Chapter 15
‘That’s it?’ I whine. ‘Birdie storms in, demands he stays with her, and all I get is a text to say “Sorry, can’t make it”?’
‘Calm down,’ says Ged as we march along the busy streets of Nice, following the maps app to take us to the vets.
We weave in and out of the hustle and bustle, the pavements given over to café tables, the many narrow side streets lined with illegally parked mopeds and cars crammed with Christmas shopping.
The Christmas market and funfair is in full swing and there are noisy shoppers everywhere.
‘There’ll be a good explanation. He’s probably having to save our wedding single-handed.
God knows what she’s got him promising to do.
And Tash isn’t bloody helping with her constant vaping.
And lord knows, Cherry knew the kids weren’t allowed anywhere near the place. ’
No mention of kidnapped puppies, I see.
I stop dead in my tracks. ‘I have to go back. He might need me.’
‘No,’ Ged says over his shoulder as he scuttles ahead. ‘He doesn’t need you. You’ll just complicate things. Give him a chance. He loves you, babe. You have nothing to worry about. We, on the other hand, do need you. Louis needs you. Come on. Keep up.’
Trust Birdie to show up and ruin things.
Three hours later, I am calm. A zen-like serenity has soothed me and it is all my godson’s doing.
We have secured a puppy passport, puppy jabs, official puppy registration and all manner of puppy paraphernalia.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, the vets is also a superstore for every single thing that any crackpot, childless, money-to-burn pet owner and new godmother might want to buy.
‘What’s going on with you and Mr Magnificent anyway?’ asks Liam as we browse the puppy clothes section. ‘I sense tension. Bit soon into the marriage for that, isn’t it?’
‘Matteo has played down how upset his family were to learn that their golden boy got married,’ I moan. ‘Nacho told me that they are strict Catholics and uphold strong Spanish values and traditions.’
‘Hmmm. Must have been a difficult decision for him. I get it.’
‘But crucially, Nacho said they are also furious that we got married without them. Furious at me.’ As I’m pouring my heart out, Liam is making sympathetic noises while also rifling through a rack of designer doggy onesies.
‘It’s impossible to know what to do for the best, isn’t it?’ He picks out one in pale yellow and holds it against the soft sage green.
‘Should I just go along with it to keep the peace? Or should I make a stand? I mean, I’ve had two weddings already. Why would I need a third? All to the same man!’
Liam is deep in thought. ‘You’re right. Three is excessive. But then… he is incredibly gorgeous.’
I’ll skip over the shallowness of his advice. ‘You think I should go along with it? Have a third wedding?’
Liam’s head snaps round. ‘What?’
‘You’re suggesting I go through with a big Catholic wedding even though I’m not at all sure about organised religion? Just to please a bunch of people I’ve never even met?’
‘Sorry, love. I was talking about getting one of these in each colour. I can’t choose because Louis will look gorgeous in them all.
’ He holds up the onesies in his hand. ‘But now that you’ve explained the whole Matteo situation like that, then I feel that he’s the one you need to be discussing this with, not me.
It sounds like a big deal. You shouldn’t be pressured into it. You need to be honest with him.’
‘It’s hard to be honest with him, when he’s not being honest with me,’ I snap.
A short while and several hundred euros later, my best friends’ faces are lit up as they stroll hand in hand a few feet behind me.
Liam has Louis strapped to his chest in a light beige sheepskin puppy pouch with tasteful sage-green doggy bones on it.
It is top of the range and fur-lined in cream to match his fur.
We only just managed to talk him out of buying a puppy stroller.
Louis is wearing a soft fleece jumpsuit with tiny Christmas puddings on it, underneath his vibrant orange coat (in case he ever gets lost in a crowd or at a park or in the massive doggy bed they bought for him).
We have a new collar, name tag, doggy chews, doggy biscuits, cartons of French doggy food – boeuf bourguignon, poulet roti, biftek et frites – and a full range of casual daywear, formal nightwear and warm chunky knitted turtlenecks, cardigans and hoodies in every colour.
They even had a super-cute luxury French pug range catering to a new parent’s every whim.
Pugs printed on bowls, mats, dog baskets and a good selection of clothes that came with matching human-sized versions.
‘I’m glad you decided against buying the kitchen sink,’ I say, willing myself to cheer up and stop moping over Matteo and trying to second-guess what he’s doing and thinking.
