.’ She swallowed as he settled next to her again. ‘Just stop and… wait and… just be here.’

  *

  The street-girl who had taken chocolates from the Christmas tree at his hotel yesterday was crying like she was about to lose a parent rather than a probably flea-ridden mongrel with unravelling rope for a lead. But the sound was scratching at his heart.

  ‘There’s a good boy,’ Keeley whispered to the dog, her hand gently stroking its fur. ‘You’re such a good boy.’

  ‘Good boy… Bo-Bo. Be strong. You can do it. I… love you so much.’

  The girl wasn’t so tough after all and Ethan watched the tears spilling from her eyes like water from a fountain in Place de la Concorde. He didn’t know where to look. He couldn’t look at the girl anymore. He didn’t want to look at the ailing dog. So instead he focused on Keeley and the gentle words falling from her lips that were meant to comfort and soothe.

  Across the street a few people had gathered and were watching their odd group circled around the pet in the centre of the road. Where was that vet?

  Thirty-One

  Un Petit Café, Tour Eiffel, Paris

  The boulangerie-cum-café was a little like Ollivander’s shop from Harry Potter, but instead of boxes of magic wands, there were baskets and display cases filled with baguettes, croissants, madeleines and other sweet and savoury delights. Steam from the coffee machines and griddles was rising into the warm air misting up the windows that held a menagerie of quaint festive decorations – golden wire balls and small silver fir cones joined together by rustic rope. The eatery was starting
to get busy as the morning took hold and Keeley could only imagine what an odd threesome they made to onlookers.

  Ethan had taken charge when the vet had arrived. With the girl still sobbing, he had explained what they believed to have happened and the vet administered some medication that sent Bo-Bo to sleep. Unconsciousness and easier breathing. Not death. Although it took a few minutes, after the vet’s gentle examination of the pet, for the girl to be convinced that the man’s intention was preservation. And now, with Bo-Bo off to the surgery, they had come here to keep warm and wait for more information before deciding what to do next. A large plate of pancakes with bacon and a huge serving of mushrooms was keeping the girl from crying or actually saying anything at all.

  ‘You are OK?’ Ethan asked Keeley.

  She had already drunk half her cup of coffee, relishing the way it was warming her up. Her ribs were also a little thankful that their jog had been cut short. ‘I’m OK.’

  ‘I am sorry that our run did not turn out the way we hoped it might.’ He sighed. ‘By that, I mean, that I had hoped I could show you a little more of the city and no one would get hurt.’

  She looked at him. His hands were cupping his coffee, but he had not taken a sip of it. He still looked a little pale.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Keeley answered. ‘What else could we do but help?’ She indicated their café companion who was now squirting tomato ketchup all over everything on her plate.

  Ethan leaned forward then. ‘What is your name?’

  The girl looked up, chewing brutally. ‘I do not talk to strangers.’

  ‘How can I be a stranger?’ Ethan wanted to know. ‘We met yesterday and today I have bought you breakfast. I have also provided your animal with medical assistance.’

  ‘What is your name?’ the girl asked, shooting him a defiant look.

  ‘That is simple,’ Ethan said. ‘My name is Ethan Bouchard. Now, it is your turn.’

  She paused, fork in mid-air, then said a curt, ‘Jeanne.’

  ‘And your last name?’

  The girl shrugged her shoulders and carried on eating.

  Keeley picked up the conversation, keeping her tone light. ‘Where do you live? Won’t your parents be worried about you? You were out very early in the morning on your own.’

  ‘Parents?! Ha!’ Jeanne laughed loud and nudged Ethan with her elbow. ‘She thinks… that people like us have parents.’

  Keeley frowned. What did she mean? Did she have some kind of connection to Ethan?

  ‘You have had a shock,’ Ethan told her. ‘Bo-Bo being hit by a car.’

  The mention of her beloved animal’s name seemed to pull Jeanne back into a funk and she forked mushrooms between her lips, one of them falling out and dripping down her chin before landing on her plate. Keeley suspected Jeanne was going to clam up again. She watched as Ethan finally took a gulp of his coffee.

  ‘Where did you learn? You know, what you did,’ he suddenly asked Keeley as more café patrons headed in through the front door, a chill blast of the outside weather following them.

  ‘What I did?’

  ‘With the dog,’ he elaborated.

  ‘He has a name!’ Jeanne interrupted gruffly.

  ‘With… Bo-Bo,’ Ethan added.

  Keeley drew in a breath, gathering her coffee cup in towards her chest and thinking about Erica. ‘Well, it’s because I used to volunteer at my local hospital and now I help out at the hospice.’

  ‘Wow,’ Ethan breathed and then he seemed to reconsider her words. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes,’ Keeley answered. ‘I mean, it’s not much. In my spare time I spend a few hours every week visiting the patients who don’t have family. I read to them sometimes, or I just sit with the very poorly ones and I tell them things that are going on in the world… like, I don’t know, the Spice Girls making another comeback or… what Harry Redknapp is currently endorsing.’

  ‘That is Prince Harry’s new surname? The red nap?’ Ethan asked, looking super-confused. ‘I do not understand.’

  Keeley couldn’t help but smile. ‘No… he’s… someone else. It doesn’t matter.’ She wet her lips. ‘What I do at the hospice is… I try to make the patients’ lives a little bit lighter. I never think that being there is only about dying. I think it should still be about living. I help patients to… get the most out of those last moments.’ She smiled. ‘At least that’s what I try to do.’

