‘Jacques! You’re leaving the conversation! Don’t do that!’ Tommy called after him.
55
Every inch of Erin looked regal as she arrived – very slowly – in the village square on a bucket-shaped add-on to nothing more than a decorated tractor. But everyone applauded and threw flowers or glitter and the band led the tractor in a circuit of the village centre playing an old French Christmas carol that sounded slightly dark to Orla. But her sister was beaming – mainly at Burim – who was waving until he seemed to catch himself and adopted a more nonchalant, slightly gangster-esque pose involving his hand on his chin. Someone else who was beaming was Delphine. Orla watched her, clapping her hands, buoying up Madame Voisin with a little good-natured elbow jostling, singing furiously along with Gerard, light and life shining from every inch of her. This woman had been born and raised here, married here, buried her husband here and then dedicated herself to keeping the community and its traditions going as well as reaching out to bring the magic of Saint-Chambéry to tourists. And then there was the fact she had lied about a mute man and a pregnant reindeer to get a reporter from London to come here and be matchmade.
As Erin held the fiery torch aloft like it was an Olympic flame, Orla’s eyes went to Jacques. She had never met anyone like him. Except perhaps her own self. Although, the fact she was only really starting to recognise who she was spoke volumes too. In stripping backhislayers she had been put into a position where she had no choice but to peel hers back too. It was terrifying yet liberating. Getting to know your own soul when you seemed to have been acting a part for others for so long felt like the ultimate kind of freedom. And Jacques had helped gift that to her. As she felt that now close-to-familiar warming up of her insides that came from just being in his presence, his eyes met hers. And there was her heart rate, hitting high heights as a plethora of thoughts lashed down like a Saint-Chambéry snowstorm. She was already smiling when he smiled at her. Both of them knowing.
‘Oh, Erin! You look like a princess!’
‘I’m aqueen, Mum! The Queen of theBrouette!’ Erin shouted over the FaceTime call. ‘Now, I know it looks like a wheelbarrow but it’s really important in the history of Saint-Chambéry. Likethemost important thing. Almost like the London Eye.’
Orla winced a little at the analogy but had to hold her phone steady. Even though they were going to be seeing their parents tomorrow, Erin wanted to show off her status and the regal gown. And her official duties didn’t begin again until she was presenting the prize to the winner of the beanbag competition later on. As competitive as Orla usually was, she really had no delusions of championing that. Plus, Delphine had told her Philippe had been coaching the other finalist – Sebastian – long into the night since Orla had beaten him…
‘What a lovely Christmas tree,’ their dad piped up. ‘They didn’t get that from the place next to Aldi, did they?’
‘Dad, this village is literally surrounded by Christmas trees!’ Erin yelled. ‘And, yesterday, I found a reindeer in the forest and it had a baby!’
‘Erin!’ Delphine called. ‘There are children who would like a photograph with the Queen of theBrouette!’
‘Coming!’ Erin grinned at the screen. ‘Sorry, I’m in demand today but I’ll see you tomorrow!’ With that, she scooped up her dress and began running across the square towards Delphine.
‘It looks very bustling there, so it does,’ Dana remarked. ‘And Erin sounds… happy.’
‘I think sheishappy, Mum,’ Orla agreed, her gaze flitting over to the square where Erin was being handed a baby to be photographed with like she was a parliamentary candidate.
‘Good,’ Dana answered. ‘So I take it the Moroccan has done what they all do and left her.’ She frowned. ‘If you can leave someone you’ve only sent word messages to. Don’t they call it something? Spirited? Ghouled?’
Now there was only one person Orla’s eyes went to. Burim. Perched on a stool, right elbow on a table, currently unbeaten in an arm-wrestling contest Gerard was taking bets on.
‘Um, about that, you see, the thing is?—’
‘Well, we weren’t going to say anything until you got home but… we’re going to counselling,’ her dad interjected.
‘Oh, really?’
‘Two different kinds, actually,’ Dana added. ‘One for my perimenopausal anger issues and one for our marriage.’
‘We laugh,’ Dalton said. ‘About the best things coming in threes and what we should sign up for next.’
‘We do,’ Dana agreed. ‘Because if you don’t laugh, well, I don’t know but things always seem better if you laugh, don’t they?’
‘They do,’ Orla said, nodding. And then she really looked at her parents. They were close together – possibly because they had to share the screen for this call, but it seemed more than that – they were mirroring each other’s body language and there was a definite lessening of tension.
‘So, what about you, love?’ her dad asked. ‘Has everything come together for your article? Your mum was telling me.’
She nodded. ‘Absolutely. You know me, stories fall into my lap wherever I go.’
There would be time to tell her parents about her professional decision to quitTravel in Mindbut, for now, she wanted to leave them looking forward with positivity and knowing that she and Erin were happy enjoying this special day for Saint-Chambéry. Besides, she hadn’t even told Erin or Jacques about her resignation yet…
‘Oh, by the way, the heating’s fixed,’ Dana said.
‘Terry got hold of a part for a good price and wouldn’t take any money for his time. I even offered him my golf clubs,’ Dalton said.
‘That’s great news.’
‘Don’t tell Erin just yet though,’ Dana said. ‘The second she hears it will be back to wearing crop tops and turning the thermostat up.’
‘OK,’ Orla agreed. ‘Listen, I have to go now. I have a beanbag contest to take part in.’
