Chapter 14
14
Orla Bradbee was sat at his kitchen table. Why hadn’t he recognised her the second he’d set eyes on her last night? Why hadn’t he even considered it was her when she had told him her first name? Maybe because the last photo he had of her was maybe eighteen months old now and that was only a small thumbnail from the by-line of her report on fish poaching in Romania. Her hair was lighter in real life and she was smaller. Granted, he remembered that in one of the pictures in her report from Zimbabwe she’d been standing next to a rhino, but she couldn’t be more than five feet four. It made him feel awkward in his own space, to be a whole foot taller. And for the first time in a long time he felt nervous. How fucking crazy was that?
Just about as crazy as using the coffee machine he loathed and attempted to get rid of on a regular basis. Like some kind of weird talisman it always failed to leave or made its way back. And his morals wouldn’t let him destroy something that still worked and had value, to someone at least.
‘It’s good coffee,’ Orla remarked, sipping at the macchiato he had made. ‘It should keep Erin quiet for at least ten minutes until she asks for another one.’
‘I have let them go into the cinema room. It might buy us an hour perhaps?’
‘There’s a cinema room?’ Orla asked.
He nodded. ‘I don’t use it.’
‘Like the coffee machine?’
He smiled. ‘That’s many questions for someone who has not started an official interview.’
‘And you’re still standing up.’
‘There is a law that you cannot interview someone who is standing up?’
‘I’m not sure I said I would answer any questions.’
‘OK,’ he replied. ‘So, it seems we need to create some ground rules.’
‘Er, I’m the one conducting the interview.’
‘In my house.’
‘That was not my choice. I’m only here because my boss asked me to be here. And a crazy woman drove me on a tractor.’
‘You don’t want to be here?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s just work.’
‘O-K.’ He didn’t like her comment at all. In fact, it was needling at him. He had read her reports on so many cultures, kingdoms, lifestyles and civilisations, and not once did he think she was someone who thought what she was doing was ‘just work’. But, then again, how could interviewing him have the same appeal as interviewing the woman who lives with wild outback camels?
‘Sorry,’ Orla said. ‘That sounded offensive and rude. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure you’re very interesting, I just usually have time to research a project and I only heard about this the day before yesterday so I’m kind of on the back foot.’
‘You and me both,’ he replied.
‘Well, apart from the snow, I’m finding Delphine is the biggest force of nature around here.’
‘And you are correct about that.’
‘So, are you going to sit down or…’
He smiled, letting the silence of the ending to her sentence linger. He stayed with his back to the kitchen counter. He always liked to have something at his back.
‘Ground rules,’ he said.
‘OK, how about I ask the questions and you answer them? Then I can take some photos and be on my way until the pregnant reindeer turns up. So… how long have you lived here?’
He smiled again. ‘You know there’s no reindeer, right? Pregnant or not.’
‘What?’ Orla said, lifting her head from where she had started to write on an electronic notepad.
‘There are no reindeer in this area. And reindeer don’t give birth in December. It is a nice festive story, made up by Delphine for some reason I don’t know, but not possible I’m afraid.’
‘Are you joking with me?’ Orla asked him. ‘Because it’s not funny.’
Now she looked worried. Really worried. And he didn’t know what to say next.
‘Honestly, are you serious? There are no reindeer here? At all? And one can’t be pregnant?’ She got up from her seat and put her hands to her head. ‘You’re joking, right? You have to be joking because… I can’t handle you not to be.’
‘Yes.’ It came out of his mouth before he had engaged his brain. What was he saying?
‘You’re joking. You mean it that there will be reindeer or at least one pregnant one?’
‘I am joking,’ he continued. ‘Of course I am joking. I mean, Delphine said the pregnant reindeer is coming and Delphine, as you said, is a force of nature and she does not say things that do not happen.’ He swallowed. Why was he lying? All good sense told him that this whole thing was a ruse, from the reindeer to the fact Orla Bradbee was here in his home, but he could sense that she needed this to be the truth in this moment.
He watched her take a deep breath of relief and she seemed to recover slightly, picking up her electronic pen and pad and writing something on the screen.
‘Listen,’ he began, moving away from the countertop. ‘I don’t really know why Travel in Mind magazine would want to make me the subject of an article but?—’
‘You know the magazine I write for?’ she interrupted.
