‘A what?’ Dalton asked.
‘I’ll tell you all about it when I get home,’ she said. ‘Let’s hope I can fit a trophy in my cabin bag.’
‘We can’t wait to see you, love,’ Dalton said. ‘Can we, Dana?’
‘No, we can’t wait to see you,’ Dana agreed, looking a little tearful but smiling. ‘I can definitely wait to see Bren now she’s told me she’s bringing some board game about whether you look like your dog or not. I mean, we don’t even have a dog.’ Shesniffed. ‘But you and Erin, well, you need to see these festive lights do all their twenty-nine different things, don’t you?’
‘We do,’ Orla agreed. ‘See you tomorrow, Mum. Bye, Dad.’
She ended the call and put her phone away. Turning, she smacked straight into something. Or rathersomeone.
‘Oh! Sorry! I didn’t see you there!’ Orla gasped, just managing to keep her balance.
‘Désolé. Sorry.’ Jacques smiled. ‘It is like when we first met.’
‘When Gerard hit you with his car.’
‘Yes.’
She smiled, the sound of a much cheerier carol coming from the brass band now rising up around the village square. ‘A lot has happened since then.’
‘It has,’ he agreed. ‘But there is one thing that has not happened since then.’
‘Oh?’
He took her hands in his, drew her a little closer. ‘We have not had our date.’
‘Oh,’ Orla said, nervous anticipation flowing through her. ‘Well, I just thought that events had kind of superseded that and?—’
‘Oh,non,non,non,’ Jacques stated. ‘I do not say things that I do not mean. I had a lot of time doing that when I was being other identities but now… it is just me, saying things I want to say.’
He squeezed her hands. ‘So,’ he began. ‘After you have won the beanbag contest we will have our date.’
She couldn’t lie, his beautiful voice saying ‘our date’ did things to her. A real date. Like their real connection. Not a text message in sight.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘That will remain an undisclosed location for now.’
‘OK, I thought you were done with the undercover covert stuff now.’
‘Allow me a little mystery,non?’ He paused. ‘But, I do not ask… perhaps you do not want to go now and?—’
‘Non. I mean, no. I mean actually yes!’ Orla said. ‘Of course yes.’
‘Good,’ he answered. ‘Then, it is a date.’
56
Orla had no idea why she was holding her breath. This beanbag contest was just for fun. There was nothing riding on it except a trophy – a miniaturebrouettecarved with the different shaped beanbags – and the kudos of being the 2024 champion. Except her supporters – Erin, Burim, Jacques, Tommy and even Hunter – seemed intent on her victory. It was unlikely, obviously. She had only played the game once before and that last time she had almost set fire to Gerard’s bar and a hole had been burned into her coat. Perhaps that was why the final was being held outdoors, a firepit the centre of everything now the brass band had returned their instruments to homes and its members joined the evening festivities. She looked at the beanbag in her hand. Pentagon-shaped like the lake. The worst shape according to Jacques. He had advised her not to clutch one side but to take the whole shape in her hand and toss that way. She’d had a hard time not spitting out a laugh at that suggestion said with the utmost seriousness…
‘Time!’ Gerard called gruffly.
Ugh. That meant she was on a ten-second countdown until the beanbag had to leave her fingers. She adjusted her stance,looked up at the steeple of the little church across the square and tried to remember how the fire pit looked and how far away it was.It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.
She swung her hand forward once and then propelled the beanbag over her shoulder. There was drumming from feet on the ground, hands on tables and fencing, until a universal shout. Not celebration. Not commiseration. Not one thing or another. Orla spun around. Her beanbag had landed on the very rim of the firepit. Not in the flames. Not out of the flames. Like the outer bullseye at archery or on a dart board.
‘Five points!’ Gerard declared as Orla made her way back to their table.
