by Karen Clarke
Ryan threw her a sheepish smile. ‘I actually have a case for Grace, my main character, to solve, but feel like there’s something missing. And I don’t see a place for the parrot in this story, but readers seem to love him.’
‘You have to keep him in because he adds humour,’ I said. ‘Maybe he could just take a back seat this time.’ I rested my elbows on the table. ‘What you need is an adversary for Grace. Someone who’s her opposite.’ I was warming to my theme. ‘Maybe another detective, who keeps getting in the way. A new partner, perhaps.’
A series of expressions passed over his face, and I couldn’t tell whether he was giving it some thought, or wondering who I thought I was, telling him what to write.
‘Maybe,’ he said at last, turning his head to get a clearer view of me – probably not advisable in my current, pink-faced state. ‘An adversary.’ He nodded, his gaze becoming distant, as if a scene was playing out in his head. ‘I actually hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Nina’s very creative when she puts her mind to it,’ said Dolly, as though I was seven years old.
‘First I’ve heard of it,’ murmured Charlie and I kicked him under the table again.
‘Ow!’
‘Just remember to credit me in the acknowledgements,’ I said to Ryan.
‘Remember your first book signing, when our old English teacher came, and said she was surprised you hadn’t acknowledged her because she was the one who spotted your talent?’ said Charlie.
Ryan gave a rueful smile and took a sip of wine. ‘Shame she never mentioned it at the time.’
‘Does your book have a title yet?’ I quite fancied brainstorming ideas, and was almost disappointed when he nodded.
‘The Rising Dawn.’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘The publisher decided on a time of day theme, after The Midnight Hour.’
Charlie grinned. ‘Well, you’ve plenty of scope with twenty-four hours in the day.’
‘How about A Late Lunch Break for book three?’ I said, gratified when everyone laughed – Frank a little too heartily.
‘A Minute Past Noon for book four,’ Charlie offered, and Frank almost choked into his napkin.
‘So, what do you do for a living?’ Ryan asked me, once Dolly had suggested An Afternoon Nap and the hilarity had settled.
‘She breeds unicorns,’ said Charlie, still in a silly mood.
‘That would actually be an amazing job.’ I thought of my travel-blog plan, and was wondering how to describe it in a way that sounded interesting, when I heard a ringing phone.
‘Can’t Elle leave you alone?’ I joked to Charlie, but he shook his head.
‘Not mine.’ He was looking at Ryan. ‘Must be you.’
‘Sorry,’ he murmured. He leaned forward and tugged his mobile from the back pocket of his jeans. ‘It might be my agent,’ he said. ‘She warned she might call to see how I’m getting on.’
‘You’d better take it.’ Dolly passed an excited smile around the table. ‘How exciting to have an agent.’
‘Probably calling to massage his writer’s ego,’ Charlie said. ‘Apparently, last time, she told him to stop whining like a brat and write like a mofo.’
I melted into giggles, then stopped when I realised Ryan wasn’t answering his phone, but was staring at the screen with a look on his face poised somewhere between sorrow and irritation.
‘What is it?’ I asked, at the same time as Charlie spoke.
‘I thought you were going to block her number.’
I fell silent, realising he was talking about Ryan’s ex.
‘It might be about the children,’ he said, just as the call cut out, and I caught the name Nicole on the screen, and an image of a woman with tumbling, sun-kissed hair, cuddling a pair of young children with the same grey eyes and dimpled smile as hers.
‘What are their names?’ I said as Ryan stuffed the phone back in his pocket, even though I already knew from my eavesdropping session at the apartment.
For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer. ‘Jackson and Lulu.’ His voice was terse and he didn’t look at me.
‘How old are they?’
‘Three and eighteen months.’
‘They look really cute.’
‘They are.’ His words stuck to the silence that had fallen. The music had stopped, and Frank’s hands were suspended over his dinner plate, as if to continue eating would be disrespectful.
After a moment’s hesitation, Ryan pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘Thanks for a lovely meal, Dolly, but I think I’ll head off now,’ he said, with what sounded like forced brightness.
Disappointment sliced over Dolly’s face. ‘But you haven’t had dessert.’
