‘And, we agreed,’ Orla said. ‘That you have to let the small stuff go. Because people do what people do and if even 50 per cent of their intentions are good then that’s OK.’
‘I am agreeing to too much,’ Delphine answered, sounding salty.
Orla wasn’t sure that ‘agreeing’ was actually the right term but she had reluctantly listened when Orla and Jacques had spoken to her about her illness. It was as if the birth of that reindeer had triggered something inside Orla and a whole newperspective on the world had been unlocked. Things didn’t have to tread a certain pre-determined path. She didn’t have to react to things in the same way she always had. A new story could be written. In that way, her and Delphine were quite similar. Delphine couldn’t see past the weeks and months she might be battling to what could be a brighter future, she could only see the here and now and the changes being to her detriment – her ultimate detriment in a worst-case scenario. But Delphine had agreed to let Jacques come with her to see the consultant in Grenoble and Orla had already devised a diet full of natural ingredients that were meant to promote well-being and encourage the body to repair itself.
‘Hello!’ Erin exclaimed. ‘The Queen of theBrouettehere! With her hair basically like ringlets! It’s not a vibe!’
‘Because we have not finished,’ Delphine said, standing up again. ‘They need to be eased into position.’
‘Well, if I don’t look good, I can’t see me being eased into any kind of position with Burim.’
‘O-K!’ Orla jumped in before Delphine could say anything to that comment. ‘Why don’t we loosen the curls a little and see how we feel about it then.’
‘Give me the tongs,’ Delphine insisted.
Orla held them captive. ‘Did you drink your plum and pumpkin smoothie this morning?’
‘I did.’
Orla wasn’t convinced and made an expression that suggested as much.
‘I did,’ Delphine insisted forcefully.
‘Waiting for the truth here,’ Orla continued.
‘I did… except it was a bitfade. So I added some sugar.’
‘Delphine! Natural! Honey if you had to!’
‘What’s “fade”?’ Erin asked.
‘It means tasteless,’ Delphine explained. ‘Yuck.’
‘I think “yuck” is an international word. Burim says it too.’
And Burim was still here. Now with the knowledge of his parents thankfully. Although he was an adult, flying solo to another country without telling the people you live with and care about was nothing if not discourteous and Orla had been unhappy about the situation until Burim had put it right. But what happened with him when she and Erin flew back to the UK tomorrow she still didn’t know. She had to admit the way he cared and showed affection for her sister was nothing short of princess treatment, but was this all a short-lived exciting adventure for him? She took a breath and handed Delphine the tongs. That was the old Orla thinking. Did it matter if it was short-lived? Nothing was guaranteed after all. Perhaps you just had to exist in the moment. Besides, she didn’t really know what the future held for her and Jacques.
Suddenly her phone began to ring and she took it from the pocket of her jeans and rapidly moved to the other side of the room as Erin and Delphine began verbally sparring about the hairstyle again.
‘Hello, Frances.’
‘OK, Orla, I’m confused. I have this article you’ve sent me and apart from one paragraph about the reindeer there’s nothing that says “festive”, “Baby Jesus”, “heart-warming” or “viral”.’
Orla took a breath and stood next to the window covered in black sheeting. ‘Do you like it?’
‘No, I don’t like it! For all the reasons I just stated!’
‘But have you actually read it?’ Orla asked, hand going to the sheet as she remembered furiously writing the words that were pouring from her heart.
‘I skimmed it. It’s the festive season. We’re all trying to do three people’s jobs because all the crazy people who didn’t take all their annual leave in summer are taking their annual leave now! And you’re in France, writing stuff that doesn’t hit myremit and I’m starting to wonder what the fuck happened to you there.’
Orla smiled. She kind of knew the reaction she was going to get from Frances about the story she had gone for. Much more about the small community of Saint-Chambéry and finding yourself than it was about the miracle birth. But it hadn’t really mattered what Frances’s opinion was, she’dhadto write it. She’d felt compelled to write it. And it was the first time in a long long time that she had experienced that feeling.
‘Did you get my other email?’ Orla asked her.
‘What? No? I don’t know,’ Frances said. ‘Did you not hear the part where I said we are all doing the jobs of three people?’
‘I think you should read the other email,’ Orla said.
