He knew he’d had an episode. But, as usual, he didn’t know what had actually happened. And Orla hadn’t said anything about it. But shehadmentioned her article about Oymyakon. He’d realised at the time when they were ice fishing that he had let that slip out, but he had thought it had gone under her radar. He should have known better. She was more astute than that. But he didn’t know what to do about it if she pushed the agenda. He could make something up. Exactly like he was doing with this reindeer farce. Perhaps that was all hecoulddo. Because the alternative was admitting Delphine had wanted to play some kind of matchmaker. Because she was sick. And he currently had nothing more to go on, and it was eating away at him. How bad was it? Was she having the appropriate treatment? She hadn’t been absent from the store for any extended period of time. But maybe that was a good thing because seriousness always took place in Grenoble. He took a breath. All he could do right now was keep moving, keep doing.
He entered the code into the pad at the door of his barn then opened it, leading the reindeer inside.
‘Oh my God! You have chickens!’ Orla exclaimed, following him and the reindeer.
‘Yes.’
‘You have so many!’
‘Thirty,’ he replied.
‘I love chickens!’ Orla remarked, bending down and trying to encourage them to come to her. ‘I had two hens when I was younger.’
‘Two?’ he queried.
‘Well, a mid-terrace in suburban London isn’t the best place to keep more than a couple.’
‘We will keep the reindeer in here tonight and see how the weather is in the morning.’ He would keep it tied loosely for the sake of his poultry.
‘What are their names?’ Orla asked.
‘What?’
‘Your chickens. What are all their names?’
‘You think I have given names to birds I have to get eggs from?’
‘You don’t care about them?’ Orla exclaimed, hand to her chest as she stood upright again. ‘And there you were mocking me about my concern for a reindeer we have only just met.’
He shook his head. ‘You are crazy. OK, why don’t you name them?’
‘All thirty of them?’
‘And I guess you will need them to get into a line so you can individually identify them?’
‘Are you telling me you can’t? What kind of pet owner are you?’
He shook his head again. He could tell them apart. He knew each one from their markings and subtle differences, he just hadn’t named them. It was a bit like with his old work days.You gathered intel, but you kept a distance, it was better not to personalise anything or get too close.
‘OK, this one with the ginger bit by its beak is… Ginger.’
He couldn’t help but spit out a laugh. ‘Inspired.’
‘And this one is… Baby because it is smaller than the others. And that one there is… Scary because it looks really fierce.’
He laughed again. ‘Are you really naming my chickens after The Spice Girls?’
‘No,’ Orla said, quickly. ‘This one is… Zayn.’
‘None of them are being named after One Direction.’
‘You know it’s saying a lot about your music taste that you know these groups.’
‘I think it says more about Tommy’s.’
‘Youname one,’ she encouraged.
He shook his head. ‘No, I am enjoying your baptisms.’