‘I need a bit of fresh air.’ He softened the words with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and I wondered whether he was planning to call Nicole in private. ‘Charlie can have my share.’
‘Don’t worry, mate, I will.’ Charlie stood and slapped his friend on the back and after the door had closed behind him, sat back down, biting his bottom lip.
I looked at my plate, questions swirling in my head, unsure what I had done wrong, and jumped when Dolly clattered her cutlery down. ‘Frank, let’s give them a demonstration,’ she said, holding out a hand.
‘Now?’ He threw her a tender smile. ‘Shouldn’t we at least finish eating?’
‘We can have a little break before pudding.’ She leapt up and fiddled with the music player, and once the beat had resumed, waggled her fingers at him. ‘Come on,’ she implored. ‘Let’s show them how it’s done.’
Frank valiantly rose with a playful twitch of his eyebrows as Dolly framed a pose, arms ready to receive him. ‘You know I can’t resist you.’
Charlie groaned and muttered please, no, but as they began twirling and foot-flicking on the honey-coloured floorboards, stepping forward and back and rotating to the beat with effortless ease, it was difficult not to be impressed and clap along. Or rather, I clapped along and tapped my feet, while Charlie watched though his fingers, a smile pulling at his mouth. Not for the first time, I admired Dolly’s ability to rescue a situation – or at least create a diversion.
‘Bravo!’ I cheered as they executed a final twirl and dip, Dolly’s head alarmingly close to the floor, Frank puffing a little too hard, and I felt the warmth of an evening spent with people wrap around me, and the cloud that had hovered over me for months, lifted.
Eleven
I was literally shaken awake the next morning from a dream about a moonwalking snowman, to see Dolly’s face looming over mine. ‘A customer wants a word with you,’ she said without preamble.
‘Wha—?’ I struggled upright, rubbing sleep from my eyes, with a feeling of déjà vu as I watched her cross to the window and open the curtains. ‘What time is it?’
‘Just gone nine.’ She turned to look at me, hands braced on her hips. She was wearing a lipstick-red jumper with parading reindeers on the front, as well as her usual work apron, trousers and chunky black trainers.
‘What’s with all the jumpers?’
‘It’s to get my customers in the mood for Christmas; they’re starting to warm to them,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d like a lie-in after your exertions last night.’
I grinned, remembering our dance session. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘It was a really lovely evening.’
She smiled. ‘Come on, love, she’s waiting.’
‘Hang on.’ I sat up straight as her words sank in. ‘Who wants to talk to me?’
‘A customer.’
I frowned. ‘About what?’
‘I don’t know, love.’
‘Who is it?’
‘I told you. A customer.’
‘Male or female?’
‘Female.’
‘And you don’t know who she is?’
‘Of course I know, but her name won’t mean anything to you.’
‘Why does she want to speak to me?’
‘I don’t know, love.’
‘Didn’t you
ask her?’
‘I haven’t got time for twenty questions, Nina.’
‘I do have plans today.’ I made a show of glancing at my notepad, when all I could think about were the letters in the bedside drawer. I wanted to do a bit of research on Maggie’s dad and check out a few dates. ‘Oh, and I’m going to Chez Phillipe for dinner this evening,’ I said, remembering Charlie’s recommendation. ‘So I can recommend it on my blog.’ The word blog felt clumsy in my mouth – almost like a swear word. ‘Would you like to come with me? I’d love to treat you to dinner.’
‘That would be lovely,’ Dolly said, and patted my leg through the duvet. ‘See you downstairs.’
I hurriedly pulled on my jeans, a fresh jumper and my boots. Sticking my head out of the bedroom door, the only signs of life I could detect were from the café below, where the clash of crockery competed with the hiss of the coffee machine and muted voices.
Perhaps Ryan was still sleeping. He’d been in bed when Charlie and I returned the night before, and we’d crept around with theatrical care so as not to wake him, shushing each other in exaggerated whispers while I helped Charlie make up his sofa bed.
As I headed to the bathroom, I wondered whether Ryan had called Nicole back and spoken to his children. They must be missing him, and it wasn’t their fault he no longer wanted to be with their mother.