‘You told me,’ he replied. ‘A few seconds before you stormed towards the front door.’
‘And you remembered? Amid the alleged “storming”.’ She made quote marks in the air.
He smiled, shaking his head. ‘What can I say? I pay attention.’
He watched her looking back at him as if she was mulling this information over and trying to work out from his expression, or maybe his body language, if he was telling her the truth. He was… even if there was a bit more to it.
‘To be frank,’ Orla picked up. ‘I think my boss is slightly more invested in a heavily pregnant reindeer this close to Christmas than you, particularly now you actually talk.’ She paused. ‘No offence.’
‘None taken,’ he answered. ‘And I agree. A pregnant reindeer would be a far more interesting subject than me.’
Was that it? Had he easily managed to navigate his way out of this interview just by admitting his life wasn’t report-worthy compared to that of four-legged wildlife he didn’t even believe was going to turn up? Delphine had avoided every one of his questions about the absence of the reindeer at the fête the night before.
‘That being said,’ Orla began. ‘And with the absence of said reindeer, I’d better cover all bases.’
Apparently he was still in this.
‘So, what do you want to know?’ he asked.
‘Currently, why you won’t sit down.’
He smiled. ‘How long I’ve lived here, wasn’t it? So, a little over two years now.’
‘Where are you from originally?’
‘You know how the reindeer is with child? Well, one night my mother?—’
‘Are you going to answer the questions seriously? Or is my being here a joke to you?’
‘Believe me, as you and your sister are the only people except Delphine and Hunter who have been in this house in a year, this isn’t a joke.’ He swallowed. Even telling her that was information he didn’t want to give out. His life was private. He wanted to keep it that way. The fact that Delphine had invited someone into his personal space without any thought for the consequences was eating away at him. His friend might not know the full extent of his situation but she should have known enough. Keeping his circle small was the only way to ensure his family’s safety. But then there was the fact that this was a reporter he admired, someone he felt a connection with through her words in the magazine, someone who wrote stories he would look forward to in every publication… and Delphine also knew that.
‘So, you’re not mute, but you’re a recluse?’
He shrugged. ‘We could blame Covid-19 if you like. All that trauma of staying inside. Would that come over better than “he hates people”?’
‘You hate people?’ She was actually writing this down.
‘No, Orla, that was a joke. I like my privacy. And, last time I checked, there was no law against that.’
‘OK,’ Orla said, standing up and picking up her digital pad. ‘This really isn’t going to work. Particularly as I was told you had developed a special bond with a reindeer that isn’t here. I thought there may be something I could really get to the heart of.’
Damn it . She was going to leave . But wasn’t that exactly what he’d wanted only moments ago? And he didn’t want to do an interview. Why would he? It wasn’t just wanting privacy for privacy’s sake. He had good reasons. But this was Orla Bradbee… and she was packing up and about to head to his front door for the second time after he’d been almost as hostile as a battleground.
‘Orla, wait,’ he said as she pushed the pad into her backpack.
‘Why?’ Orla snapped. ‘Are you going to refuse to press whatever magic button you need to press to unlock the front door? Because there is a law against keeping someone against their will.’
‘I would never do that,’ he stated.
‘Good. So, it was nice to meet you but I’m going to collect my sister from the cinema room and?—’
‘Beanbags,’ Jacques blurted out.
‘What?’
‘Sorry, you’re a newcomer to Saint-Chambéry, you need context.’ He sighed. ‘Tonight in the village there’s a contest involving beanbags. I am forced to take part every year since I arrived here because, well, I am the reigning champion but, you know, if you were to come along to that then…’ He stopped talking, giving his brain a chance to catch up with what he was actually saying and how crazy it was, but his mouth couldn’t seem to halt its progress. ‘I will answer whatever questions you want.’
He couldn’t believe he had said that… to someone who asked questions for a living. To someone who got to the very truth of anything she involved herself in. He held his breath, half of him hoping she would turn his offer down.
‘Whatever questions I want?’ Orla clarified.
He nodded. ‘That is what I said.’
‘OK,’ Orla replied. ‘But this is your last chance.’
His last chance? To take part in an interview he hadn’t called for nor wanted? He opened his mouth to say as much but something made him think better of it.
‘Understood,’ he answered.