Chapter 34
34
JACQUES’S HOME, OUTSKIRTS OF SAINT-CHAMBéRY
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 she had mentioned 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 he could do. 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.’
‘ You name one,’ she encouraged.
He shook his head. ‘No, I am enjoying your baptisms.’
‘Perhaps thirty was a task too far.’
‘Then maybe we should name the reindeer,’ he suggested.
Why had he said that? The reindeer was not staying. It was actually irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.
‘We? Or me?’ Orla asked.
Now it felt as though they were about to name their child…
‘I do not care about the reindeer,’ he reminded.
‘I don’t believe that.’
‘Why?’
She put her hand on the reindeer’s fur coat. ‘Because I see you care. Even when you think you aren’t showing it. With Tommy. With the foxes. With Delphine.’
He swallowed, the worry invading again. He couldn’t tell her. He had to simply bury it until he knew more.
‘Let’s call her… Noble,’ Orla said. ‘Because Grenoble is the nearest place and, well, she’s a queen.’
‘I like it,’ he agreed, brushing his hand over the reindeer’s fur.
‘Do you?’
‘I said so.’
‘I know. It took me by surprise.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you don’t admit to liking things.’
He let go of the reindeer and took a step back. ‘That’s not true.’
‘You don’t actually give away anything about yourself.’
‘I could say the same thing about you.’
‘OK, I will tell you something about me if you tell me something about you. And I’m not talking about your favourite crisp flavour.’
‘I like Original Pringles. There.’
‘I said not that.’
‘Well, what do you want?’
‘Something real.’
This was getting deep and he wasn’t ready for it. Because being near her already gave him pinpricks up and down his spine.
‘I thought we agreed the reindeer was the story, not me.’
‘I don’t think I agreed to that.’
He sighed. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Where you went to when we were getting Noble into the trailer. When you went silent, when you stopped breathing, when your eyes glazed over.’
He bit the inside of his lip. He would rather have given her anything but that. But he also knew she wasn’t going to stop asking. He stepped towards the door at the rear of the barn and with another input of a code, it slid open.
‘Want a drink?’ he called.
‘What is this?’ she asked as she crossed the barn to join him. ‘A secret bar?’
‘No,’ he answered matter-of-factly. ‘It’s my memories.’