Brushing my teeth, it hit me that I might actually like him if he didn’t have so much baggage. He was Charlie’s best friend, so couldn’t be all bad, and there was no denying he was attractive.
I paused, lips foaming with toothpaste.
Where had that come from? Ryan wasn’t my type – at least, he was the total opposite to clean-shaven Scott, with his swept-back blond hair and piercing blue eyes. As useless as a concrete parachute, Dad had joked after meeting him, when Scott had managed to work in a quote from Henri Matisse – Derive happiness in oneself from a good day’s work – but Dad measured most people on how useful he thought they’d be around the farm.
Admittedly, Scott had looked out of place, clambering from his shiny Maserati in a suit, still bronzed from our recent trip to Florence, where he’d focused on showing me the contemporary art scene, and I’d tried not to yawn too much, but I’d liked that he was so different to the boyfriends I’d had before. (I was certain to this day that Matt Devlin in Year Six had only asked me out to get a go on Dad’s tractor.) Obviously, I knew there was more to attraction than appearances, but someone with Ryan’s complicated personal life could never be a contender.
I banished an unexpected image of him, atop a bale of hay with an armful of lambs, and another of him shirtless with a scythe, à la the actor from Poldark.
I glanced at myself in the mirror. I looked flushed, dazed and wide-eyed and thought about slapping myself. Instead, I spat and rinsed, combed my hair with my fingers and headed downstairs.
As I entered the café, I nodded hello to Stefan behind the counter, attempting to keep a straight face when I spied his hand-knitted sweater, which had two woolly sprigs of mistletoe stitched to the front, on either side of his chest. From a distance, they looked like nipple tassels. ‘Nice,’ I managed, indicating the jumper, and his shy grin melted my heart.
‘I couldn’t bear to tell him,’ Dolly murmured, coming over with a tray of empty mugs, which she deposited on the counter. ‘Now, come and talk to Jacqueline.’
Jacqueline? The name sounded familiar for some reason. As Dolly led me to a corner table, I recognised the woman I’d followed into the café the day I arrived, sitting with her daughter, Holly.
‘Here she is!’ Dolly announced, as if introducing a mid-grade celebrity. ‘This is my niece, Nina Bailey.’
Charlie, who appeared to be having a violin lesson from an elderly man with mad-scientist hair, looked over and grinned and I gave him a wave.
‘Hi, Nina.’ The woman rose with a friendly smile. She wasn’t much older than me, with a wavy, highlighted bob that suited her face, and tiny Christmas baubles as earrings. ‘Nice to meet you.’
Holly was finishing a cup of milky hot chocolate and had a foamy moustache. ‘I like cats,’ she announced, looking up at me with serious brown eyes. ‘But that one scratchted me.’ She pointed an accusing finger at Madame Bisset, sitting at the next table with a ball of purring fur on her spacious lap.
‘Scratched,’ her mother corrected. ‘And you did pull its tail,’ she pointed out, sweeping a strand of hair behind her ear. It was thick and shiny, like my hair was before I butchered it.
‘And we couldn’t find a scratch, could we?’ Dolly said kindly. ‘I think Delphine was just telling you that she wanted to be left alone.’
Holly propped her elbow on the table and rested her head on her palm. ‘I want cake.’ She seemed keen to switch topics now she’d been caught out.
‘You’ve just had a croissant.’ Jacqueline indicated the crumb-scattered plate in front of her daughter. ‘You won’t have any room for lunch if you eat some cake,’ she added in an easy, maternal way.
Holly stuck out her bottom lip and swivelled to face the window, arms tightly folded across her chest. Her dark hair was a mass of curls I imagined were a nightmare to get a comb through. ‘I don’t want to talk,’ she said. ‘I want to see Grampsy.’
As we traded smiles – Jacqueline’s apologetic, Dolly’s sentimental, mine knowing (Dolly was definitely imagining her first grandchild) – I wondered whether I was going to be asked to look after Holly while her mother went Christmas shopping, or had her hair made even thicker and shinier. I hoped not. I had nothing against children (or thick, shiny hair) and hoped to have both myself one day but – right now – childcare in particular wasn’t on my agenda.
