Chapter 1 #2
She’d also realised her limitations. How difficult it was, as an individual, to strike up conversation with a stranger, even though her French was pretty good. How hard it was to make yourself attend a club or a meeting to try to make connections.
She’d set up the website, had completed some of the necessary paperwork and hoped they’d be able to offer the art retreats she’d planned by next summer.
And she’d finished a commission she’d been working on for a while behind the scenes.
She’d even managed to take on two art students – Lucien who was starting tomorrow, and Mathilde who was coming in the new year.
But still, time yawned in front of her every day and it was hard sometimes to fill it.
But it wasn’t forever, she reminded herself. In less than three weeks’ time Steven would arrive for Christmas and the cottage would seem cosy rather than empty, the dark skies comforting rather than bleak. She closed her eyes, imagining sinking into his arms.
Then, new year and only a few months before Steven would join her permanently. Things were going to get better.
Tomorrow she’d start her next task of clearing out the attic space – the previous owner, or perhaps even the original one, had left some boxes and a couple of small cupboards there.
Eventually it would become her studio, and she’d like to have it swept out and ready for renovation by the end of the year.
As if on cue, her mobile buzzed in her pocket. It was Steven.
‘Hello!’ she said excitedly. ‘I was just thinking about you, actually. Missing you.’
‘Good to hear.’ His voice was soft; the voice he used in the locker room at work.
She recognised the buzz in the background, the low-level sounds she always associated with the hospital: the bang of a locker, the rumble of conversation, the occasional sound of the door squeaking open as someone entered or exited.
‘You’re at work?’
‘Yeah.’ He sighed. ‘Had to cover an extra shift.’
‘Poor you. Still, the overtime will be good.’
‘Yeah.’ He sounded so downcast she decided to try to cheer him up.
‘Well, guess what your clever wife has done!’
‘I have to tell you something,’ he said, seemingly not hearing her. Something in his tone made her feel cold, despite the now crackling fire.
‘What?’
He sighed. ‘Susan’s called me in. There are going to be some staff shortages. Kelly’s out for a bit – some sort of family crisis. And Sanjay’s paternity leave is being moved forward; his wife’s being induced at thirty-seven weeks…’
Nicola felt her heartbeat return to normal.
It was just an ordinary work crisis. Sadly, for Steven this was a regular occurrence – hopefully it would be different when he was installed in a French hospital.
She’d heard nothing but good reports about the health service here, from both locals and expats online.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said.
He was silent for a moment. ‘Yeah, but… what I’m saying is it means I’ll be on call for the foreseeable.’
‘Yeah. That sucks,’ she said, idly picking a thread on her jumper, which soon turned into a near disaster. She stopped before she did any more damage. ‘But hey, it’s Christmas soon!’
‘You sound like your mum!’
‘I do not! We’re going to have a cosy Christmas. Tasteful.’
‘No neon decorations?’
‘No neon decorations.’
‘Not even a few tinsel garlands?’ he teased.
‘Definitely no tinsel garlands.’
He was silent for a moment. Then, ‘I hate to do this, Nic. But this work… it means I won’t actually be able to come at Christmas.’
‘Oh.’ Something dropped in her stomach like a heavy boulder into water. ‘Not at all?’
She tried to steady her breathing. It wasn’t his fault, after all. As a paediatric nurse, he had a responsibility to the poor kids who’d be holed up in hospital over Christmas.
‘Come on, baby. Look, I know I’m staying in Stu’s flat, but he’s visiting family at Christmas. Book a flight. Come here.’
She closed her eyes. ‘But I’ve got art lessons…’
‘One pupil, Nic. Come on. I’m sure they’ll cope.’
‘And I so wanted to start our own traditions. Mum’s are great but…’
‘I know. There’s no room for your own ideas. But Nicola, we’ve got years to do that. Come on. It won’t be so bad being here for one last time.’
She sighed, leaning her head on her hand. ‘OK.’
‘You’ll come?’
‘Better Christmas with you in Stu’s manky flat than here in our rural paradise. At least, just about.’
‘Thank you. I think.’
‘It’s the highest compliment, really.’
‘Your mum will be pleased, too.’
‘True.’ She sighed.
‘I’ll make it up to you in chocolate.’
She felt the corners of her mouth turn up at his teasing. ‘Do you promise? Because honestly, making this up to me will require a lot of chocolate.’
When she ended the call, she sighed, sank onto a chair with a groan. This Christmas had been meant to be a new start. And a kind of celebration that she’d managed to move over here without any support.
Then she thought about this New Nicola she was hoping to become. One who wasn’t hung up on schedules. Someone flexible, easy-going. Relaxed.
And she tried to remind herself of the plus points of flying back. No turkey to cook, for starters. And Mum would be overjoyed.
It wouldn’t be the Christmas she’d imagined. But there was always next year.