‘Well, because I’ve researched it for the piece I wrote on Chinese women.’
‘Oh yes, the Chinese women who float through middle-age like elegant, exotic butterflies with perky tits and perfect arses.’
‘I don’t think I wrote it quite like that but they do experience fewer symptoms of the change, yes.’
‘So none of them are thinking about pushing their husbands off the ladder when he puts up the Christmas lights. Or wondering if arsenic will be untraceable when mixed in cranberry sauce.’
This was bad. She swallowed. ‘Mum, you need to talk to the doctor again.’
‘So he can offer me those anti-depressants again? The ones that space you out so you don’t complain about anything? Make you think that that Lee Mack’s actually funny?’
She felt so helpless when she was so far away and looking at the wintry wilderness outside Jacques’s home only made it more apparent just how great the distance was between them. She needed to be back in the UK.
‘Mum,’ she said. ‘We’re going to be back before Christmas.’
‘Really?!’ Dana replied, her voice going up a few octaves and her joy evident.
‘Yes,’ Orla said firmly. ‘I don’t care what I have to do to make it happen… Help a reindeer give birth, get the magazine to order a private plane, whatever happens I promise Erin and I will be back for Christmas Day dinner.’
‘Oh, Orla love, that will be grand. I mean, don’t you worry about me, but your dad and Auntie Bren will be delighted and?—’
‘But I want you to be truthful with me now,’ Orla interrupted.
‘O-K.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Does Dad have a drink problem? Did he really sell Granny’s things?’
There was a silence on the other end of the phone until eventually Dana responded. ‘No.’
‘Which one?’ Orla asked.
‘Both,’ her mum said. ‘But don’t get angry with me. He has a volunteering job and lots of new friends and he doesn’t need me any more and I sold the things because when he leaves me or I kill him I will need money for solicitors… or bail… or a hitman.’ More tears and rapid breathing ensued.
‘Mum, it’s OK,’ Orla said, wanting to be there in person to comfort her. ‘We are going to sort all this out when I get back.’
‘But you shouldn’t have to sort everything out. I asked you to help with Erin and I didn’t want to do that when you have your career to think about. Work is important and there’sTimemagazine. Your dream.’
‘Mum,’ Orla said, watching as a group of chickens sprinted across the snow, heading towards the track Jacques’s truck had carved over the past few days. ‘Family is more important than anything else. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me? People are more precious than things.’
She heard her mum sigh. ‘Life before loot, your granny used to say.’
‘Well then,’ Orla said. ‘That’s settled. Christmas all together and we will get you feeling much more like your old self in no time.’
‘If there’s a choice I’d much rather feel like Sharon Osbourne than myself. Could there be a pill for that, do you think?’
The next thing to go past the window was Jacques and he was running.
‘Mum, I’ll come to the doctors with you and we’ll discuss all the options. I’ll call you again, OK? Let you know when I’m coming home.’
‘OK, love and, really, don’t you worry about me.’
With those words ringing in her ears, Orla headed for the front door where she had left her boots.
37
Jacques still didn’t know how chickens could escape from a shed with more security than a bank vault but here they were, rushing away from him across the glistening white ground. Hunter had barked to alert him, then the dog had whined at the window of his bedroom and he had immediately seen what was going on. His first thought had been to fly out of the house and catch them but the next thought had been: how did you corral chickens with nothing or no one to help you except a dog who seemed to think you wanted to play?
‘What can I do?’