Ged, Liam and I are weighed down with bags in our hands, slung over our shoulders, and I even have cushions under each of my arms. It’s a relief to see the Dollz just up ahead and looking happy.
‘Louis! Look what we got you,’ yells Clementine, racing towards us followed by Peaches. Liam bends down so that the girls can stroke him. They both present a dummy for him to chew. Peaches shoves hers in her own mouth before jabbing it between his teeth.
‘Let’s go,’ Clementine says, tugging Liam. ‘Ride. Ride. Ride.’
Liam stands back up, beaming.
‘They want you to go on the carousel with them,’ explains Dom, pointing across the pretty pedestrianised walkway, lined with palm trees, market stalls and fairground rides. The place is breathtakingly picturesque. ‘They’ve been on four times already but they’re insisting.’
The carousel in question is glorious. Life-size toy soldiers guard the entrance and exit, and each sidecar is either a reindeer or a giant sleigh with Santa sitting on top of a huge globe in the centre.
Ged and Liam nod enthusiastically and clamber onto the ride. Dom lifts the girls in next to them. It’s hard to tell who is the more excited.
‘So, did you get much done?’ I ask Tash. She has that glazed look about her.
‘Nah. Not really. We got as far as the mulled wine stall over there,’ Sister Kev says, pointing to the wooden stall next to the carousel.
‘We’ve been sat watching the kids go round and round, haven’t we?’ Big Mand says, slurring her words.
‘You’ve been drinking mulled wine for three hours?’
They all nod. ‘Keeping an eye on the kids, innit?’ Big Mand squints, pointing to the carousel.
‘Mandeep’s only had one half-glass of mulled wine though and she’s spannered already,’ says Liberty, laughing. ‘Such a lightweight.’
‘She’s got nowt on her bones to soak it up with, that’s why,’ says Cherry, slurping at the paper cup in her hand. ‘Who wants another one before we go back?’
I notice Big Mand and Big Sue exchanging eyebrow raises.
Three mulled wines, four more goes on the carousel, several toffee apples and bars of nougat, a visit to Père Noel and a ten-minute firework display later, we are all feeling rather sick and ready to head back.
The whole of Nice is lit up in a blaze of twinkling lights. It is very, very Christmassy.
I spot a line of taxis. ‘There’s a taxi rank over there next to the giant Christmas tree ride, by the tram stop.
’ We make our way over, avoiding the tram slowly traversing the busy square that is lined with majestic red stone buildings with cream-coloured window frames.
Elegant street lamps and water fountains dot the magnificent square which has been set up like a maze with fir trees and fake snow and giant snow globes offering a magical pathway through to the other side.
I feel a tremor of sadness that I’m not experiencing this festive wonderland with Matteo.
Once again, he has prioritised Birdie over me.
‘Please, Mummy. Please. Please!’ bellows Clementine.
‘No, love. You’ll be sick if you go on that merry-go-round ride. You’ve had too many sweets, and Daddy should not have given you that hot chocolate.’
‘How was I supposed to know you’d thrown a double Baileys in it?’
Cherry tuts loudly.
‘Please, Mummy! Please! Please! Please!’ shrieks Clementine even louder.
Liam, who has now become something of a Mother Theresa meets Julie Andrews-type figure, smiles sympathetically. ‘How about if Louis takes them on the carousel? Would you like that, girls?’
They squeal with excitement.
‘Okay, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ Cherry hands the girls over to the capable guardianship of Ged and Liam, the best parents in the world. It takes all of five seconds for both of my friends to visibly wish they’d never bothered volunteering.
Firstly, the Christmas bauble cars on this merry-go-round only fit two humans each so, immediately, Peaches and Clementine are split up.
The ride starts as soon as they are buckled in.
On realising that she is not getting to sit with Louis, Peaches turns puce, her little face screwed up in fury as she searches the crowd for her parents.
She screams at the top of her lungs and is making the whole of France aware that she is not on board with this pairing.
Ged looks at us, panicked. ‘What will I do? What will I do?’ he shouts at us, disappearing around the other side as the giant Christmas tree twirls him away from us and out of sight.
Her screaming continues to drown out the cheerful music, which is clearly distressing the elves who are manning the ride.
‘I told you so,’ is all the help Cherry has to offer.