  ‘Why do you do that?’ Ethan asked, his eyes meeting hers. ‘If that is not too much to ask. I would like to understand.’

  Jeanne dropped her knife and fork to her plate, sweeping up her glass of orange juice and gulping at it as if she hadn’t had a drink in a couple of days. She let out a satisfied gasp then looked at Keeley with a pertinent expression. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Why do you do that?’

  Both of them were scrutinising her now, waiting for some divine answer she wasn’t sure she wanted to give. But it was obvious from the silence and their expressions that they weren’t going to let this go.

  ‘I decided to volunteer at the hospital… after my sister died.’

  *

  Ethan inhaled and he knew he had failed to stop it being audible even above the hubbub of the café. He pushed his tongue into his teeth and kept his expression as neutral as he could. She had lost someone close to her, just like he had…

  ‘Was she very old? Or sick?’ Jeanne burst out.

  ‘Neither,’ Keeley said evenly. ‘She had an accident. The paramedics, they did everything they could that night but… she couldn’t be saved. And I… didn’t get to say the goodbye I wanted to.’ Her voice wasn’t so even now and Ethan looked to her fingers, clasping hold of the table, nails digging into the wood grain.

  She started to talk again. ‘I guess I wanted to give something back in memory of my sister and make a small difference. Help those who have the chance to recover and now… I help others through their final battle.’ She paused. ‘Everyone deserves someone holding their hand when they die.’

  Her words hit home hard as she turned her face towards him, their eyes connecting. She was the most special, selfless person and he found himself only wanting to find out even more about her.

  The moment was broken by the ringing of a mobile phone. It wasn’t his and Jeanne had turned her attention back to eating.

  Ethan took another sip of his coffee and watched Keeley stand up and answer.

  ‘Hello, Rach… sorry… no, I’m fine. Honestly. No, I didn’t get your messages I was… helping someone and… I forgot the time. Yes, I’ll be back for breakfast I promise. OK. Bye.’

  Keeley ended the call then retook her seat. ‘Sorry, that was my friend. She’d apparently sent me five texts and was considering calling the gendarmerie.’

  She smiled but Jeanne didn’t react so well. At the mention of the police the girl had shrunk a little into her seat.

  ‘I should go,’ Keeley said. ‘Unless you need me to wait for news…’ Her eyes went from Ethan to Jeanne then back again. ‘From the vet.’

  He watched Keeley finish her drink, making to leave. There was nothing she could do here. She had places to be. Except he didn’t want her to leave without knowing he would see her again.

  ‘If Bo-Bo dies will you come to the funeral?’ Jeanne said, all big water-filled eyes now and none of the insolence.

  ‘Funeral?’ Ethan balked.

  ‘You have to have faith, Jeanne,’ Keeley told her. ‘You believe in Bo-Bo, don’t you? You told me he is a clever dog.’

  ‘I saw the look on the face of the vet,’ Jeanne said, wiping her nose with her sleeve. ‘He does not believe he can be fixed.’

  ‘Hey,’ Ethan said, drawing the girl’s attention to him. ‘I believe he can be fixed. And I anticipate I will be paying a great deal of Euro once the fixing is done.’

  ‘A party then?’ Jeanne asked, eyes a little brighter. ‘If not a funeral then a party for his recovery.’

  ‘Will I be paying for that also?’ Ethan wanted to know.

  J
eanne’s face was turning red now as she hit him with a look that suggested a meltdown was going to ensue if he did not agree.

  ‘A party,’ Ethan announced. ‘Of course. We will make sure he will have the best survivor party a doggy could wish for.’

  ‘And you will come?’ Jeanne asked looking at Keeley.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Of course, I will come.’

  ‘We should… exchange numbers,’ Ethan said. ‘For… party arrangements.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Keeley agreed. ‘That makes sense.’

  ‘Good,’ Ethan answered as he created a contact on screen.

  Despite the unusual circumstances, it seemed that their next date was set.

  Thirty-Two

  Rue Lepic, Montmartre, Paris

  ‘I know I thought Noel’s tourist talk was a bit annoying, but his handwriting is worse than his droning on and on about facts and history. I can hardly see where we’re meant to be walking to,’ Rach moaned, folding and unfolding a tourist map that had lines drawn all over it.

  They were strolling through Montmartre, following a walk their guide had set out for them. But Keeley’s train of thought was miles away, not on the cobbles, nor in front of the apartment that used to belong to Van Gogh. Instead she was worrying about a scruffy little girl and her sick dog and her friend in the hospice back home who hadn’t answered her latest text. She had received a text from Silvie, though. It was an invitation to dinner the following evening at her home. She hadn’t mentioned the ballet, but Keeley guessed by now she would have heard from Louis that he had had a different theatre companion than the one Silvie intended. She hoped she wasn’t too annoyed.

  ‘Ha!’ Rach exclaimed, appearing to read. ‘Noel says to stop at somewhere called Les Petits Mitrons. He says, and I quote, “in the window there are tasty tarts for you to try”.’ She snorted. ‘Do you think he meant to write that note about the area around the Moulin Rouge instead?’

  Keeley forced a smile and put her hands inside her coat pockets as they continued to walk. They’d passed brightly coloured store fronts, still selling items outside on the street – jumpers, fresh seafood, the ripest-looking tomatoes – the famous Moulin Rouge with its iconic windmill on the roof, and traditional eateries as well as restaurants with flashing lights advertising seasonal twists on pasta and pizza. Now their surroundings had become more subtle and traditional. There were more cobbles, slightly less mopeds and a gentle vibe about it.