‘But there is a difference this time,’ he continued. ‘In the beginning I was determined not to be captured, by anything, by anyone. Now I feel that the choice I made then was the choice of a different person, a person that was so broken he thought he could never start to repair.’
‘And now?’ Orla asked softly.
‘And now I see myself worrying hard about Delphine, wanting Tommy in my life more, wondering if the time has come to speak to my mother and try to understand my father… to open myself up to a writer fromTravel in Mindmagazine.’
‘Oh, really,’ Orla said, her cheeks hot not from the fire.
‘Orla, I do not know the rules here. I do not know if I am built for any kind of relationship, but I know that if you left here and I did not say this then I would regret it forever.’
Her heart was burning but no words were coming.
‘I want to know you, Orla. I want to know everything about you. All the tiny pieces that make you who you are. Even the ones you maybe have not recognised are there yet.’
‘Jacques—’
‘No, let me finish.’ He sat forward on his seat and took hold of her hands. ‘I do not recognise many of my pieces, Orla. You know about that more than anyone else. But the change now is… I do not want to be scared of them any longer. I want to know them. Even the difficult, misshapen ones that have no business being in my jigsaw at all.’ He took another breath. ‘And, even if I am calling this wrong, even if you do not see a way forward for us together, you have helped me get to a place where I can see a future where I am not afraid to be the only identity I want.’ He took a breath. ‘Jacques Barbier.’
She squeezed his hands in hers. She knew how much that meant for him to say and how deep-rooted those feelings were.
‘Jacques Barbier is a beautiful person,’ she told him. ‘Inside and out. His look is wolf meets bear with a touch of YSL eau de parfum billboard man. But inside he’s fire and caramel… rock and bubbles… hot coffee and iced champagne. His heart is surrounded by Kevlar but behind that wall is a divine purity found so very rarely.’
‘I do not know this person,’ he replied.
‘Youarethis person,’ Orla said. ‘And that was part of the next page I was going to send my boss for the article for the magazine.’
‘What?’ he exclaimed.
‘I know you’re not mute and I know that was my initial remit. The mute man and the pregnant reindeer. But when I didn’t have a pregnant reindeer I had a choice. I could lie. Or I could write a very different article. One about you and everything you’ve been through. Tell your story to the world. OK, it’s not theChristmassy uplifting vibe Frances was looking for but I think it’s better than that.’
He shook his head. ‘Orla.’
‘No, listen, I’m not saying it right. It’s notreallyabout any article, OK? It’s about me feeling the way I feel about you and writing it down. That’s what I do when I care. I write. And I’ve written five thousand words about you already. To be honest with you it could be a whole magazine on its own, or even a book and it’s really great writing, some of my best work but… if the only person who ever reads it is you then that’s more than OK with me.’ She slipped off the stool, onto the snow and knelt in front of him. ‘You were right about me. Everything you said. And I know my jigsaw needs fixing too so, maybe, we can work on it one corner at a time.’ She squeezed his hands. ‘I want to know all your pieces, Jacques Barbier. And I want to help you put them back together again.’
She looked into his eyes, hoping that her bravery in this moment was going to pay off. And when he kissed her, his mouth warm and wet, his tongue so wonderfully smooth, any doubts she had evaporated into the mountain night.
52
‘Orla, wake up.’
Her eyes were gritty and her cheeks felt hot as she came to and remembered where she was. Huddled up to Jacques, lying on groundsheets under a sleeping bag he had pulled from a backpack that seemed to have all the contents of a go-bag. Except she wasn’t benefitting from his body heat right now because he was stood, gently shaking her shoulder.
‘The baby is coming,’ he told her.
‘It’s not Christmas Day,’ Orla said, rushing to get out from the cover and stand.
She didn’t know why she had said that. Frances’s desperate spin to win viewers was no longer important. And Jacques had already reiterated again how reindeers gave birth in the spring and the fact that this reindeer was doing something so out of whack with nature was nothing short of a miracle.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘But it’s a birthday and we could call the baby Jesus.’
‘Inappropriate in so many ways. No.’
She got her phone from her pocket, ready to take photos. Frances had said she wanted the birth in its full gory and thiswas a woman who enjoyed TikToks of blackhead popping after all and was training a colleague to fit a multitude of festive sweets into his mouth…
‘She’s not sitting down,’ Orla remarked.
The reindeer was actually pacing a little and there were definitely signs of something coming from her rear end.
‘Reindeer do not sit down to give birth,’ Jacques said. ‘When they are ready to calf they actually move away from the herd, separate themselves from the others. When they do this it can be a few hours or a few days until they have the baby.’