The thought brought me back to Ryan, and for a split second, I thought I saw him through the window, wearing his big coat, but when I looked closer, all I could see were people streaming past with drinks in cardboard cups, breath clouding the air. The snow was melting, dripping off guttering and turning to slush underfoot, but no one seemed to mind.
‘… what you did at the cottage.’
I realised Jacqueline was speaking and quickly tuned back in. ‘Sorry?’
‘I was saying, I’ve seen what you did at Grandpa’s cottage yesterday.’
‘Grandpa?’
‘Jacqueline is Gérard’s granddaughter,’ Dolly explained, her keep-up tone softened by a smile. ‘She and Holly are over from Scotland for a Christmas visit, staying in a guest house in the village.’
Things started slotting into place. Jacqueline, spoken in a French accent, meant I’d assumed Gérard’s granddaughter was local, but she must have grown up in Scotland with his son – her voice had a faint, Highland lilt – and the petite fille he’d referred to was Holly, his great-granddaughter.
‘He let you go through my grandmother’s things.’
Jacqueline’s words made my heart seize. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, growing hot. ‘I know I shouldn’t have done it, I got carried away, but I… he didn’t seem to mind.’ I threw Dolly a pleading look – not sure what I expected her to say – but her face was impassive. ‘If I’d known… or he’d mentioned you were here,’ I turned back to Jacqueline, ‘I would never have interfered, I—’
‘Oh no, don’t get me wrong.’ Jacqueline seemed bemused by my guilty bluster. ‘I wanted to thank you,’ she said, a smile creasing her eyes, which were a bright, sparkly blue – like Gérard’s. ‘We’ve wanted him to sort out that room for ages, but he just seemed stuck, as if he didn’t know where to begin. He would get cross and tell me off if I tried to help.’
‘So, you… you don’t mind?’
‘Mind?’ Her enviable hair swayed around her jaw as she shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am.’ She drew me into an unexpected hug. ‘You did an amazing job, Nina.’
‘Oh.’ I awkwardly patted her cashmere-clad back and wondered what perfume she was wearing. It made me think of the old-fashioned strawberry bonbons Gran had had a weakness for and my throat tighten
ed. ‘Well… thank you,’ I mumbled as Jacqueline let me go and sat back down, wondering whether I should mention taking the letters.
Holly turned, her eyebrows gathering. ‘You did a tidy for Hamish.’
‘Did I?’
‘He’s taken up residence in Grand-mère’s favourite chair, now it’s been stripped of clutter,’ said Jacqueline, picking up her cup of coffee with neatly manicured hands. ‘Honestly, Nina, it’s going to make a massive difference to us this Christmas.’ Her smile grew. ‘Dad’s even agreed to come over for a visit, and he hasn’t been for a while, and my husband’s flying out to join us on Christmas Eve.’
‘Wow, that’s… it’s amazing, I’m so pleased,’ I said, deciding not to mention the letters for now. ‘Thank you for being nice about it.’
Even before she added, ‘You could get paid for doing that sort of thing,’ the thought had planted like a pip in my head that I wouldn’t mind hearing such positive feedback on a regular basis. How lovely to do something for people that made them feel better – and something so simple too. Simple for me, at least. Clearly not for Gérard, or for a lot of people once their possessions took over, or had hung around so long they no longer made sense or gave comfort.
‘It’s just tidying up,’ I said, pretending not to hear Dolly’s dramatic tutting.
‘Margot’s asked if you’d do her,’ she said.
‘Pardon?’
‘Our resident writer.’ Dolly said it as though I should know who Margot was. ‘She finally sold her romantic space-fantasy series a few months ago and has bought the house two doors down from Gérard’s.’
‘He told her you’d helped him out,’ Jacqueline elaborated, leaning to help Holly into a cute tartan coat. ‘She’s moved in this week.’
‘The place is a mess and she asked if you’d pop round and organise a couple of rooms.’ Dolly looked incredibly pleased with herself.
‘I highly recommended you,’ Jacqueline added.
Clearly the Chamillon grapevine was even busier than the one back home. ‘That’s very kind of you, but—’
‘She’ll pay you,’ Dolly cut in. ‘She won’t be expecting you to do it for nothing.’