Page 23 of The Christmas Star

Theo’s kitchen had been renovated by the previous owners and Mum had given Joyce a run for her money on the gossip front when she’d insisted on providing me with a daily commentary on the upgrades taking place. She’d talked of gloss white cupboards and beautiful quartz countertops and had waxed lyrical about the huge island going in. However, experiencing them first hand it was hard to see beyond the opened bags of flour and brown sugar.

Theo evidently didn’t clean as he went and while he leant against the counter and pressed play on Mum’s video, my eyes fell on the room’s huge stainless-steel range. Discarded pans sat on three of its eight burners and golden sponge cakes baked in both of its massive ovens. The butler sink, big enough to bath a toddler in, was crammed with used mixing bowls, wooden spoons and a rolling pin. ‘You have been busy,’ I said.

Theo reached the end of Mum’s filming and filling his cheeks with air, he exhaled. ‘You really think they’ve gone to France?’ He handed back my phone.

‘If Jackson has taken his passport, then yes.’

Theo didn’t appear convinced.

‘Unless you’ve got a better idea?’ I asked.

With me refusing to budge on the matter, he relented. ‘I’ll go and check.’

While Theo headed off into another room, I sat on a stool at the island and hit Google. To stand any chance of intercepting Mum and Jackson, we’d have to get to France.

‘Looks like you’re right,’ he said, returning empty handed. ‘So much for us spending Christmas together.’ Theo sighed. ‘Why couldn’t he just trust me?’

‘What do you mean?’

Theo shook his head. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.’ There was no anger on his part. No frustration. Just despair. If anything, Theo seemed accepting of events.

Unlike me, who wanted to throttle the two absconders. ‘Is that all you can say?’

‘What else is there?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that we find them and bring them back.’

Theo laughed. ‘Jackson’s seventeen and Maeve’s a grown adult. If they wanted to spend Christmas in Timbuktu we couldn’t stop them.’

‘But we can’t just sit here,’ I said, trying not to let my imagination spiral with yet more images of a lost and confused mother. ‘Mum converses with garden plants and Jackson’s best friend’s a seventy-nine-year-old woman. Streetwise they are not. Lord knows what trouble they could find themselves in. France isn’t all cheese, baguettes and croissants.’

‘And where do you suggest we start? France is a massive country.’

I held up my mobile. ‘There’s a flight to Paris this afternoon. Which gives us plenty of time to pack and get to the airport.’

He looked at me incredulous. ‘And then what? We hire a car and go where?’

‘I don’t know. We can decide when we get there.’

Theo’s bewilderment continued. ‘Who’s to say they’ve even gone to Paris? For all we know they could have flown into another city.’

‘Good point.’ I did another internet search. ‘Jesus. How many airports does one country need?’

Theo shook his head and laughed. ‘I can’t believe you’re being serious.’

‘One thing we do know,’ I said, ignoring his remark. ‘Is that this trip of theirs was planned. Going off Mum’s TikTok, it had to have been. The question is why?’ I picked up a biscuit from one of the plates and bit into it. ‘If we can answer that, we’ll know where exactly they’ve gone.’ I tried to recall if Mum had mentioned anything in passing at some point; like wanting to climb the Eiffel Tower or stroll down the Champs-Élysées. My mind came up blank and I looked to Theo. ‘Has Jackson said anything that might help?’

He shrugged. ‘Not that I can remember.’

‘Well one of them must have said something.’ Racking my brain, I straightened myself up as a thought suddenly struck me. ‘The letters!’

Theo looked at me bemused. ‘What letters?’

I jumped down off my seat. ‘The ones from Gisèle. Mum’s old pen pal.’

Theo still didn’t appear to be following.

‘Her French pen pal,’ I said.