Chapter 56
56
Orla had no idea why she was holding her breath. This beanbag contest was just for fun. There was nothing riding on it except a trophy – a miniature brouette carved with the different shaped beanbags – and the kudos of being the 2024 champion. Except her supporters – Erin, Burim, Jacques, Tommy and even Hunter – seemed intent on her victory. It was unlikely, obviously. She had only played the game once before and that last time she had almost set fire to Gerard’s bar and a hole had been burned into her coat. Perhaps that was why the final was being held outdoors, a firepit the centre of everything now the brass band had returned their instruments to homes and its members joined the evening festivities. She looked at the beanbag in her hand. Pentagon-shaped like the lake. The worst shape according to Jacques. He had advised her not to clutch one side but to take the whole shape in her hand and toss that way. She’d had a hard time not spitting out a laugh at that suggestion said with the utmost seriousness…
‘Time!’ Gerard called gruffly.
Ugh. That meant she was on a ten-second countdown until the beanbag had to leave her fingers. She adjusted her stance, looked up at the steeple of the little church across the square and tried to remember how the fire pit looked and how far away it was. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.
She swung her hand forward once and then propelled the beanbag over her shoulder. There was drumming from feet on the ground, hands on tables and fencing, until a universal shout. Not celebration. Not commiseration. Not one thing or another. Orla spun around. Her beanbag had landed on the very rim of the firepit. Not in the flames. Not out of the flames. Like the outer bullseye at archery or on a dart board.
‘Five points!’ Gerard declared as Orla made her way back to their table.
‘That was great!’ Tommy said, slapping her on the back.
‘It was very great!’ Burim agreed, slapping her slightly too hard.
‘You only need another throw like that and you will win,’ Jacques told her.
‘Really?’ Orla asked.
‘Sebastian doesn’t look happy,’ Erin remarked. ‘And he’s going over to Gerard. Do you want me to go and find out what’s going on in my capacity as queen?’
‘No,’ Orla said. ‘It’s OK. Why don’t you come with me, and we’ll get some more drinks for everyone.’
‘You want me to help?’ Jacques asked.
‘No, no,’ Orla said. ‘It’s fine. We can do it, can’t we, Erin?’
‘I’m the freaking queen. I can do anything today.’
Orla led the way to Gerard’s bar and Erin pulled at her arm before they had even got to the door.
‘OK, what’s going on? Because this isn’t nervousness about the beanbag-throwing final, is it?’
‘No,’ Orla admitted. ‘I just… there’s something I need to tell you before I tell Jacques.’
‘You’re pregnant?’
‘Oh my God, Erin! Shh! We’re in Village Gossip Central here!’
‘So, you are!’
‘No! Are you crazy? Of course I’m not pregnant!’
‘Ohhh, I’m disappointed now.’ Erin laughed. ‘OK, what else boring is it?’
‘Well, I’ve handed in my resignation. I’m not going to be working for Travel in Mind any more.’ It still felt weird to say it.
‘Is that it?’ Erin asked. ‘Well, that’s dull as fuck.’
‘Is it?’
‘And, not gonna lie, I don’t think they appreciated you anyway. You always worked far too hard, all hours of the day, all days of your life, so now you can get a job you enjoy more.’
A job she enjoyed more . Hadn’t she enjoyed what she did? Or was it more a case of starting out enjoying something and then losing that feeling along the way?
‘So, shall we get the drinks now?’ Erin asked, as unperturbed as ever.
‘No, wait, there’s one more thing.’
‘I’m getting baby fever…’
‘No, it’s Burim.’
‘ He’s not getting baby fever, is he?’
‘I really hope not. Not yet anyway. And he’s unlikely to be discussing that with me.’
Erin laughed. ‘You like him though, don’t you? I can tell.’
‘I do like him,’ Orla agreed. ‘He’s very polite. He’s very opinionated, particularly when it involves football or anything Tommy has to say.’
‘Ha! Yeah, I’ve noticed that. But it’s good to keep him on his toes.’
‘And I can see how much he cares for you.’
‘And here’s the bit when you turn into Mum and tell me all the pitfalls of a long-distance relationship and ask if I know that Auntie Bren once dated a submariner.’
‘No,’ Orla said, leaning against one of the large barrels outside Gerard’s place. ‘I wasn’t going to say that. I was just going to say that we’re going home tomorrow and?—’
‘Burim’s going back to Albania tomorrow too,’ Erin said softly. ‘He has a flight a few hours after us.’ She sighed. ‘He can’t come to the UK yet. I get that. And don’t worry, I’m not going to abscond to Albania or anything. It is what it is, and we’ll just have to see how it goes.’
This was Erin being as mature as it got, and Orla’s heart went out to her. She put her arms around her sister and drew her close. ‘I love you so much, Erin. You know that, don’t you?’
‘I know that,’ Erin answered. ‘I also know that you’re going to crease this dress if you keep hugging me and I don’t want it creased and stained when it’s given back to Delphine.’
‘You’ve stained it?’ Orla said, letting her go.
‘It wasn’t my fault. The baby literally poured its bottle on me.’
Orla shook her head, but she was smiling. Both the Bradbee sisters had done some growing since they had been in Saint-Chambéry.
‘Orla!’ A collective shout from their table volleyed around the square.
‘Looks like it’s your turn to throw again,’ Erin said. ‘I’ll get the drinks. Then, when you’ve beaten Sebastian, you’d better get ready for your date.’
‘What?’ Orla asked. ‘How do you know about that?’
Erin laughed. ‘Just go and throw your beanbags, Orla Orange.’
Hearing her little sister say her nickname pulled at her heartstrings but apparently there wasn’t time for sentimentality when there was a contest to win and a gorgeous guy to go on a date with.