Chapter 16
16
Jacques watched Orla getting ready to throw their horseshoe-shaped beanbag. Despite her very firm opinion that this festive game was ‘a health and safety nightmare’ and ‘an accident waiting to happen’ she was becoming heavily invested in the outcome. She stood still, seeming to ignore the off-putting jibes coming from their competitors in the crowded bar, a horseshoe beanbag in her hands.
‘That’s her full-on concentrating face,’ Erin whispered to him. ‘Like she is not contemplating losing here, just so you know.’
‘I am beginning to know,’ Jacques replied.
‘But how are you going to feel when she takes your crown? Like, she’s not thrown beanbags before. Let alone backwards, over her shoulder and into a fiery pit.’
‘Are you suggesting I could be a bad loser?’
‘You’re a man, aren’t you?’ Erin said, as if that explained everything. She went back to tapping at her phone.
Jacques tuned back in to Orla, swinging her arm and preparing to throw. Then she swung hard, the beanbag leaving her grasp, flying through the air as all eyes watched. It rotated and spun and finally slapped down on the very edge of the fire pit, tumbling to the floor. Delphine stamped on top of it on the flagstones, putting paid to any potential smouldering.
‘Five points!’ Delphine declared.
‘Only five?’ Orla exclaimed. ‘It clearly hit the flames and bounced back out.’
The crowd oohed and Jacques knew Delphine wouldn’t appreciate her decision being questioned. Although Orla did have a point…
‘Gerard!’ Delphine called. ‘What is your decision as adjudicator?’
‘I was not close enough to see,’ the man answered.
‘Oh, so now we have an adjudicator and he’s not watching?’ Orla stated.
There was more oohing and Jacques wondered whether he ought to step in and stop this. It really didn’t matter to him if he won or not. But he knew this contest mattered to Delphine because her late husband had loved it.
‘It is now the turn of Philippe!’ Delphine declared.
‘Wait, what?’ Orla asked. ‘You’re moving on? But we haven’t settled on how many points I have!’
He had heard enough to know now was the time to intervene. He made his way around the tables until he was standing beside Orla.
‘It’s not your turn,’ Orla greeted him. ‘Apparently it’s Philippe’s.’
‘I am aware,’ Jacques answered. ‘So, we should stand out of his way. He likes to really go for it with his back swing.’
With that said, Philippe promptly arrived and began warming up for his go at tossing his pentagon-shaped beanbag.
‘Did you see my throw?’ Orla asked when they were a safe distance away. ‘It hit the pit.’
‘You are very invested,’ Jacques remarked.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she replied, somewhat defensively.
‘Well, before this morning you did not know that this game exists and now it is like you must be the best.’
‘Says the man who told me how many beanbag crowns he has won since time began.’
‘There are limited things to do in Saint-Chambéry. As you are experiencing.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ Orla said. ‘I haven’t had a minute to do anything for myself since I arrived here. And I have a story to write, no mute man and no reindeer.’ She looked straight at him then. ‘Do you happen to have anything symbolic you do to remember a lost love or something?’
Straight away the sounds of the noisy bar diminished, and in his mind they were replaced by a hum and buzz of white noise in response to her question. Lost love . Shattered heart . Sleepless nights . Nothingness . It had been two and a half years now since Katie had called time on their relationship. And he knew it had all been his fault. He had given her everything he could give, but what she had wanted were the pieces he wasn’t able to part with. The bits he didn’t know if he was ever going to deal with himself.
‘And I really want to know, do I call you Jacques or Wolf? Because that’s still unclear.’
He internally shook himself, nothing showing on the outside. ‘Wolf is just a name they used to call me when I first arrived.’
‘Why?’ Orla asked.
He shrugged. ‘I do not know.’
‘Come on,’ she urged. ‘You don’t give someone a nickname for no reason.’
‘I cannot answer for other people.’
‘That’s a nothing reply,’ Orla said. ‘And when I interview you, I’ll be wanting more than nothing replies.’
‘Has the interview not already begun?’ he asked.
‘In the middle of beanbag warfare? I’m a professional.’
‘Wow, OK,’ Jacques said with a smile. ‘You really are taking this seriously.’
‘Not quite as seriously as Delphine with her lax attention to the actual rules that apparently she makes.’
‘Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!’
The chanting signified it was his turn to throw.
‘You have cheerleaders it seems,’ Orla remarked with a scoff. ‘Oh! I didn’t see how Philippe did.’
‘Not as good as you,’ Jacques answered.
Once he was lined up in position, he held his breath and closed his eyes. Why did it feel like it was more important this year than any other? It really didn’t matter to him. He only did this because it mattered to Delphine. And, as irritating as Delphine could be, she had been like a mother to him since he had arrived here. Not just welcoming, as she was to everyone, but she hadn’t judged him on anything but the here and now.
He toyed with the wagon wheel beanbag in his hand and tried to block out everything else. It was his taking part that mattered to Delphine, not the winning. Maybe it was time to give someone else a turn. He could just throw it a bit over to the left. With one quick swing, he let the beanbag leave his hand. And then…
‘Ow!’
‘Oh God, she’s on fire! Help! Someone help!’